Page 9 of A New Chance

"Charlotte, dear," the older woman replied gently, setting the tray on a nearby table. "There's no denying that this place needs work, but I've seen the fire in your eyes when you talk about restoring it. It's not a mistake if it's something you're passionate about. I wouldn’t have trusted the house to anyone I didn’t think would love it as I did—as I do."

Charlotte leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Is that what you came all the way from the other side of town for? To bring me cookies and a pep talk?”

“Oh, well, tut. The cookies are a bonus. I came to get some cookware I left in the attic. You don’t mind?” Marge smiled sheepishly.

“Marge, this was, is, and will always be your home. Come, go, raid the attic as you please.” Charlotte waved her friend away good-naturedly.

“I’ll let myself out afterward.” Marge patted Charlotte’s cheek and scurried out of the kitchen.

Charlotte smiled after her, and then looked at her phone. She had time to try one more minor fix before she needed to start dinner. Charlotte chose a section of cracked plaster near the kitchen window. She grabbed her putty knife and the small bucket of plaster that George had sold her, rolling up her sleeves and getting to work. As she spread the creamy mixture over the wall, she found herself lost in the rhythmic motion, her earlier frustration momentarily dissipating.

But it wasn't long before things took a turn for the worse. The more plaster she applied, the more cracks seemed to appear, snaking up the wall, like a spider web of imperfections threatening to consume the entire side of the kitchen. Charlotte's heart raced as panic bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to break free.

Taking a step back, she assessed the situation. A new, large crack on the wall stared back at her mockingly, daring her to come up with a plan to fix the mishap. Her fingers tightened around the putty knife, knuckles turning white as she stared at the wall before her. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Then, instead of worrying about fixing the wall, she decided to enhance the cracks. Slowly, she began to chip away at the crumbling plaster, getting down to good plaster, trying to salvage what she could. With every swipe, she felt more sure of her plan.

Once the bad plaster was cleared away, she began to carve shallower grooves off of the main branches of the big cracks. It took about an hour before she was happy with the outcome, but when she stood back to appraise her work, she allowed herself to feel a small measure of pride. It was perfect—or it would be.

Excited by the potential of her new vision, Charlotte hurried to retrieve her oil paints and brushes. The cracks in the plaster, once a source of frustration, now seemed like an opportunity to create something unique and beautiful. Returning to the kitchen, Charlotte carefully selected her colors, choosing a palette that would complement the room yet stand out enough to make the wall a focal point.

She started by painting the deeper cracks with darker shades, giving them depth and dimension. Gradually, she built up layers of color, blending and shading to create a sense of movement and life within the divots. As she worked, Charlotte let her imagination guide her. The mural began to take on a life of its own, growing organically from the wall's imperfections. She painted delicate vines and flowers, weaving them through the cracks, as if nature itself was reclaiming the space. In some places, she added small, whimsical creatures peeking out from the crevices, their eyes sparkling with mischief.

Another hour slipped by unnoticed as Charlotte became completely absorbed in her art. The sun began to set, casting a warm, golden light through the kitchen window, illuminating her work and making the colors glow. She stepped back again to take in the scene, a sense of satisfaction washing over her.

The new mural was more than just a cover-up for the cracks. She had taken something flawed and turned it into a work of art, a reminder that there was beauty in imperfection, and strength in overcoming challenges.

As she cleaned her brushes and put away her paints, Charlotte felt a renewed sense of peace. This house, with all its quirks and challenges, was her new beginning. And she was ready to make it a masterpiece, one brushstroke at a time. Her watch dinged a reminder—Simon would be here in a few hours, and it was time to start dinner.

In the cozy warmth of The Crown Inn's kitchen, under the new mural, she set to work. With meticulous care, she washed and peeled the vegetables, her fingers moving deftly, betraying no hint of her usual outside-of-art clumsiness. She chopped and diced with a level of confidence she didn't know she possessed, taking pleasure in the simple act of preparing the ingredients.

"It's like creating a painting," Charlotte thought, as she stirred the pot on the stove. "Each ingredient is a color, each technique a brushstroke."

As the meal came together, the kitchen filled with an array of mouthwatering aromas. The rich scent of simmering meat mingled with the earthy fragrance of the herbs, enveloping Charlotte in a warm embrace. It felt like more than just a meal; it was her way of thanking him for the support he'd given her. It might not be an elaborate feast, but it she hoped it would impress her knight in shining armor.

As id on cue, just as she was returning the lid to the simmering pot for the final time, the doorbell rang. With a final glance around the kitchen, Charlotte wiped her hands on her apron and prepared to present her creation, eager to see the look on Simon's face when he tasted the fruits of her labor.

CHAPTER SIX

"Charlotte, this is absolutely delicious," Simon said, taking another bite of the tender meat and vegetables as his eyes twinkled with appreciation.

"Thank you," she replied, her cheeks flushing with pride at his praise. "I wanted to make something authentically British for you. "

The flickering glow of candles illuminated The Crown Inn's dining room, casting a warm and intimate light on the table where Charlotte and Simon sat. The aroma of the meal she had carefully prepared still lingered in the air, weaving a tapestry of scents that seemed to add to the homey vibe.

“Well, Beef and Ale tops my little picnic, that’s for sure,” he said. “Do you mind if I have seconds?”

“Not at all! I’d be thrilled,” she said, grinning. “I’ll join you for another bowl.”

But then, her phone began to vibrate on the table, shattering the spellbound atmosphere. Glancing down, she saw Daniel's name flashing across the screen, an unwanted intrusion into their cozy world. Her chest tightened, caught between the desire to maintain the easygoing romantic atmosphere she shared with Simon, and her lingering sense of obligation toward her soon-to-be-ex-husband.

"Is everything all right?" Simon asked concern etched onto his handsome features as he stood from the table and gathered his bowl.

"Y-yes," she stammered, trying to quell the turmoil brewing inside her. "It's just Daniel calling. Um—I'm sure it's nothing urgent."

"Would you like to take the call?" Simon offered. “It’s no trouble.”

"No," Charlotte decided, silencing the insistent buzzing of the phone. "I want to focus on what's happening right here, right now, with you."

Simon reached across the table, placing his hand over hers in a tender grip that sent shivers down her spine.

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