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Charlotte laughed, sipping her wine. "Well, there's not much to tell yet. I'm still figuring things out. I guess you could say I’m on an artist’s retreat."
Their conversation flowed effortlessly from there, touching on topics from their favorite books—inspired by Charlotte’s description of Marge’s library—and travel experiences to the quirky histories of the town's landmarks. Simon's knowledge of literature and his love for the town were evident in every word he spoke, and Charlotte found herself completely engrossed.
As the evening wore on, the pub's crowd thinned out, leaving a more intimate setting. The bartender began to dim the lights, casting a cozy glow over the remaining patrons.
"You know," Simon said, his voice low and warm, "I have a feeling you're going to fit right in here."
Charlotte felt a warmth spread through her at his words. There was something comforting about Simon's presence, something that made her feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be. And although Charlotte's heart still ached for Daniel, she couldn't deny that Simon's presence had ignited a spark within her - one she hadn't felt in years.
"I hope so," she replied, her smile reflecting the optimism that cautiously bubbled inside her. "Chesham Cove is a beautiful place. I can see why people are drawn to it."
Simon chuckled. "Yes, it has a certain charm to it. The weather can be a bit temperamental, though."
"Kind of like an artist's temperament?" she asked with a playful grin.
"Exactly," he agreed, his laughter mingling with hers.
When the bartender approached their table to take their next drink orders, Simon ordered an English bitters
"English bitters?" Charlotte echoed, curiosity evident in her tone. "I've never had one before. Truth be told, I don't know much about beer."
"Really?" Simon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Well, if you're interested, I could give you a little lesson in British beers."
"Maybe another time," she demurred, feeling slightly out of her depth when it came to the world of ales and lagers. For now, she was content to stick with what she knew. Good old red wine.
"Fair enough," Simon conceded, taking a sip of his beer when it arrived. "But you really should try this just once. It's a quintessential British experience."
Charlotte hesitated, her fingers drumming lightly against the stem of her wine glass. She glanced down at her own drink, then back up at Simon's inviting gaze. There was something about Simon, with his rugged charm and easygoing nature, that made her want to step out of her comfort zone.
"Alright," she finally acquiesced, reaching for the glass of bitters. "Here goes nothing."
"Cheers," Simon responded with a grin, watching as Charlotte lifted the glass to her lips. His eyes twinkled, anticipating her reaction to the unfamiliar taste.
The moment the liquid touched her tongue, Charlotte's face scrunched up involuntarily in distaste, a shudder rippling through her body. Her hand instinctively pulled away from her mouth, leaving the glass hovering uncertainly in midair. Simon caught the glass and returned it to the table. The bitterness had been so much more potent than she'd expected, catching her off guard.
"Wow," she managed, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "That's… that's quite something."
"Too strong for your taste?" Simon asked, struggling to suppress a chuckle.
"Maybe just a little," Charlotte admitted, her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and amusement. She took a steadying sip of her wine to wash away the lingering bitterness.
"Ah well," Simon said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth. "I suppose it's not for everyone. But I'm glad you gave it a go – that's what life's all about, isn't it? Trying new things, even if they don't always turn out as planned."
Charlotte smiled in return. As she looked into Simon's understanding eyes, it was exactly what she needed in this moment – someone who could challenge her to take risks, but also be there to catch her when she fell. She realized, with a jolt, that she had never felt that with Daniel. She had always felt that she was the one who had to be there to offer the soft place to land, and he had been out in the world, taking all the risks—only to pull away from her for staying in the place he’d put her.
Still grinning, Charlotte turned her attention to the menu. "I think I'll stick to what I know," she decided, flagging down the passing bartender. "Could I please have one last glass of your house red?"
"Of course, miss," he said, giving her a polite nod before disappearing back into the throng of patrons. Even though he seemed a bit harried, Charlotte appreciated his friendly smile and attentive service.
Soon enough, the bartender returned with her glass of red wine. It wasn't the most exceptional wine she'd ever had, but it felt comforting, like an old friend.
"Much better," she sighed, looking up at Simon with a contented smile. "And much more familiar."
Simon raised his glass in a toast. "To finding comfort in the familiar, even when we're far from home," he said, his eyes warm and inviting.
The sound of boisterous laughter drew their attention to the group of fishermen from earlier. They were huddled together at their same table, casting conspiratorial glances toward Charlotte and Simon. One of them, a burly man with a bushy beard, raised his glass and whistled, calling out good-naturedly, "Oi, Simon! Looks like you've caught yourself a fine catch there!"
“Do you take them with you everywhere you go?” she asked dryly.
