Page 3 of A New Home

"Seriously though, Mom, these scones are incredible," Amelia continued, pausing to take a bite. Her eyes closed in appreciation, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

"Maybe we can add them to our 'Things New York Could Learn from Chesham Cove' list," Charlotte suggested, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile.

"Right after 'How to Properly Queue'," Amelia quipped, and they both broke into laughter, the sound filling the space between them.

Charlotte leaned back in her dining chair, watching Amelia with a fondness that ached sweetly in her chest. When Amelia laughed, she looked so much like her father—and Charlotte was at once both troubled and sweetly nostalgic at the thought of her ex-husband, Daniel. They’d finally settled their divorce after he’d shown up here in England to make a poorly contrived bid to win her back—as though the split had been her idea! But nothing had changed, and the thought of going back to the emotional prison of her old life had been anathema to Charlotte. So, papers signed, Daniel sent packing back to New York, here she was—free.

The Crown this morning was a place where the weight of change felt a little less heavy. Despite the divorce, Charlotte felt she could still appreciate what she’d had without harboring regrets. After all, her marriage had given her Amelia.

"Your laughter is the best sound this old inn has heard in years," Charlotte remarked, her voice threaded with sincerity.

"Only because I get it from you," Amelia replied, reaching across the table to give her mother's hand a gentle squeeze.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts, the serenity of The Crown wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Charlotte pondered the journey that had led them here to this unexpected chapter of their lives. It was a time for healing, not just for the inn with its newly adorned walls and rejuvenated gardens, but for her own bruised heart.

"Remember when you insisted on eating breakfast for a whole month wearing your princess tiara?" Charlotte mused, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she sipped her tea. The memory was vivid, a picture painted in the hues of yesteryear, where their dining room had been a kingdom for weeks.

Amelia chuckled, setting down her scone. "And you played along, donning that ridiculous jester hat. Dad almost spit out his coffee when he saw us."

Charlotte's smile faltered for a moment, the second thought of Daniel a ghost passing through the conversation. But she quickly recovered. Appreciate. Don’t regret.

"You've grown up so much since then." Her voice was soft.

"Seems like a lifetime ago," Amelia said, reaching again for her mother's hand, an anchor of warmth.

"Maybe a few,” Charlotte agreed, squeezing back. She traced a finger along the rim of her porcelain teacup, the delicate China pattern echoing the intricate latticework of her thoughts. The inn's dining area, with its warm wooden floors and the scent of fresh scones wafting through the air, seemed an intimate stage for confessions.

"Amelia," Charlotte began, her voice hesitant as she set down her cup with a soft clink. "I've been thinking..."

"About?" Amelia prompted, her smile fading into a look of attentive concern.

"Us," Charlotte admitted, feeling the weight of vulnerability tighten around her chest. "Our relationship... Now that you’re grown, it's changing, evolving. But I don’t want to lose what we have." She picked at the frayed edge of the tablecloth, avoiding her daughter's steady gaze.

Amelia smiled softly. "Mom, we're not losing anything. We're just adding more layers to it, like this inn." Her thumb gently stroked Charlotte's knuckles. "You're creating something beautiful here, something lasting. Our relationship is the same. It's growing, adapting."

"I know," Charlotte sighed, the warmth from Amelia's touch seeping into her bones. "But the fear is still there. You're growing up, finding your own path, and I'm..." She paused, searching for the words. "I'm rediscovering who I am too. I don't want us to drift apart in the process. Your father and I—he said that we had grown apart, and I just—"

"Hey," Amelia said softly, squeezing her mother's hand a little tighter. "We're in this together, remember? Nothing could pull us apart—only bring us closer in ways we don’t expect. I'm grateful for this chance to be friends, not just mother and daughter."

Charlotte met Amelia's earnest eyes, and in them, she saw a reflection of her own resolve. "Friends..." She let the word roll around her tongue, tasting its sweet potential.

"Exactly," Amelia affirmed, releasing Charlotte's hand to gesture expansively around the room. "And friends make new memories, right? So let’s make some."

A smile tugged at the corners of Charlotte's lips as she absorbed Amelia's words.

Amelia's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "This is my first time in Chesham Cove, after all. We should explore every nook and cranny."

"Starting with the local shops?" Charlotte proposed, already picturing the antique stores and boutiques lining the cobbled streets.

"Then a walk on the beach?" Amelia leaned forward, the seaside luring her with its eternal call. "I can't get enough of the sand between my toes. The beach here is nothing like in New York."

"Sounds perfect," Charlotte affirmed, her heart swelling at the thought of spending the day alongside her daughter.

They rose from the table, the chairs scraping softly against the wooden floor, their movements harmonized in a shared rhythm. As they gathered their belongings, Charlotte tucked away the tendrils of nostalgia—and any pangs of pain—letting the anticipation of the day's adventures wash over her.

"Let's not forget to take a look at the bookshop by the pier," Charlotte reminded, as they made their way toward the door. "They have a wonderful selection of poetry."

"Maybe I'll find something for the plane ride home," Amelia said, opening the door for her mother. They stepped out onto the porch, greeted by the salty tang of sea air mingling with the earthy scent of the nearby trees.

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