October LightHe thought it was their first date; she knew it was their anniversary.Time layered itself, the past haunting the present.The sky over the Yorkshire Dales held that special October light, golden and slanting. It made the moorland feel almost holy. Emma watched John’s Land Rover crunch up the gravel drive, mud splattered halfway up the doors. As she saw him, her body came alive. Her heart throbbed; her stomach flipped. Heat pooled low in her belly, the pull of attraction, a want she had no right to feel yet. Not on a first date. Still, anticipation battled with restraint. She knew what she wanted, what would come if she let herself give in: how his hands would feel, how he’d taste, how he’d look at her like she hung the bloody moon. Her heart did that stupid, painful thing it always did. Still did. Would always do.Emma had been up since five, restless and sleepless. Grief kept her tense; longing made her hands quiver while she packed the picnic with care: chicken and ham pie from Hargreaves', the sharp cheddar he loved. She added his favourite posh crisps and the scuffed coffee flask, its aroma a comfort. Even the blanket, pulled from her wardrobe, still held lavender. The perfume she used to wear. The one he'd later tell her drove him wild.John stepped out of the car.God. He looked exactly the same as every time she’d bumped into him in the village.Waxed jacket, the green one with the torn pocket, he never mended. Dark hair curled at his collar, begging for touch. Broad shoulders, strong hands. That gradual smile, overtaking his face like sunrise. Christ, she wanted him, had wanted him, would always want him.“Morning,” he called, as she came out of the house, his voice kind, faintly uncertain. First-date nerves. She remembered those.“Hope you don’t mind, I brought the girls.”Turning to the back of the jeep, she followed his gaze to two springer spaniels that launched themselves to the window from the back seat, all enthusiasm and ears.&nbsp;“Want to meet them before we get going? Beau and Izzy.”“Yes.” Emma crouched, letting them bowl her over. She buried her slender fingers in their silky fur. For a moment, she disappeared into the dogs’ uncomplicated joy. Their affection steadied her.“They’re gorgeous,” she said, looking up. “I love dogs.”“Yeah?” His grin widened. “That’s good. Fair warning, they’re terrible chaperones. Absolutely no sense of boundaries.”She opened her mouth to tease him back, but the words snagged somewhere behind her smile. The dogs broke the hush, barking and spinning at her feet.He laughed, and for that instant, the sound’s warmth caught her off guard, nearly breaking her willpower. She felt herself slip from playful composure into aching vulnerability, the easy, remembered joy suddenly exposing the wound beneath.They set off across the fields, John carrying the basket Emma had prepared, dogs bursting ahead. John stayed close; their shoulders almost brushed. Emma’s skin hummed with awareness. Every accidental brush triggered electricity through her. She caught his aftershave, the same one. She still kept the bottle at home, almost drained. On bad days, she uncapped it just to breathe him in, to remember when he was solid and real and hers.“So,” he said, shooting a quick glance to the side, “full honesty, I’m rubbish at first dates. I always say something stupid within the first ten minutes.”“Only ten?” she said. “Impressive restraint.”“Just wait.” He grinned. “Last time, I told a woman about the ferret I got stuck down my shirt when I was twelve. Before we’d even ordered drinks.”She laughed, a true laugh, surprising them both.“Please tell me you’re lying.”“I wish. Country fair. Ferret was furious.”They walked on, boots squelching. Stone walls flanked the path, older than either of them. Their grey surfaces suggested endless years of weathering from sun and rain. The walls stood sturdy, reliable, something to lean on through outer and inner storms. Overhead, clouds flirted with the sun as the sky evolved. Sunlight and gloom played across the land. The autumn colours were a perfect mix of green turning gold. Emma felt her emotions follow, brightening or lessening with each change of light. This was Emma's landscape. John had fallen in love with it, too; she remembered he said it felt like breathing room. 'So what do you do?' he asked.“I’m a primary school teacher. Year Four.”“That’s brilliant.” Genuine interest lit his face. “I imagine it’s either the best job in the world or utterly terrifying.”“Both. Constantly.”Beau returned with a stick, dropping it at John’s feet. He threw it without hesitation, and both dogs shot after it.“And you?” Emma questioned, though she already knew. The village wasn't big, and the school playground was one place where the locals gossiped. “What brought you here?”“Estate management. The Old Goose Valley Estate, near Krassington.” He shrugged. “Moved up a few months back. Best decision I ever made.”