She shrugs. “I need to do some research.”
I smirk. “Right. And do you at least have a general idea of where you’re planning to go, or are you just going to pitch a tent in Hyde Park and hope for the best?”
She swats my arm. “I was thinking Cornwall. Or maybe the Lake District. Or Kent?”
“So… you have absolutely no clue.”
“Not no clue,” she argues, licking a last drop of coffee from the rim of her cup. “Just… flexible options.”
I glance at her bags again, the sheer volume of them taking up all the floor area around her stool. She’s planning a full-scale outdoor adventure, and yet, she hasn’t even settled on a location.
An idea takes shape. I tap my fingers on the counter. “What about Dorset?”
She tilts her head. “Dorset?”
I nod. “Yeah. Lucy and I are heading there in two weeks for a holiday. We’re staying in a cottage, but there are plenty of campsites in the area. You could book one of those.”
She considers this, her brows drawing together. “That… actually makes sense.”
I almost punch the air with my fist when I detect victory. “I know.”
She exhales, glancing at her bags. “It would make things easier.”
“Much easier,” I confirm. “I mean, unless you want to lug all of this—” I gesture at the campinghaul, “—from a train station to a campsite, which, knowing your luck, will be at the top of a very steep hill.”
She pulls a face. “That does sound miserable.”
“Exactly. And setting up a tent after that?” I shake my head. “Not ideal.”Come on, Ivy, say yes, say yes to an option that gives me a vague feeling of safety.
Her lips press together, and I can see the gears turning in her head, realising how impractical her original plan was.
“And,” I add, keeping my tone casual, “if you camp somewhere near us, at least I’ll be close enough to help if anything goes wrong.”
She pauses at that, looking up at me properly now. “That’s actually… not a bad idea.”
I grin. “I’m known for them.”
She huffs a laugh and leans back. “Alright, Dorset it is.”
I glance at the bags again. “You are going to practice putting up that tent before you go, right?”
“Obviously,” she says, waving a hand. Then, after a beat, she adds, “I’ll do it in my flat.”
I snort. “You’re going to set up a full-size tent in your living room?”
“I need to know how it works!” she argues. “Better to struggle indoors than in a field with the wind trying to murder me.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “Please send me a picture when you inevitably get tangled in the tent poles.”
She smirks. “You wish you had my level of preparedness.”
I take a sip of my coffee, watching her, still not sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned. Butwhatever adventures she gets up to, at least I’ll be nearby to make sure nothing happens to her.
19
Indoor Survival Queen
Ivy
