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She kept her tone light and friendly, not wanting to reveal her true suspicions in front of Simon. But internally, she vowed to stay alert. Isla was up to something, and Charlotte was determined to find out what. Charlotte studied Isla as she pulled up a chair and sat down.
"I'd love to join you both for a drink," Isla said cheerfully. She flagged down a waiter and ordered a glass of white wine.
Charlotte noticed how Isla's eyes darted between her and Simon, as if trying to assess their dynamic. Her questions seemed aimed at uncovering the depth of their relationship.
"So how did you two meet?" Isla asked with faux innocence.
Charlotte weighed her words carefully. "I'm new in town. I bought the Old Crown Inn."
Isla raised her eyebrows. "How lovely! And I imagine as a newcomer, you've gotten to know many of the locals." Her eyes flickered to Simon meaningfully.
Charlotte bristled at the implication but kept her tone even. "Yes, Simon's been very welcoming since I arrived."
"That's our Simon, always so friendly," Isla said with a tinkling laugh.
Simon seemed to choke—on air.
Charlotte nearly rolled her eyes. Did Isla think she was a fool? Her act may have worked on others, but Charlotte saw through the facade. She was determined not to let Isla get under her skin.
"Well, it's been so nice chatting with you both," Isla said after chugging her wine. "I'll let you get back to your evening."
Charlotte watched as Isla made her way across the restaurant, her unease growing. Though their conversation had been benign on the surface, everything from Isla's pointed questions to her overly friendly demeanor had set Charlotte on edge.
"How odd that she would play so fake, as though she didn't know who I was—I wonder why?" She turned back to Simon, who seemed shellshocked about the tension that had just played out. "That was...unexpected," Charlotte said, keeping her tone light despite her misgivings.
What was Isla after? Did she want Simon back? Or was she merely threatened by the idea of him moving on? Charlotte stared down at her half-eaten meal, appetite fading. They lapsed into silence.
"You've gotten quiet," Simon noted, his brow furrowing slightly.
"I'm just a bit distracted after...well, after our visitor."
Simon nodded, though Charlotte could tell he didn't fully grasp her unease. "I know Isla has a flair for drama," he said. "But try not to let it get to you. This is our night."
He smiled warmly, and Charlotte felt her anxiety loosen its grip slightly. She gave his hand a grateful squeeze. Whatever Isla's agenda, she wouldn't let it ruin this budding romance.
"You're right," she said, straightening up in her seat. "I won't give her power over this evening. Now, where were we?"
Though doubts still lingered in the shadowy corners of her mind, Charlotte resolved to push them aside. She wouldn't hand Isla the satisfaction of derailing this relationship before it could even begin.
Charlotte tried to refocus on her date with Simon, pushing aside her lingering concerns about Isla's sudden appearance. Sensing her shift in mood, Simon gently tilted Charlotte's chin up. "Stay with me tonight," he implored, his sea-blue eyes full of warmth.
Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. How she wanted to drown in those eyes, to be fully present in this moment with Simon.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm with you."
She pushed her worries aside and let herself get swept away by Simon's tide. This new beginning was too precious to lose to the undercurrents of the past.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"Good morning, Mr. Thompson," Charlotte greeted one of the guests, her voice a practiced melody of warm hospitality. She moved with purpose, the grace of an artist still evident in her gestures as she poured his coffee with steady hands. Despite the smile she offered, there was a tightness around her eyes that spoke volumes of the strain she felt.
"Thank you, Charlotte. Another lovely day at your inn," Mr. Thompson replied, oblivious to the silent battle being waged mere steps away from his breakfast table.
"Indeed it is," she said, her gaze drifting toward Isla, who sat poised and serene in the corner of the dining room. Charlotte's mind betrayed her composure, thoughts racing like brushstrokes on a chaotic canvas.
How does she manage to appear so collected? Charlotte's grip on the coffee pot tightened just enough for her knuckles to blanch.
"May I have some more tea, please?" Isla's request cut through the hum of the inn, her tone courteous yet distant. The words seemed to hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in the veneer of civility.
