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The flaky, buttery crust melted in her mouth, giving way to the delicate flavors of spinach, cheese, and garlic that danced on her tongue. It was divine, and she couldn't help but close her eyes in appreciation.
"Wow, Simon… that's incredible."
"Thank you," he replied, a hint of pride warming his voice. "I'm glad you like it. I bribed Sally down at the bakery an obscene amount to bake it fresh today."
“Wise, but not good at cooking?” she ventured.
"Oh, no. You want the tale of my first attempt at baking?" Simon asked, chuckling at the memory. "It was a complete disaster."
"Really?" Charlotte replied, eager to hear more about his past experiences. "What happened?"
"Well, let's just say that I may have mistaken salt for sugar, and the result was far from edible," he recounted, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
Simon handed her a second fork, and as they ate, Charlotte found herself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the moonlight played on his rugged features and the easy smile that graced his face as they talked. Her heart fluttered, and she felt the unfamiliar sensation of butterflies taking flight in her stomach.
As the picnic meal came to an end, Charlotte and Simon leaned back on the blanket, their fingers intertwined. Stolen glances were exchanged, each of them feeling a magnetic pull toward the other. But for a moment, Charlotte allowed herself to be enveloped by the comforting sounds of nature, and her thoughts turned inward.
"Charlotte?" Simon's voice broke through her reverie, concern etched across his face.
"Sorry," she murmured, offering him a small smile. "I was just thinking about my daughter, Amelia. She's still in New York at college. I miss her terribly."
"Is there any chance she might come visit you here?" Simon asked, his hand gently squeezing hers in reassurance.
"Perhaps," Charlotte mused, hopefulness lacing her words. Then, switching her thoughts to the present, she said, “I’m glad I’m sharing this evening with you, too, Simon. Would you—how about you come to The Crown tomorrow night? I’ll provide you dinner, my turn.”
She squeezed his hand gently, her heart swelling.
“I’d love that.”
He squeezed her hand back.
Could she allow herself to believe in the possibility of a brighter future? Amelia, coming here? A new love? A new home? Charlotte’s thoughts drifted to the potential challenges that lay ahead. Her divorce from Daniel was still ongoing, and she knew he wouldn't take kindly to her finding out about The Crown, let alone Simon.
But despite these worries, a part of her whispered that perhaps, just perhaps, everything would work out in the end…
CHAPTER TWO
The morning sun shone tenderly down upon The Crown Inn. Outside, the gentle breeze rustled those same old lace curtains in beckoning wave, inviting one to bask in the beauty of the day. It was as if the very essence of life itself had seeped into the air.
The English manor house, nestled in the rolling countryside, stood as a testament to timeless elegance and architectural grandeur. From the moment one beheld its imposing façade, it was clear that the manor was steeped in history and character—though that was buried under neglect.
Constructed in the classic Tudor style, the manor's exterior was a harmonious blend of red brickwork and exposed timber frames, creating a distinctive black-and-white pattern. The bricks, aged and weathered, had taken on a warm, russet hue, while the timber beams, darkened by time, added a sense of strength and durability to the structure.
The manor's roof, covered in slate tiles, displayed a beautiful array of gray shades that glistened subtly under the sunlight. Elegant chimneys, tall and slender, rose from the roofline, their intricate brickwork speaking of skilled craftsmanship. The chimneys stood like sentinels, each puff of smoke that emerged from them blending seamlessly into the sky above.
Grand, mullioned windows adorned the façade, their leaded glass panes reflecting the sprawling gardens and lush greenery that surrounded the manor. The windows were framed by stone mullions, weathered and softened by years of exposure to the elements, giving the house a sense of history and permanence.
The entrance to the manor was marked by a majestic oak door, its surface carved with intricate designs and the family crest. The door was flanked by stone columns, and a classical pediment crowned the entrance, adding to the stately appearance.
Around the manor, well-manicured lawns stretched out, a vibrant green against the backdrop of the house. Neatly trimmed hedges and flowerbeds bursting with color created a picturesque setting. The gardens were a blend of formal and informal elements, with gravel pathways leading through a variety of blooms and foliage, inviting leisurely strolls.
To one side of the manor, a traditional English garden complete with a fountain and sundial offered a tranquil retreat. The sound of water gently trickling in the fountain provided a soothing backdrop to the birdsong that filled the air. The rear of the manor opened up to a grand terrace, paved in stone and adorned with potted plants and elegant outdoor furniture. From here, one could enjoy breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside, the rolling hills dotted with trees and hedgerows.
As evening approached, the manor took on a different character. The setting sun cast a golden light upon the brickwork, making the manor glow warmly against the cooling air. The gardens were bathed in the soft light, creating long shadows that danced gracefully with the fading day.
The Crown Inn, with its blend of historical elegance and natural beauty, stood not just as a structure of bricks and mortar, but as a living piece of history, cherished and preserved through generations. And inside, as Charlotte walked through the house, her footsteps echoed in the empty rooms, a subtle reminder of her lone presence in this once-forgotten sanctuary. There were two dozen rooms she could use if all were set right. It would take a while, but The Crown could get there. Her eyes, filled with excitement and determination, scanned each room with a mixture of awe and wonderment. This was not just an old building—it was a canvas, waiting for her to pour her heart and soul into it, to transform it into something breathtaking.
In her mind's eye, she could already see the vibrant colors that would adorn the walls, the antique furnishings that would rest against them, and the laughter that would fill the halls. And behind it all—like a steady heartbeat driving her forward—was her own vison for this place; for what it represented, and what it could become.
