Tangled In Time

Soaked

I sat on the edge of the bed, towel-drying my unruly curls as the last streaks of daylight faded outside the window. The warmth of the house had chased away the chill, but my thoughts lingered on the moments in the rain, the laughter, and the way Blake had looked at me. I had one last try to smooth my hair with my hands before giving up entirely

Blake was waiting in the entrance hall, now wearing a dry shirt and trousers, his hair still damp but curling slightly at the edges. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, his expression lighter than it had been earlier.

"We may need this," he said, holding up the bottle with a small smile.

We walked back down to the cottage, the rain having stopped and the sky now a mix of pink and grey, the clouds softening as the evening settled in. The air smelled fresh, carrying the faint scent of wet earth and grass, and the occasional chirp of birds returning to their nests punctuated the peaceful quiet. As we approached the cottage, Blake spoke, his voice carrying a mix of determination and anticipation.

"There must be something in those journals that will help us figure out how you can get back. Even if it's a bit painful, that's why I grabbed this." He held up the bottle of red wine. With a gentle handoff, he passed me the key to open the front door.

Inside, we were greeted by the same mess we'd left earlier—journals scattered across the table and floor, a scene of organised chaos that made the room feel lived-in.

I kicked off my shoes and, almost instinctively, climbed back onto the table, surrounded by the scattered journals I'd left earlier. Blake raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, as he poured us each a glass of wine.

"With all this furniture to sit on, and you choose the table," he teased, passing me a glass half filled with red liquid and then taking a sip from his glass and looking at me from over the rim.

I shrugged, savouring the familiar taste of the wine. "You sound just like my dad," I said looking over at him

Blake shook his head, smiling as he settled on the sofa with a journal in hand. "Let's see what secrets my father left behind." He sighed

The cosy glow of the cottage enveloped us as the evening stretched ahead, filled with the promise of discoveries and the comfort of shared silence. The crackle of the fire Blake had lit earlier added a soothing backdrop to the soft rustle of pages being turned.

Blake glanced up, narrowing his eyes playfully. "Your hair really is curly," he remarked, his voice teasing and his hands gesturing out on either side of his head.

It was my turn to scowl. "Oh, don't start."

Blake laughed, holding up his glass in mock surrender before turning back to the journal.

He settled back into the sofa, the wine balanced on the armrest, as he flipped through the pages. After a while, he frowned, his brow furrowing slightly.

"This one seems to have nothing in it regarding Cecilia," he said, his tone slightly exasperated. "Just the ramblings of a man talking about everything and nothing at the same time."

With a quiet sigh, Blake got up from his seat and moved over to the box of journals next to me. He sifted through them for a moment before picking up another one, his expression a mix of curiosity and resolve. "Sometimes I feel like I'm chasing ghosts," he muttered, his voice quieter than before.

I glanced up from my own journal, catching the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it tugged at something deep inside me. I wanted to offer comfort, but the words eluded me, so instead, I stayed quiet and let the moment pass naturally.

Blake returned to the sofa with a fresh journal, settling into the cushions with a soft sigh. The firelight danced across his features, and for a brief moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving only the quiet determination that kept him searching, I found myself watching him and had to shake myself literally, taking a large sip of my wine I raised the journal up to my face blocking my view of him and forced myself to concentrate.

20th February 1920

Each day, I grapple with the heavy weight of our choices. The promises we've made to others pull me in one direction, and my desires tug me in another. I attempt to maintain a respectful distance, but it's as if an irresistible magnetism draws me closer to Cecilia. The temptation is nearly unbearable.

My new wife, who should be the love of my life, often feels like a stranger in this house. Our shared moments are marred by the unspoken truth that someone else holds my heart. I try to be the husband she deserves, but it's an uphill battle. She, too, knows the heavy burden of the promises we've made to others.

I often see Cecilia working in the garden, tending to the blossoming flowers and lush greenery. The sight of her is both a welcome and a torment. Her laughter, carried by the breeze, is a melody that lures me in, and her presence becomes a bittersweet temptation.

Every day, I struggle to resist the allure of her company. Her smile, her laughter, her kindness – they penetrate the barriers I've tried to erect. It's in the garden where the magnetic pull between us is most palpable.

We share clandestine meetings at the cottage where we once confided our deepest hopes and fears. It's there that our unspoken desires are most palpable. We both bear the weight of our choices, choices that have set us on a path we never intended to follow.

I watch her from afar, the woman who has captured my heart, and I'm tormented by the thought of a love that can never be. The longing that threatens to consume me is a silent torment, a reminder of the life we could have shared if only circumstances had been different. The bond between us defies reason, and though I know I've broken her trust, it's a bond I cannot sever. Our hearts remain bound by an unbreakable connection, and it's a connection that will forever haunt us, even as we stay in the shadows, yearning for a love that can never be.

Her laughter, carried by the breeze, becomes a cruel melody, haunting my solitude. I close my eyes and see her smile, a vision of warmth and light that stands in stark contrast to the cold reality of my life. I close my eyes and see her smile, a vision of warmth and light that stands in stark contrast to the cold reality of my life.

I lifted my eyes from the entry on the verge of speaking with Blake about what I had just read. But there he was, stretched out on the sofa, his features softened by the embrace of sleep. His dark hair fell gracefully across his forehead, a faint, contented smile lingering. The journal he had been reading was almost falling from his fingers, now resting in a gentle, relaxed curl. Blake's chest rose and fell rhythmically, mirroring the steady cadence of his breath.

The soft, diffused light from a nearby lamp cast a warm, golden glow upon his features, enhancing the contrast between the deep shadows and the highlights of his face. Watching him so unguarded, I couldn't help but wonder what burdens he carried beneath that calm exterior. Watching him so unguarded, I couldn't help but wonder what burdens he carried beneath that calm exterior.

I hesitated, torn between waking him and letting him rest. The intimacy of the moment gave me pause, but the pull of the unanswered questions—the enigma of Cecilia—proved too strong to resist.

I carefully placed the journal in my hand back into the box. I couldn't deny the curiosity that still gnawed at me, torn between the guilt of intruding and the pull of unanswered questions. I tiptoed over to the living room and gently took the journal from Blake's fingers. His hand twitched slightly as I slipped it away, but he didn't stir.

In the little space left on the sofa next to him, I nestled in, curling my feet under me. The warmth of the room and the quiet presence of Blake lulled my own anxieties as I skimmed through the journal until I found something in regard to Cecilia.