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A flicker of concern crossed his handsome features as he regarded her solemnly. "Of course, Charlotte. You know you can tell me anything." And as he reached out to gently touch her arm, offering both comfort and encouragement, she realized that perhaps, for the first time since leaving her life in New York behind, she truly could.
"It's about... it's about Daniel."
"Daniel?" Simon furrowed his brow, his attention fully focused on her now. "What happened? Has he done something?"
"No, not exactly," Charlotte replied, taking a deep breath as she prepared to bare her soul. "But I think... I think we should talk about it. About what happened between you and me last night – and where we go from here."
Simon's eyes, the color of the sea on a stormy day, bore into Charlotte's as he studied her expression. He reached out to take her hand in his, offering both comfort and reassurance through his touch. "Charlotte, whatever it is, we can face it together."
The warmth of his calloused hand enveloped hers, providing a sense of safety that grounded her amidst the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume her. With newfound courage, Charlotte pressed on, determined to share her truth with the man who had captured her heart.
"Before I came here to Chesham, I... well, things were difficult back in New York," she began, her voice quavering but resolute. "I was lost, and I didn't know who I was or where I belonged. But coming here, meeting you... it's brought clarity to my life. It's helped me discover parts of myself I never knew existed."
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she looked into Simon's face. Perhaps they were, however, new, strong enough to weather any storm – even one brought on by the ghosts of her past.
"Daniel... he came here. To Chesham Cove."
A flicker of surprise crossed Simon's features, but he remained silent, allowing her to continue.
"We had a bit of a spat," she elaborated, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she recalled the conversation with Daniel. "He wanted to meet, to sign the divorce papers and talk about we would handle things moving forward."
Charlotte paused, swallowing hard, as she tried to put into words the confusion and vulnerability that had been gnawing at her since Daniel's visit. Her gaze momentarily drifted to the waves lapping against the shore, finding solace in their rhythmic dance before returning to Simon's compassionate eyes. “I stood him up yesterday for dinner, to stay with you. I—it’s what I wanted. What I chose. Well, he came to The Crown this morning, livid. He says I have to meet him at his hotel tonight, or he won't sign. There's something off about the whole thing, like he has a hidden agenda. But I couldn't hide it from you. Not after last night."
"Sweetheart," Simon finally said, his voice steady and warm. "Thank you for telling me. But please, remember that whatever happens with Daniel, it doesn't change what we have.”
“If I don’t go, if he holds those papers over my head even though he’s the one who left me, I’ll never get free. I’ll have to fight for it.”
Simon’s gaze never left hers. "Even though my situation with my wife is different, I understand your fears. We've been separated for years, but we both knew it was over long before that. There's no unresolved pain or confusion between us. Daniel sounds like he doesn’t even know what he wants."
Charlotte's heart skipped a beat. "Separated? You mean you're not... divorced?" The reality of the situation started to sink in, and a cold wave of anxiety washed over her. Simon hadn’t said this before. Her throat went dry.
Simon seemed unfazed. "Not officially, no. But it's been over for a long time. We're just two people who've moved on with our lives. There's no chance of reconciling. The legalities are just formalities at this point."
"But that's not the same, Simon," Charlotte protested, her voice trembling slightly. "Being separated and being divorced are two different things. There's still a tie there, a legal tie. And what, I’m supposed to stay caught in the middle of it?”
Simon reached for her hand, trying to reassure her. "Charlotte, listen to me. What I feel for you, what we have, it's real and it's now. My past with my wife, that's just a chapter that's closed. You have nothing to feel threatened about. I mean, bloody hell, Charlotte, you’re not divorced yourself!"
Despite his words, Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The revelation added a layer of complexity and doubt to their relationship that she hadn't anticipated.
“You’re right. I—I have to go back to The Crown. I’ll let you know what happens at dinner tonight.”
With that, she spun on her heel and practically fled the pier. She needed time to process it all, to figure out where she stood in this tangled web of past and present.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Charlotte stood in another guest bathroom of The Old Crown Inn, her hands gripping a wrench as she wrestled with yet another stubborn pipe. Water sprayed like a fountain, pooling around her boots. She grunted with effort, her frustration mounting as each twist seemed to make the leak worse.
"Come on, you blasted thing!" she muttered, gritting her teeth. What had started as some stress relief DIY was quickly going south.
Just then, her phone began to ring, buzzing loudly on the windowsill. Glancing at the screen, Charlotte saw Daniel's name flash before her eyes. Her grip tightened on the wrench, anger flaring up inside her.
"Really, Daniel? Now?" she hissed under her breath. She ignored it, focusing her attention back on the leaky pipe. She had agreed to meet him. She hadn’t agreed to chat with him leading up to their “date” like they were still together.
As the water continued to spray, soaking her clothes and turning her once-dry hair into a sodden mess, Charlotte couldn't help but feel a sense of inadequacy creeping in. It was as though every renovation mishap only served to remind her of how little she knew about running an inn – or life in Chesham Cove, for that matter. She had certainly not known everything about Simon and his situation.
Determined not to dwell on her insecurities, Charlotte finally managed to tighten the pipe, cutting off the torrent of water. She sighed, relief washing over her as she assessed the damage. With any luck, she could salvage what was left of the floor and walls, even if it meant working long into the night. The way her bank account looked right now—the dwindling bit of money that she had managed to leave New York with, the nest egg that Daniel had sneered at—she wouldn’t be able to afford any of the quotes she had gotten for extra help with the house. Not unless something drastic happened.
As she stepped out of the bathroom, trying to shake off the excess water that clung to her clothes, Charlotte heard the faint sound of her phone ringing inside. She must have forgotten it on the counter.
