Chapter Eight "A Thread Between Us"

The days that followed blurred into a quiet rhythm Eleanor hadn't known she needed. She rose early to the sound of birdsong and the faint clang of Callum splitting wood outside. The cottage was small but full of warmth—mismatched chairs, a battered kettle always humming on the stove, and windows that flooded the rooms with light, even on cloudy mornings.

They spent their days exploring. Sometimes on horseback, sometimes on foot. Callum showed her places that didn't exist on any map—hidden springs where the water was as clear as glass, ancient stones covered in lichen and stories, glens where deer moved like ghosts in the early light.

Eleanor listened. She didn't ask too many questions. She just… let it be. It was a new thing for her—being present, without always looking ahead to the next thing expected of her.

And then there was Callum.

She was starting to memorize his silences. The way he would glance at her, then look away when he thought she wouldn't notice. The way his fingers brushed hers when he passed her a cup of tea, lingering just a heartbeat too long.

There was something between them. A thread, fine as spider silk but strong enough to hold.She wasn't sure who would tug on it first.

One evening, they sat side by side near the riverbank. The sky was streaked with pink and gold, the water catching fire in the light. She found herself watching his hands as he tied a simple fly for fishing—steady, careful movements. Hands that could protect or destroy, but instead chose gentleness.

"You're not what I thought," she said quietly.

He didn't look up. "No?"

"No." She shook her head. "You're quieter. Kinder."

He tied off the line, set the rod aside. "And what did you think I'd be?""I don't know," she admitted. "I'm not sure I knew what kindness looked like."

He turned toward her then, his gaze soft, steady. "Now you do."

She felt it in her chest like a pulse.