Chapter 6

6

HAYDEN

I make it back to the stables after midnight. Maybe it would have made more sense to sleep on the farm, and I almost did until the solar lamps illuminated something that I guessed might make up for something Willow and Finn already paid a florist for and have no more cash left to repurchase. Now swathes of gorse blossom decorate the chapel doorway, a dark green and golden surprise that I hope starts her wedding day with a smile.

By the time I finally let myself into the stables, all the lights are out, the door to my housemate’s bedroom closed.

There’s no sign that Rae is still awake inside it.

I hesitate in the hallway, reliving a kiss I hadn’t expected and now can’t stop rewinding and replaying, and my hand rises to knock on his door.

Here’s the thing about me and hesitation: Second-guessing is always fatal. I’ve had years of being trained to read body language, so I should be able to predict Rae’s reaction to me appearing at his bedside, except football didn’t only break my heart. It stole my family’s future and that’s what wrecked my instincts.

Can I trust them now?

I don’t.

I tiptoe past that door instead, crashing out in my own room, where I stare at the ceiling until dawn. Then I creep past that closed door again, get back into my Land Rover, and head back along the coast road.

Once I’m at the headland, I do let myself rewind and replay Rae kissing me. Morning dew kissing the hem of my jeans is a reminder as I finish by threading more gorse blossom through the arch the boys set up for me.

I stand back.

It looks good, but I only really trust my choices when Willow stumbles out of her tent, still half asleep, and sees what we made for her. I hope she doesn’t cry again at the chapel where more gold and green waits for her.

I get busy then, setting out tables and chairs and serving a farmhouse breakfast to the guests who arrived late last night while Stefan’s mum talks my ear off. As soon as I’m done at the farm, I head back to Glynn Harber and go check if that chapel doorway decoration still looks okay.

I don’t have an artist’s eye. I kinda wish I’d woken Rae to get his opinion, but I settle for adding some strands of willow while the padre watches. His quiet, “Bless you, Hayden,” follows me back to the stables, where I hesitate before entering, not done rehashing how good it felt to get chosen for once.

By Rae.

That fucking kiss.

I also remind myself that it was from someone who had a high-stress day, and who seems to joke as easily as breathing.

Joking could apply to his plus-one invitation, couldn’t it?

I’ve almost convinced myself of that, which is an unwelcome flashback to waiting to hear who made the academy team, so I give myself a pep talk.

Go inside and ask him if he meant it.

What’s the worst that can happen?

I’ll live if he says no, then I’ll never see him again. Why would I? I’m not heading to France any time soon, and I won’t even be at Glynn Harber if he ever comes back. My contract here is pretty much done and dusted barring the work this wedding interrupted. Our paths won’t cross again after that, and…

It’s funny how I’m alone out here in the stable courtyard and yet I hear the best coach I ever had shouting from the touchline.

Take the shot, Hayden.

I nod as if Dad can see me, and I do it, only Rae isn’t inside.

His bedroom door stands open, and after showering, I pause there again. That’s where I freeze in the only suit that I own after spotting something I recognise written in an open sketchbook.

I break an unspoken rule then, and cross a housemate’s threshold.

Not to nose through his sketchbook for any more fairy king illustrations. I trace a finger over a word he must have copied from what else is on his bed—a diary that spent decades buried in this school’s foundation.

Tatu?.

That’s the Polish for Daddy.

I remember printing it on birthday cards to my own back when I was little and he was a giant. The next time that word came to mind? I never said, help me, Daddy aloud while getting marched off a Premier League pitch. Might as well wear a sign saying king of the fucking fairies .

But think it?

You bet I did, even if wishing for a giant to scoop me up and save me had been pointless.

Locking into that trip down memory lane means I’m almost late to the wedding. I’m one of the last to arrive at the chapel, which is crowded. I edge into a spot under a stained glass window and stand. At least that means I can see all the action, and the conclusion to a love story that has played out with me watching.

I get to sing along with Luke Lawson’s rich baritone. Get to watch a flower girl scatter petals from a little basket. I also get to see her trip over. The fairy wings she wears don’t save her.

Petals fly, a disaster playing out in what feels like slow motion, until a blond-haired boy dashes to help her gather them up. He also helps her to stand, and they start over.

It’s nuts how easy it is to only hold on to life’s worst moments—how a single word in Polish can bring back my own sensation of falling. Of failing. But getting to see her helped to her feet, all smiles again, followed by a bride whose veil is still tied to the circlet I made?

That all goes straight to the top of a happier league table.

That’s where today is going to sit, along with the memory of Rae’s grin last night when I told him yes to being his plus-one.

I find him then.

Our eyes lock across a crowded chapel, only my gaze skims his for a second before sliding back just as quickly. He’s clean-shaven, and yes, his beard was already a whole lot tidier than mine, but now?

He looks….

He’s…

He’s a whole other person. Rested. Warmly smiling, and that warmth reaches all the way across the chapel to curl around me when he points to an empty spot in the pew beside him.

