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But even as she spoke, her heart ached with the knowledge that her newfound happiness was fragile, vulnerable to the storms of her past. What if Daniel had come when Simon had been here?
"Look," Daniel said, his voice dripping with condescension, "I came here because we need to discuss our divorce. And it seems like you're avoiding me."
“I thought you came for work,” she challenged.
He blanched, but didn’t reply.
"Fine," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I assume you have the papers?"
Daniel crossed his arms, his stubbornness radiating from every angle of his stance. "You will meet me at my hotel tonight, or I won't sign the papers."
The room seemed to close in around Charlotte, her heartbeat quickened as she weighed the consequences of refusing to meet Daniel against her desire to finalize their separation. She was suspicious of his insistence that they meet somewhere else—first dinner, now his hotel. She didn’t want to be manipulated by him.
"Daniel," she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You know how much I want this divorce to be over with. But meeting you at your hotel... it's not that simple."
"Nothing ever is with you, Charlotte," he snapped. "Why make this more difficult than it needs to be? I’ve been here more than once. It’s your turn to come to me."
So that was it—his ego was bruised. He didn’t like that she wasn’t jumping when he said jump. Well, he had complained about her people-pleasing. He was also fighting awfully hard to get her somewhere date-like, she realized.
She vowed that this would be the last of that habit. "Fine. I'll meet you at your hotel tonight. But Daniel, please understand – this is not about us getting back together. It's about putting an end to this chapter so we can both move on."
Daniel nodded curtly, his eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability before he turned away. "I'll see you there," he said, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he left the inn.
In the silence that followed, Charlotte wandered back to the sunroom, Simon's half-painted face a symbol of the hope and love that awaited her beyond the storm.
She needed to see him—and confess that Daniel had been in Chesham all this time.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The late morning light broke gently over the Chesham Cove harbor, casting a soft, golden glow on the quaint seaside town. The rays of sunlight kissed the calm waters, turning them into a shimmering canvas of orange and pink hues. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the briny scent of the sea mixed with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee from nearby cafes.
Moored boats bobbed gently on the water's surface, their masts standing tall against the lightening sky. Fishing vessels, painted in shades of reds and blues, lay anchored, their decks still damp with the night's dew. The rigging and sails of these sturdy boats rustled softly in the light morning breeze, a symphony of whispers that spoke of the sea's timeless call.
Charlotte couldn’t enjoy the beauty—her heart squeezed in her chest.
Along the harbor, the cobbled streets came to life. The stone pathways, worn smooth by generations of seafarers, glowed under the early morning light. Quaint shops with their colorful facades slowly opened their doors, their windows displaying an array of maritime trinkets and local crafts that reflected the town's rich seafaring heritage.
Seagulls, ever the harbinger of coastal dawns, soared above, their cries piercing the tranquil air. They swooped gracefully over the water, occasionally diving to catch an early meal from the gentle waves. On the shore, the tide was low, leaving behind wet sands that glistened under the rising sun, marked by the footprints of early morning beachcombers.
The harbor's wooden piers, aged and weathered from years of facing the sea, creaked softly as fishermen prepared for their day's work. Nets were unfurled and inspected, fishing lines were cast, and the smell of diesel fuel mixed with saltwater as engines came to life, ready to venture into the deeper waters.
In the distance, the town's lighthouse stood as a steadfast guardian. Its white and red stripes were vividly bright against the backdrop of the clear morning sky. Although its light was no longer necessary in the daylight, it remained a symbol of safety and guidance, a landmark that had watched over countless sunrises just like this one.
As the town awoke, locals and visitors alike strolled along the harbor, taking in the serene beauty of the morning. Cups of tea and coffee were enjoyed in open-air cafes, accompanied by the soft chatter of conversation and the clinking of spoons against ceramic.
This English harbor at morning time was a place where the past and present merged seamlessly, where the rhythm of life was dictated by the ebb and flow of the sea. It was a picturesque start to the day, a peaceful moment in time, held in the embrace of the sea's timeless melody.
And for her, it symbolized a possible ending to all she had accomplished in this would-be haven. The salty tang of the sea hung in the air as Charlotte arrived at the bustling harbor, her eyes scanning the numerous fishing boats bobbing gently in their moorings. They shimmered like vibrant jewels amidst the ever-present ebb and flow of the tide. As she walked along the pier, she focused her attention on finding Simon among the lively throng of seafarers preparing for another day out on the open water.
Charlotte felt a flutter of nervous anticipation as she spotted him near his boat, the pride of his small fleet. He must have already completed his first sea run of the morning. His strong, rugged frame was bent over a pile of rope, his tanned hands expertly coiling the strands with practiced ease. Though he appeared wholly absorbed in the task, the moment she stepped closer, Simon looked up, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers with an intensity that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.
"Simon," she called out hesitantly, her voice barely audible above the cacophony of maritime activity and the raucous cries of seagulls that wheeled overhead. He straightened up slowly, wiping his hands on the sides of his worn jeans before stepping toward her with a warm, welcoming smile that belied the worry etched in the furrows of his brow.
"Charlotte, love," he greeted, his gaze never leaving hers as he closed the distance between them. "What brings you down to the harbor this morning?" He lowered his voice to an intimate whisper. “I was hoping you were able to sleep in this morning, angel.”
She hesitated for a moment, the words she needed to say caught in her throat like a fishhook in a gull's beak. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she tried to quell the sudden surge of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. In her mind, she rehearsed the conversation she needed to have with him, but now, standing in his presence, she found it harder than ever to give voice to her fears.
"Simon, I... I need to talk to you about something," she stammered, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her skirt. "It's important."
