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"Goodnight, Charlotte," Simon murmured, releasing her shoulder and stepping back.
"Goodnight, Simon," she replied, watching as he turned and walked away, his broad silhouette melding with the shadows.
As Charlotte entered the inn, she clung to the seeds of hope that had taken root, unsure if they might nurture them into something beautiful and lasting, or if Simon might just turn out to be a nice memory one day, like the picture. For now, one step at a time would be enough.
Once inside her cozy room, Charlotte closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her heart still racing from the events of the evening. She could still feel the cool night air on her cheeks and the faint echo of Simon's laughter in her ears from their time at The Lobster. Images from their conversation at the pub danced through her mind – the way Simon's face had lit up when talking about his fishing adventures and how they had shared stories of their childhoods.
And, of course, she couldn't help but cringe as she remembered leaning in for the kiss, her eyes closing in anticipation only to be met with Simon's evasion. "I can't believe I did that," she muttered, shaking her head.
Thoughts of Daniel suddenly weighed heavily on her heart, and guilt tangled itself around her like the ivy on The Crown.
"He’s barely left me, and I'm trying to kiss another man,” she scolded herself, shaking her head as if it could dispel the unease that clung to her. She paced the small space of her room. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, echoing her inner turmoil.
When she finally slipped under the covers, her mind inevitably drifted to her old life in America. The thought of Daniel and the life she had left behind brought a twinge of anxiety. Was he wondering where she was? Did he even care? Charlotte knew she was on the right path, but the shadow of her old life still loomed large in her mind, casting a pall over her newfound happiness.
She tossed and turned, her thoughts a whirlwind of what-ifs and maybes. She wondered if Daniel was regretting his actions, if he missed her, or if he was moving on without a second thought. A part of her still ached for closure, for some kind of understanding as to why things had fallen apart so completely.
Yet, amid the swirl of emotions and memories, Charlotte found herself smiling at the thought of Simon. There was a simplicity and sincerity about him that was refreshingly different from her life with Daniel. He had shown genuine interest in her dreams, and their conversation had flowed effortlessly, so different from the strained interactions she'd had with her ex-husband in their final months together.
Charlotte knew she was in a liminal space, caught between her past and her future. The journey ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, she felt hopeful about what was to come. The pain and confusion of her old life were still there, but so was the excitement and potential of her new one. Charlotte clung to the feeling of happiness that her evening with Simon had brought.
For now, she allowed herself the comfort of this small joy, and she drifted into a restless sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Charlotte's eyes fluttered open, her mind still swimming in the foggy depths of sleep. She fumbled for her phone on the bedside table, squinting at the glaring screen. The time blinked back at her: 10:15 a.m. A gasp escaped her lips as she realized how late it was. Usually an early riser, Charlotte felt a wave of disorientation wash over her. She rubbed her temples, trying to shake off the grogginess that clung to her like damp cobwebs.
The room, however, offered a balm against the unwelcome chaos of waking up late. A soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting warm golden hues onto the walls and furniture around her. The plush duvet was weighted over her body, so warm and snuggly that it made parting with it seem like a daunting task. The scent of aged wood and lavender wafted through the air, transporting her to a simpler time.
With a deep breath, Charlotte braced herself to face the day. Despite the rocky start, she felt a sense of peace and belonging within these walls. Just as Charlotte swung her feet over the edge of the bed, a gentle knock on the door heralded Marge's entrance. The older woman appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray laden with a steaming teapot and a plate piled high with golden British biscuits. Her silver hair was swept back into an elegant bun, and her eyes twinkled with motherly warmth.
"Good morning, dear," Marge said, her voice soft and soothing. "I thought you could use a little pick-me-up after your late night." She winked, and Charlotte had the mortifying thought that Marge might have witnessed her near-kiss with Simon.
The aroma of the tea filled the room, mingling with the scent of the freshly baked biscuits. It was an intoxicating blend of bergamot and butter.
"Thank you, Marge," Charlotte said, her heart swelling with gratitude. She hadn't expected such a thoughtful gesture, but it was precisely the kind of care that made The Crown Inn feel like a home away from home.
Marge set the tray down on the bedside table and poured a cup of tea for Charlotte. As she did so, the steam curled up around her face, accentuating the lines etched by time. She handed the cup to Charlotte, who cradled it in her hands, allowing the heat to seep into her fingers.
"Nothing quite like a good cuppa to chase away the morning grogginess," Marge said with a knowing smile. Her gaze lingered on the window, where the sunlight continued to dance across the room.
"Yes, ma’am," Charlotte agreed, taking a tentative sip of the hot liquid. As the tea warmed her insides, she found herself more alert, her thoughts beginning to clear. "This is simply divine, Marge. You must tell me what blend it is."
Marge chuckled softly, a hint of pride in her eyes. "It's my own little secret, dear. But perhaps I'll share it with you before you leave."
"Your secret would be safe with me," Charlotte promised, her curiosity piqued.
As Marge perched on the edge of a nearby armchair with her own tea, the two women sipped their tea in companionable silence. The biscuits were golden and slightly crumbly, their edges tinged with the perfect shade of brown. The faintest hint of sweetness wafted through the air.
"Your biscuits look divine," Charlotte remarked, admiring the artistry and care that had gone into their creation. Charlotte reached for a biscuit. The delicate crumbliness combined with the subtle sweetness created a perfect harmony of flavors, transporting her to a moment of pure bliss.
Marge's face lit up with pride, her chest puffing out ever so slightly. "Thank you, dear. It's an old family recipe passed down through generations," she admitted, the corners of her mouth turning upwards in a contented smile. “Just like this place. My parents left it to me when they passed away, and I've been running it ever since. It's more than just a business to me – it's a part of my family."
As she spoke, Charlotte noticed the way Marge's eyes misted over with emotion.
"Sometimes I worry if I'm doing enough, or if I'm honoring my parents' legacy properly," Marge admitted, looking down at her hands wrapped around her teacup. "But then I get bouts like this – sharing tea and biscuits with someone who appreciates the simple beauty of it all – to remind me that I must be doing something right."
Charlotte reached out to gently touch Marge's arm in reassurance. "The love you have for this place is evident ineverydetail. Your parents would be proud. I’m surprised you’re not overrun with guests."
