The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,36
his bike.” He turned to her. “By the way, tell me again why you didn’t hire a car . . .”
“I don’t think I told you at all, but the reason being that I didn’t want to drive on the wrong side of the car down the wrong side of the road.”
“You Yanks, you think unless the thing is done your way, it’s done wrong.” His teasing look took any sting from the comment.
“‘One man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like our own best,’” she quipped, quoting Jane Austen, then winced. Two literary quotes in less than five minutes. “Don’t you just hate those pretentious intellectuals who go around quoting literature?”
“Yes,” he replied with a grin.
“How many do you think we’ll have by day’s end?”
“Between the two of us, I’d venture at least seven, maybe more.”
Her laughter bubbled up like champagne, sweet and effervescent.
“Oversleep this morning?” she asked, pointedly referring to his still damp hair.
“Er, no,” he said, appearing somewhat chagrinned, “actually Trevor and I went for a run this morning and ran into an old friend, uh, no pun intended, and got waylaid for a bit.”
“You stayed with Trevor last night?”
“It was easier than driving a half hour to Rutherford and then back this morning.”
“I see.” His damp, tousled hair was sexy. She wanted to run her fingers through it. “Where are we off to today?” she returned cheerfully.
“I thought we would set off in search of those mysterious stones to the south,” he said, “and then head back north to the prettiest village in England, Castle Combe, perhaps stopping at a lovely little spot in between.”
“In between?” she questioned.
“Oh, I have a little surprise I think you’ll like.”
They headed south out of town. She wasn’t good with surprises. She would needle the person planning the surprise until she got it out of him or her. Ann and Becca gave up a long time ago. “Don’t I even get a hint about where the in between is?”
His cryptic hint of ‘think Pride and Prejudice’ did not help. “Just so you know, I’ve already been to Chawton House and Winchester as part of the Oxford course on Jane Austen,” she supplied, hoping this would narrow the possibilities.
“Oh, I know. It’s neither one of those places,” he responded vaguely. He wore the grin she was beginning to recognize as mischievous. “You might as well give up and enjoy the trip, because you won’t be able to guess.”
She sat back in her seat in a huff, and to her annoyance, he turned and laughed at her. She pointedly ignored him, as if that were even possible, instead staring out the window at the passing scenery. The sun began to burn off the morning mist. Perhaps it would be another nice day after all. Silence filled the car, but it was a companionable silence.
When they arrived at Stonehenge, the morning mists had not yet lifted from the surrounding grasslands, giving the mystical site a strange, ethereal quality befitting its fabled history.
As they strolled around the ancient monoliths, a fresh breeze began to push the damp mist away, allowing more of the sun to penetrate, but not enough to chase away the chill.
Using Sarah’s camera, Alex took the obligatory goofy touristy pictures of her, including the one that looked like she was holding up one of the leaning stones. Another couple visiting from Ireland offered to take their photo, and they exchanged the favor by taking a photo of them with their two red-headed kids.
The cold wind picked up across the plains, sending a shiver through Sarah, prompting Alex to ask if she was ready to return to the car park. She nodded. “‘I have no enthusiasm for nature which the slightest chill will not instantly destroy.’”
“George Sand. That’s three.” He smiled and he took her elbow, guiding her across the uneven ground.
She could feel the warmth of his hand through the layers of clothes. Once at the car park, Alex opened the car door for her. Before she could swing her legs into the car, an errant gust of wind blew something into her eye.
“Oh!” she gasped. She immediately went to rub it.
Alex pulled her hand away and asked with concern, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing . . . I think something blew into my eye.”
“That doesn’t sound like nothing . . . let me take a look,” he said as he knelt down beside the car and gently placed his thumb on her upper eyelid, telling her to look