“Believe me, life here is anything but. Besides, Leeds is only a train ride away if the city beckons.”
I stopped still. “Sounds like you’re trying to sell this place to me?”
A twinkle appeared in Oliver’s eyes as he, too, came to a halt. “Maybe I am,” he said, before picking up his step again.
We approached a wooden bridge that took us over a river. I stopped at its halfway point to look at the water as it bubbled over rocks and a fallen tree branch.
“This is the River Ribble,” Oliver said. “It starts not far from here.” He pointed in some general direction. “And runs into the Irish sea at Lytham in Lancashire.”
I tried to look interested, but when Oliver had offered to show me the sights, the confirmed city girl in me hadn’t anticipated going on a nature trail. I’d expected to do all the things tourists do. Lots of pavement pounding, being introduced to architecture, and maybe taking in a gallery showing work by local artists. Glancing around, with nothing but fields and trees and a river around us, we seemed to be moving further and further away from civilisation. “Are we headed anywhere in particular?” I asked, hoping he’d tell me about a charming little tea room or pottery studio hidden away.
“We are,” Oliver replied, which told me nothing.
The more progress we made, the hotter, more bothered, and more apprehensive I became. As we plodded along, the road underfoot got narrower and the wind stronger. Coming at us from behind, the gust seemed to push us onwards. And upwards, I noted.
I scanned the area again, wondering when this bit of my sightseeing tour would finish. My eyes hit on a pathway carved into the hillside just ahead and following its trail, I froze. “Oliver,” I said, bringing myself to a standstill. “You’re not planning on showing me the sights in one single hit, are you?”
Oliver paused in his step to look at me. He grinned.
My stomach lurched.
His smile said it all.
