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She followed the instructions diligently, her fingers working deftly despite the unfamiliarity of the task. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she dismantled the pipe, laying each piece out in order as the tutorial instructed. Though her hands were soon coated in grime and her back ached from bending over the cramped space, she refused to let her spirits falter.
Nothing worth having ever comes easy, she reminded herself, recalling the countless hours spent perfecting her art. This, she decided, was just another form of creation – a different medium, perhaps, but no less meaningful.
"Step six," she continued, pausing the video to remove her gloves and swipe away a bead of sweat from her brow. "Replace the damaged section with a new pipe."
The task proved more challenging than the video suggested, and Charlotte found herself wrestling with the stubborn pipe. But her determination only grew, fueled by memories of her soon-to-be ex-husband's condescending tone and the knowledge that she was proving him wrong simply by persevering.
"Look at me now, Daniel," she muttered under her breath, a triumphant grin spreading across her face as the new pipe finally clicked into place. "I don't need you or your money to make this work."
With renewed vigor, Charlotte reassembled the pipe system, carefully following the tutorial's instructions as she tightened each connection. When the last bolt was in place, she hesitated for a moment before turning the water supply back on, holding her breath as she waited for any sign of leakage.
"Please work," she whispered, staring intently at the newly repaired pipe. And to her immense relief, it held strong – no water seeped through, and the steady drip-drip-drip that had plagued the bathroom for weeks, much as the same noise had in the kitchen, was finally silenced. For the first time in months, she felt truly capable and independent, ready to face whatever challenges The Old Crown Inn might throw her way.
"All right, Charlotte," she said, wiping her hands on a rag and turning her gaze to the next project on her list. "On to the next one."
The next project on Charlotte's list was fixing the broken windowpane in the hall that she had duct-taped. Eager to continue her newfound success, she gathered her tools and materials – a new sheet of glass that she’d found in the basement, hammer, nails, and putty – before heading up the creaky staircase. "It’ll be good as new," she assured herself, pulling up another YouTube tutorial as she marched down the hallway.
"Step one: Remove old putty and glass shards," the cheerful voice on the video instructed. Charlotte carefully chiseled away at the hardened putty around the edges of the broken window, taking care not to damage the wooden frame. It seemed like an easy enough task, but after several minutes of vigorous scraping, she had only managed to dislodge a few stubborn chunks.
"Come on, you stupid putty," she growled, her patience wearing thin. With a final determined swing of her hammer, the remaining putty crumbled away, but not before the tool slipped from her grasp and struck the new glass pane leaned against the wall with a sickening crack.
"Ugh! Seriously?!" Charlotte exclaimed, staring in disbelief at the spiderweb of fractures now marring the once-pristine glass. She couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, even as frustration bubbled beneath the surface. Shaking her head, she cleaned up the mess and resolved to try again with a spare piece of glass she'd luckily purchased earlier.
"All right, round two," she said, psyching herself up as she positioned the new pane in the window frame. Carefully, she pressed the putty into place, securing the glass with a steady hand. But just as she was about to step back and admire her handiwork, a gust of wind blew through the room, slamming the door shut and causing her to jump in surprise.
"Hello? Who's there?" Charlotte called out, her heart racing as she scanned the room for any sign of an intruder. But there was no one – just the wind playing tricks on her frayed nerves. She let out a shaky laugh and turned back to the window, only to find that the sudden shock had caused her to press too hard on the glass, leaving a jagged crack right down the middle.
"Seriously?" she groaned in frustration, her hands shaking with anger and disappointment as she stared at the ruined pane. All her efforts seemed to be for nothing, leaving her feeling dirty, sweaty, and utterly defeated. "Why can't anything go right?"
She slumped against the wall, tears of frustration prickling at the corners of her eyes.
"Maybe Daniel was right—I'm not cut out for this," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her disappointment. But even as the words left her lips, a stubborn spark of determination flickered deep within her chest, refusing to be extinguished by the day's disasters.
Charlotte pushed herself off the wall, feeling its cold, damp surface against her back. She decided it was time for a break and stepped outside to get some fresh air and clear her mind. The moment she opened the door, a gentle breeze swept over her face, carrying with it the salty scent of the sea. Taking a deep breath, she felt an odd sense of peace settling inside her chest.
"Nothing like the English air," she mumbled to herself, wiping away the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.
"Much better than New York," Charlotte whispered.
A few deep breaths later, she was ready to try again. A trip down to the basement yielded another pane of glass, and with a slow, methodical following of the YouTube video, she managed to get the new glass set in the frame.
Yes!
With renewed energy, Charlotte started making lists of the materials she'd need and the projects she could manage on her own. She knew she'd have to adjust her budget and timeline, but she was willing to make those sacrifices if it meant bringing The Old Crown Inn back to life—on her own. But she couldn’t quite ignore the small voice in the back of her mind that reminded her that Daniel was still just down the coast, and that his reasons for being here in Chesham were as murky as the English skies before a storm.
And suddenly, Agnes’s lunch invitation brought a shocking thought into Charlotte’s mind—there was another man in her life who Agnes might have news of, one that wasn’t the ex-husband just up the beach.
Her father.
Did Agnes have news of Henry?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next day, Charlotte and Agnes sat at a cozy table by the window at The Rosebud Café for their long-awaited catch-up. The scent of freshly cut roses from the centerpiece filled the air. The charming atmosphere of the café was enhanced by its floral decorations, which adorned every corner and surface. Bouquets of daisies, tulips, and peonies graced the tables, while lush ferns hung from the ceiling, casting delicate shadows on the pastel-colored walls. The soft sound of chatter from the other patrons created a soothing background hum, making Charlotte feel cocooned in their own private sanctuary.
As they settled into their seats, Charlotte admired the intricate lace tablecloth that draped over the wooden table. The clink of porcelain teacups and saucers only added to the sense of refinement that enveloped her as she sipped her Earl Grey tea.
"Isn't it lovely here?" Agnes remarked, her eyes twinkling with appreciation as she took in their surroundings. "There's something about this place that just makes you want to slow down and enjoy the moment."
