Cynthia thought about her good walking boots back at the house, and about the egg all alone in her airing cupboard. There was a bus, of course, but—she checked her watch—the next one wouldn’t be due for a good forty-five minutes yet. Then the bus back, unless she walked part of the way, taking up more of her morning, would mean another wait of almost an hour.
“I’m going that way myself after here.”
Cynthia turned, and her gaze tracked up until she was looking into a pair of dark blue eyes set deep in a weather-beaten face. Few local men were significantly taller than her, but this was a giant, an impression enhanced further by his shaggy beard and hair, both rich brown shot through with grey.
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