He’s saved it for me, and that’s where I watch the rest of this wedding. It’s a tight fit, so tight that we’re wedged together, and I don’t hate that even when I realise who takes up the rest of the pew.

Mitch from that care home is as friendly as ever, if a touch wary. “I was hoping to catch up with you,” he whispers. “Justin’s brought his football scrapbook to show you. He knows?—”

I stiffen at what Justin knows. There’s no way I want to revisit or explain what I’ve left ten years behind me.

Mitch has to notice my reaction. He quickly whispers, “He knows he said something wrong. He doesn’t know what or why, but that’s brain injuries for you. He must have got confused, that’s all. No malice intended, mate. You believing that matters to him. It would set his mind at rest if you’d take a look at his scrapbook sometime, that’s all.”

Thankfully, the service interrupts him. The chapel rings with applause and congratulations when it completes, this couple safely married, and I escape a football conversation. Not that I’m rude about it. I do it by making a promise. “Soon, yeah? I’m a bit busy today.”

Then I escape with Rae, who asks, “Ready to show me a good time?” He phrases that with a lightness I could read as joking, and I’m stuck doubting myself under a doorway decoration summing up Cornish brightness.

Take the shot, right?

“Yes.” I nod as firmly as I can summon, considering I’m no one’s long-term proposition. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About you.”

I score a real smile then and score a second after arriving at the headland with him.

He’s almost breathless. “Look at what you made happen.”

I didn’t have anything to do with this end-of-summer sunshine or with the sea looking extra sparkly. That isn’t what he points at. Rae has spotted a brand-new husband and wife posing for photos, framed by an arch smothered with bright bursts of yellow—flowers with prickles I wished I’d worn my work gloves to avoid, which Rae must have noticed.

He grabs my hand as we walk towards the marquee, turning it over like he did last night behind a minibus where no one could see him looking. Now anyone could see him study my hand and touch dots left by thorns, as if they’ll join to make a picture. Each pinprick was worth getting just to have him say, “You know they’ll never forget this, right?”

“I didn’t do it all on my own,” I insist, and I shove my hands deep into my pockets. Not due to any shaking or because I don’t want anyone to see that we’re together.

My truth today is that I won’t forget getting to be part of this either.

It’s another teamwork reminder that I tuck away for later. There will be plenty of time to replay this sunny highlight come winter when there is no work, and maybe if I go home for Christmas, I’ll even tell my sisters.

I shove my hands deeper in my pockets, no need to shiver. For now, it’s still summer, and I still get to listen as Rae shares stories about his drawings, about his plans to stop being a walking disaster and to hit that revise-and-resubmit deadline. About how he hasn’t started yet, but he’s got a plan brewing, so there’s no need to worry. He’ll get it done like he did at college, even if that means burning his candle at both ends.

“Sleep is for the weak,” he tells me while stuffing his face with Cornish baking. With food and drink from the school kitchen. With a cake that defies description, and all while sketching guests with that stylus. Fuck knows how he captures people with a few lines on a phone screen.

It’s bewitching to witness.

I can’t look away for hours, or blame my lack of chill on champagne at this no-budget wedding celebration. I’m as sober as a judge, and that’s fine. I don’t want to miss a moment of how he shares his drawings without fanfare before emailing them as a keepsake to guest after guest. They’re reminders of a big day that didn’t go to plan, and I know exactly how that feels. It means I won’t forget his help in a hurry.

I won’t forget Finn and Willow either.

They laugh through best-man speeches before visiting every table, and none of this was their first plan, but I think they got some of what they wanted. And for all that I’m no candidate for long-term commitment, they make marriage look appealing. Willow reaches our table, and I can’t remember the last time I was hugged this hard while watched by someone as proud of me as Rae looks, and that pride?

It’s been a while.

No wonder it gets to me.

So does this bride and groom having a first dance on a dance floor with the sun dipping low behind them, and that is what Rae also captures—love framed by an archway, complete with a sunset that kisses the horizon like dew kissed my hems this morning. He draws gorse and dots it with yellow. With gold. With more of that magic as the afternoon turns to evening and the dance floor crowds to the voice of an angel.

Rae must like what Rowan sings—his head pops up like a meerkat and he’s up on his feet, heading to join the dancers. He turns, a hand extended, and I get to my feet to join him.

One of last night’s soldiers beats me to it.

The crowd closes around Rae and that Royal Engineer, and when it opens again, I spot them dancing. So does someone I didn’t realise had joined me—Marc takes the seat Rae vacated.

“You really gonna let that happen?”

His husband is just as relentless, only he’s quieter about it. I didn’t know Stefan was behind me until he says, “He hasn’t stopped looking at you all evening, you muppet,” and then tips my chair up. “Go make some hay while the sun’s still shining.” That’s an exaggeration for this deepening dusk, but I don’t stop to argue the point. I’m already moving, because no.

No.

I’m not letting what feels like another big chance get stolen.

That’s what I haven’t been able to tune out since getting reminded of a test I failed.

Failed?

My last shot was stolen from me, even if I don’t like to revisit what led up to that moment. It’s too late to do anything about it.