“Everyone around here loves it,” she said, contented. She wanted to tell him it would become everything. That he would become everything. Her hand wavered, as if reaching for something unseen.They reached the ridge, her favourite place. Below them, the valley stretched wide, patchwork fields rolling towards the horizon. Each square was a distinct shade of green, gleaming beneath the sun. The wind carried the scent of heather and earth, the shuffling leaves. Underfoot, the ground was uneven, the grass wet with morning dew.Emma paused, breath quiet in the tranquillity, listening to the valley’s hush. She closed her eyes, allowing the cool breeze to lift her hair. It refreshed her, even as it left a bittersweet longing for what she was losing.John bent down suddenly, plucking something from the grass. “Look at this,” he said, holding up a pheasant feather, its copper and gold catching the October light. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He turned it between his fingers, admiring the iridescence, then held it out to her with a modest smile. “For you. A memento of today.”Emma took it, her fingers electric as they brushed his. The feather was perfect, long and symmetrical, clean of dirt. She would keep it forever.“Christ,” John murmured. “This is something else.”“It's my favourite spot.” She gestured to the blanket. “Would you mind setting the basket down here?”He did, then straightened, looking at the spread she'd prepared. “This is... Emma, you've gone to so much trouble. This looks amazing.” His smile was genuine, a little awed. “And I'm absolutely starving.”They sat. The dogs tried to claim the blanket; John gently displaced them, earning looks of deep betrayal.“Hargreaves’?” he said, eyeing the pie.“You approve?”“Best pies in Yorkshire. Possibly the world.” He took a bite, eyes closing.“You’ve officially ruined me for all future first dates.”“Good,” she said, and the heat in the sound of her voice surprised her. “That was the plan.”Something warm passed between them.“Can I ask you something?” John said later. “And you can tell me to piss off if it’s too much.”“Go on.”“Why’d you say yes?” He looked almost bashful. “To today.”Emma chose her truth carefully; her voice tightened.“Because you seemed kind. And because when you talked about the land, it mattered to you.” She wanted to add, ‘because I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.’He watched her for a long moment.“I’m really glad you said yes,” he said.“Me too.”Hours slipped by on the blanket, filled with quiet laughter and soft conversation.When they finally walked back, their hands found each other naturally. His grip was warm, strong, and her whole body responded. Her pulse quickened. Desire surged; she wanted to pull him close, kiss him hard, feel the weight of him against her. She knew what came next: the years of growing, the way they’d fit together, the life they’d build. His hands would learn every inch of her. She’d learn the way he’d whisper her name in the dark, breathless and wanting.It always felt like the last time. Because it always was.“This okay?” he asked, raising their joined hands.“Yes.”The light softened as afternoon tipped toward evening.“I don’t want this to end,” he said. “Can I see you again?”Her throat tightened as hope and anxiety tangled inside her.“Yes,” she said, her heart speaking through her mouth. “I’d like that.”Back at the Land Rover, he secured the worn-out spaniels in the back. Then he turned to her.He kissed her gently at first, as if she were fragile. Then his hand lifted to cradle her jaw, and he kissed her deeper, more passionately. His mouth was warm, tasting of coffee and promise. Her lips parted, and she surrendered to longing, to the beginning of everything. She knew this kiss; she’d relived it a thousand times. The first of so many. When they parted, his breath was ragged as he rested his forehead against hers.“I’m really glad I met you, Emma.” His voice was rough, wrecked. “You feel like something I’ve been looking for.”She watched him drive away, taillights fading. Her body desperately wanted to chase after him, to climb into that Land Rover, to beg him to take her home. She longed for him to make love to her until she forgot, until she remembered. Each urge crashed over her: to escape, be comforted, or make time make sense again.Only then did she cry.The house was dark when she returned. She set the basket down, and the keys hung on their hook. Everything in its place.The photograph sat on the mantelpiece. She and John were on the ridge, laughing. Their real first date. Beside it, the pheasant feather he’d given her that day, its colours still vibrant after all this time.Below them, the small brass plaque caught the moonlight.John Michael Hartley1989–2023Forever in our heartsHe’d been checking boundaries after the storm. Doing what he always did.His heart had simply stopped.The doctor said it was quick. Emma didn’t find that comforting.She lifted the photograph.“Happy anniversary, my love,” she spoke quietly. “I’d relive it all again. Every perfect, devastating moment.”Outside, the moors lay still under the stars. The ridge waited, unchanged.Tomorrow, she would wake up and keep going. But tonight, she kept him alive the only way she still could.&nbsp;

October Lights

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October Light

L.Anatidae

Louise Anatidae

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October Lights

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Katie Turgoose

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