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They stood and walked back out into thekitchen and dining area. Charlotte ran her hand along the antique mantelpiece."After everything that happened with Daniel, I felt so lost and unsure ofmyself. But finding this inn, taking a leap of faith and moving here...it gaveme purpose again."
Roxanne nodded understandingly, thoughCharlotte didn’t miss the sad, momentary glint in her eyes.
What’s truly going on there?
"I know how hard the divorce wason you. But look at how far you've come. You know I never liked Daniel, but Iwas happy if you were happy—now, look at you! You’re truly happy. And I can getbehind that full-force."
Charlotte's eyes misted over. Then,wiping at the tears, she clapped excitedly. “Oh! I almost forgot to show youone last think. How do you feel about cellars? And then, maybe a trip intoChesham Cove?”
Roxanne grimaced. “Town sounds nice,but cellars? Uh—well, when in England. Lead the way!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Charlotte and Roxanne strolled down thecobbled lanes of Chesham Cove, the sea breeze tousling their hair. Charlottebreathed deeply, filling her lungs with the briny air. After so many yearslived in the cluttered confines of New York, the quaint English village alwaysfelt like a tonic.
"Oh, look, a cafe!" Roxannesaid, pointing to a tiny shop tucked between two ivy-covered buildings. Awooden sign over the blue door read 'Jenkins' Cafe' in looping script.
Charlotte peered through the window atthe locals chatting over steaming mugs and plates of food. "Oh, yes. Greatlocal lunch specials there. Shall we stop for a bite?"
"I'm famished after that longwalk," Roxanne said, already reaching for the door.
A bell jingled overhead as they enteredthe cozy space. Charlotte noted the dark wood beams crisscrossing the ceilingand the framed watercolor paintings decorating the walls. Sunlight streamedthrough the paned windows, warming the scuffed hardwood floors.
Roxanne sidled up to the counter andordered fish and chips. Charlotte requested a ploughman's lunch. As theycarried their meals to a small table by the window, Charlotte overheardsnippets of conversation around them - a woman asking after a neighbor's newbaby, a man discussing the previous night's football match.
Charlotte smiled as she bit into hercrusty bread and sharp cheddar. After the impersonal crowds of New York, shehad quickly come to love the simple pleasure of a meal among friendly chatter.
Roxanne grinned at her over the top ofher teacup. "I can see why you love it here. So provincial."
Charlotte nodded, feeling a sense ofpeace settle over her. But Charlotte's contentment was short-lived as Roxanne'sface suddenly soured after her first bite of fish.
"Ugh, this is dreadful!"Roxanne exclaimed, loudly enough to turn a few heads at nearby tables. Shepoked at the fish with her fork. "It's soggy and flavorless."
Charlotte tensed, noticing the otherpatrons glancing over with frowns.
"Roxanne, please..." shewhispered, leaning in close. "We're guests here. Let's not cause ascene."
But Roxanne waved her handdismissively, raising her voice again. "I mean, really, how hard is it tofry up a decent piece of fish?"
Charlotte cringed, watching an oldercouple shoot disapproving looks their way. This was typical of her brash oldersister, never worrying about propriety—but this was not New York.
"Roxanne, lower your voice,"Charlotte urged under her breath. "These people value harmony andpoliteness. Your outburst is rather...uncalled for."
Roxanne just rolled her eyes. "Ohplease, I'm just giving my opinion. No need to get your knickers in atwist." She prodded the fish again and pursed her lips. "If you caneven call this sad excuse for a filet 'fish.'"
Charlotte sighed, stirring her teaawkwardly as Roxanne continued her tirade. So much for a peaceful lunch in herbeloved village. Some things never changed, even amid the charming streets ofChesham Cove.
With an air of calm grace, a kindlyolder woman approached their table, her graying hair pulled back in a neat bun.
"Is everything to your liking,dears?" she asked pleasantly, her eyes crinkling with warmth.
Charlotte recognized her as Mrs.Jenkins, the owner of the cozy seaside cafe. She opened her mouth to assure thewoman that all was well, but Roxanne beat her to it.
"I'm afraid not," Roxannedeclared, gesturing to her plate with a frown. "The fish is dreadful, justdreadful. Bland, soggy, and flavorless. I'm quite disappointed."
Mrs. Jenkins' eyebrows raised slightly,but her smile didn't falter. "I do apologize for that, miss. Our fish isusually quite fresh, brought in daily from the docks. Perhaps I could bring yousomething else instead?"
Roxanne waved dismissively and pushedher plate away. "Oh, don't bother yourself. I'm afraid nothing could savethis meal." She wrinkled her nose at the offending filet.