There are years between me and the clueless kid I once was. Tonight, I’m a different person, so I plough a direct path across the dance floor to someone I’m not ready to surrender to a stronger player.

That determination must show.

The soldier I tap on the shoulder has seen combat, but he still takes one look and holds his hands up, laughing. The person he dances with turns too.

It isn’t Rae.

I barely hear this soldier’s explanation over Rowan’s second song of the evening. “Your boyfriend went looking for you.”

“Hey.”

I turn, and fuck me, Rae looking relieved to find me is better than winning any trophy. He’s so pleased to see me, and it doesn’t matter that tonight’s bride and groom lost their champagne budget when their first choice of venue went bust. This fizz at being his first choice is just as heady.

It sucks that I won’t be after tonight.

I stutter to a halt—only for a moment—but Rowan’s song spirals like something trapped in my chest does, and forget everything I said about not being a long-term prospect. I hold out a hand as if I am. For him. It’s way steadier than I feel when Rae takes it, only I don’t dance with him. I lead him outside, heading away from the wedding celebration and bypassing circle after circle of pretty bell tents where fairy lights glow now that the sun is setting.

I take Rae in a different direction.

The woods I lead him into are deeply shadowed. They are also fenced off, and I open a gate and then slide a bolt home behind us.

I don’t need light to know where next to take him.

He laughs, clinging on tight after he stumbles. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere the newlyweds usually stay. I would have hung lights to show the way, only Finn and Willow wanted to be closer to their families.” Which I kinda understand if they don’t get to see each other often. In hindsight, I wish I’d spent more time with mine. “They picked a spot with a little bit of distance, but not with this much seclusion. To each their own. I’d always choose this tent first. It’s my favourite.”

He stumbles again.

Or is that hesitation?

I pause. “You want to see it?”

He must do. Rae lights the way with his phone, that blue-white beam slicing every shadow. “Just try and fucking stop me.” This is softer from him. “Everything you’ve loved so far has knocked my socks off. The sunset here. The view over the sea.” His hold tightens on my hand. “Just so you know, you set the bar, so I’ve got high expectations.” He matches me step for step until a new view stops him, and again, I wish I had even a scrap of artistic talent. I’d capture this surprise, this slow smile that is so different from all his others.

He slides his phone away while washed by the last feathering flames of tonight’s sunset. It reaches through the gap in the tree line I cut to reveal a sea view, and it touches the tips of his hair, which glows like the very first time I saw him. I don’t see a single trace of Marc now, and it has only taken an intense weekend to make that difference.

There’s no hiding who I want to share this spot with.

It’s Rae.

And it’s Rae who grabs my hand and hauls me straight for a tent that plenty of honeymooners have used but also feels like a version of home to me.

“I sometimes stay here between jobs if Marc and Stefan don’t have bookings. To be fair, they’re always trying to get me to stay in one of their farm cottages. I just… I prefer this. Reminds me of when I retrained. Of when I became a forestry apprentice.”

“You lived under canvas?”

“In summer. Or in a cabin through the winters, right in the middle of a forest with an old hand who took no bullshit. Loved it.” And him. Aleksander taught me almost everything I know about woodland management, and his forest was the one place in the world where it felt like no fingers pointed. “I could breathe there.”

I lead him inside, turn on the lamps, and take in his reaction. Here is proof if I ever needed any that he’s spent enough time under canvas to appreciate what a good life boils down to. Rae lists what other people might see as basics. “A stove.” He moves on, fingertips tracing the edge of a copper basin that I traded gardening work for. “And running water?”

“Bottled. There’s a foot pump. And a shower behind the tent along with a wood-fired hot tub.”

He next eyes the soft glow from the string of lights above us. “Solar?”

I nod. “I rigged up enough panels so they’ll run everything I need and last all night long instead of fading.”

“Nice.”

What is really nice is not having to explain why me only having this place on a very part-time basis and an old Land Rover are all I’ve got to show for a man closing in on his thirties. But those stories Rae shared both yesterday and today have painted their own picture of someone who hasn’t settled down either.

I don’t know his reasons, just that he’s darted from short-term projects like he darted from subject to subject this evening while sketching. That only makes his sudden switch to focussed even more apparent.

His gaze sweeps in another slow circle, which I guess means he’s locking my bolthole away to draw when his time here is over.

Tomorrow.

Maybe that’s why he stops looking around and heads straight for the bed. He presses on the mattress. “Real.” That’s the opposite of how it feels to see him lose his suit jacket, strip off his shirt, and unfasten his belt.

The lamps pick up where the last of the sun left off, lighting the stark difference between black chest hair and pale skin where the sun hasn’t tanned it. He’s another outdoors person, like me. That farmer’s tan proves it. He’s practical too, like when he asks, “You got everything we need here?”

Thank fuck for newlyweds. This tent being kitted out for their first nights means I can nod even though I’ve never brought anyone else here for this. Now I’m glad I kept my short-term flings with tourists to their holiday rentals, because Rae holds out a hand to me like he did by a dance floor.

A soldier got to him first then.

This time, I won’t let anything get between us.