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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Charlotte awoke to the soft, diffused light filtering through the linen curtains of her bedroom in The Old Crown Inn. She blinked sleepily, her head still nestled comfortably on her pillow, as she reached out for Simon beside her. When she felt nothing but another pillow, she sighed, remembering—he’d had an early morning charter that he’d had to captain, and he had left her before the sun had come up.
Glowing from the events of the previous night, Charlotte smiled as she powered on her phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up with a dozen missed calls—from Daniel—and Charlotte's heart thudded against her ribcage like the beat of a hummingbird's wings.
"Uh oh," she muttered under her breath, her eyes widening in surprise and guilt. She hadn't meant to ignore him, or to stand him up for dinner; it was just that Simon had swept her away, consuming every moment. And is she had to choose between Daniel and the awkward divorce dinner and spending the evening in Simon’s arms? An easy choice.
As she scrolled through the list of missed calls, Charlotte felt a confusing mix of emotions churning within her. There was the undeniable tinge of guilt for not answering Daniel's calls. Yet, there was also a part of her that stiffened at his persistence, her newfound independence bristling at the thought of being on call with him again.
Then, there were a flood of text messages:
"Charlotte, are you there? We were supposed to meet for dinner. Hope everything's okay."
"Hey, it's Daniel again. I'm at the restaurant... where are you?"
"Charlotte, this isn't like you. If you're not coming, just let me know."
"Okay, I'm getting annoyed. At least send a text."
"Are you doing this on purpose? Ignoring me won't solve anything.”
"Fine, if you won't talk, I guess that answers something for me."
"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her temples as she reluctantly swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she padded across the room, her mind racing. With a sigh, she decided to call him back, casting aside her apprehensions and preparing for whatever storm Daniel might have in store for her.
The line rang and rang, and then clicked to his voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message.
As she hung up the call, her thumb brushed the photo gallery on her screen, and up came the castle photo of Simon. A feeling of warmth spread through her chest. His smile was infectious, reaching his deep blue eyes as he stood with his hands on his hips, looking every bit the rugged outdoorsman she had come to adore. A sudden inspiration struck her - what better way to celebrate his birthday than by painting him a portrait?
"Perfect," Charlotte murmured, clutching the photo to her heart as determination filled her. She knew exactly what she needed to do.
Gathering her art supplies in the sunroom, she carefully selected the paints she would need to capture the essence of the man who had stolen her heart. Charlotte set up her easel and laid out her materials. The soft rustle of brushes against canvas, the scent of oil paints, and the calming presence of her surroundings enveloped her as she prepared to pour her heart into this work of art.
The sound of laughter floated in from the street outside, and she imagined Simon sharing a joke with the fishermen down at the docks. This was the world she wanted to live in – a place where love felt natural, like the ebb and flow of the tides. A place where she could be herself.
As her brush dipped into the paint, she knew that this was an opportunity to create something tangible from the joy and love she had found in Chesham Cove. It was a chance to express her gratitude for the man who had shown her what it meant to live authentically, and she would pour every ounce of her heart and soul into it.
With her heartbeat in sync with the rhythmic strokes of her pencil, Charlotte began sketching the outline of Simon's face on the canvas. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on capturing every contour and nuance of his expression. The world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the image of Simon's rugged features etched in her mind.
His eyes, she thought, I must capture the warmth in his eyes.
As she moved her hand delicately across the canvas, her joy grew stronger with each stroke. Suddenly, pounding on the inn's front door shattered the tranquility of the moment. Charlotte's hand paused mid-stroke as she turned toward the sound, her heart skipping a beat.
Her first thought was of Simon—what he had been hurt on his morning charter? She rushed to the front door, throwing open the heavy wooden slab.
"Charlotte, we need to talk."
Daniel’s unmistakable voice cut through the air like a knife. His imposing figure filled the doorway, his face a mask of frustration and anger.
"Daniel?" Charlotte's voice trembled slightly, her surprise evident. "What are you doing here?”
"Isn't it obvious? I've been trying to reach you since last night!" He slammed his fist against the doorframe, causing Charlotte to flinch involuntarily. "Why have you been ignoring my calls? You stood me up!"
"I... I didn't mean to stand you up," she stammered, her thoughts racing both to find an explanation for her silence and to shield her burgeoning relationship with Simon from Daniel's wrath. "I've just been busy here."
"Here?" Daniel scoffed, stepping into the room and glaring at her. "I came by here last night. You weren’t here. Stop running away from our problems."
Charlotte's eyes flashed with defiance as she met Daniel's gaze. "This is my life now, Daniel. I'm not running away from anything. I was out last night, yes. But that stopped being your concern when you left me."
