Page 9 of The Clifftop Cottage

Yet the further she walked, the more her surroundings thinned. The chatter and hum of the beach gave way to the rhythmic roar of waves and the whistle of the wind. By the time she reached the path at the bottom of the hill, she felt a tiny kernel of calm stirring within her.

Her boots crunched against the gravel as she climbed higher, her breath coming faster as the incline steepened. The wind, untamed and bracing, grew stronger with every step. She unbuttoned her coat, warmth creeping up her chest despite the chill.

At last, she reached a flat stretch near the cliff’s edge.

A bench sat a little way back from the drop, painted a once-bright blue, now chipped and worn to grey in places. Someone had carved initials into one of the slats.

Erica slowed as she passed it, one hand brushing the backrest, but she didn’t stop.

She kept going.

Closer to the edge.

The mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks hidden by low clouds, strong and eternal.

For a moment, she let herself trust in that. The constancy of those mountains. The endless rhythm of the waves below. The tightness in her throat eased, and before she realised it, tears began to fall.

She hadn’t thought she had anything left, but the tears came anyway – quiet at first, then harder, pulled from somewhere deeper than she could reach.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if she could hold it in, but it made no difference.

The wind whipped around her, cold against her skin, her hair catching across her face, but she didn’t move away.

Then, faintly: “Excuse me, are you alright?”

The words took a moment to reach her.

Erica turned, as if surfacing from deep water, and saw a man approaching along the path. A dog moved ahead of him, a black-and-white sheepdog, stopping a short distance away as if drawing an invisible line.

The man lifted one hand, palm out. Not a greeting but a caution.

“Could you step back from the edge, please?” he said. His voice was steady, carrying easily over the wind.

Confused, Erica blinked at him. He wore a cap pulled low and a dark coat braced against the weather. She followed his gaze to her feet and felt a jolt. She was closer to the cliff edge than she’d realised, close enough that loose gravel shifted under her boot.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing her cheeks, suddenly aware of how exposed she must look.

He didn’t move. “I’m glad to hear it. Still, better not to stand there.”

There was no accusation in his tone. Just fact.

Erica hesitated, then stepped back deliberately. “I was just looking at the view.”

His shoulders eased, just slightly. “Aye. It’s a good one.”

A pause stretched between them, filled by the wind and the distant crash of the sea below.

He nodded once, as if satisfied. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve … seen people misjudge that edge before.”

Something in his voice made her stomach tighten.

“I wasn’t planning on—” she began, then stopped. “Anyway. I appreciate it.”

“Good.”

A pause. The dog circled back to his side, sitting neatly.

“I’m Gabriel,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “I live nearby.”