Page 14 of The Love Leap

“Hello there, adorable cottage,” I murmur to the old building, a reluctant grin tugging at my lips despite the day’s chaos. The key is tucked under a potted plant and seems just as surprised by my arrival as I am by its existence; it twists easily in the lock with a satisfying click.

Crossing the threshold feels like stepping into a different epoch; history permeates the air, mingling with the briny aroma of the sea. It smells like new beginnings.

I yank off my poncho, ditch my boots at the door, and let my toes sink into the plush welcome mat. Myluggage thuds on the floor behind me, and I’m drawn deeper inside by the enticing scent of antique wood and something vaguely floral.

The entranceway opens to a living room that could only be described as magical. A massive stone fireplace claims one wall, its sturdy wooden mantel decorated with dried white Heather, shells, sand dollars, and tiny mementos that hint at years of treasured memories.

Above me, timber beams stretch across the ceiling in a rustic display of architectural allure. I make a quick tour, discovering a washer and dryer behind a closet and a small bathroom with a shower off the living room.

Next up is the kitchen. It’s tinier than what I’m used to, but bursting with personality. The statement piece in this room is the black woodstove—it’s sleek and modern yet still exudes a vintage charm. It stands tall next to a hefty wooden table that seems designed for hearty meals shared over laughter and seafaring tales.

The walls are adorned with open shelves showcasing rows of mismatched china plates and teacups, each piece narrating its own silent story. Vintage copper pots dangle from hooks above the kitchen stove, their surfaces glistening under the warm glow of overhead lights.

A quick scan upstairs unveils a cozy alcove filled withbookshelves carved directly into the cottage’s stone walls—an unexpected library brimming with volumes from classic literature to local Scottish folklore. The sight makes my heart do the cha-cha in my chest. This place knows exactly how to make a writer feel right at home.

I discover the main bathroom tucked away between a pair of bedrooms upstairs. It’s a simple white room, but it’s been transformed into a sanctuary of calm.

Ah, just as I’d hoped! A claw-foot tub reigns supreme in the middle of the space, its gleaming white enamel surface striking against the worn wooden floors. A round window hangs above it, just big enough to let in a beam of natural light that I imagine pirouettes on the bath water’s surface, making the entire room glimmer like some concealed gem.

The decor is unmistakably Highland. There are tartan throws draped over armchairs, miniature stag heads mounted on walls, and vintage maps showcasing Scotland’s craggy landscape. The sight is so distinctly Scottish that I’m instantly flooded with images of warriors in kilts and haunting bagpipe tunes.

Every corner and crevice tells a tale about this place’s history and charm. From the weathered wooden floorboards under my feet to the cherished black-and-white family portraits gracing the walls,everything appears touched by some magical spell that has frozen time.

My fingers dance along surfaces, tracing patterns on embroidered cushions, savoring the cool smoothness of ceramic teacups, and appreciating the rough texture of hand-carved wooden furniture. The allure of Rosewood Cottage is irresistible. It envelops me in a warmth that feels like the world’s most soothing hug. I’m head over heels for it. Yes, it’s small, but within its snug walls, I see infinite opportunities for comfort and inspiration.

Sauntering into the primary bedroom suite, I can’t help but notice how the roofline dips, almost as if it’s curtsying in my honor—or perhaps it’s just gearing up to play a prank. Because, of course, when I get too comfortable lounging on the trunk at the foot of the bed and stand up too quickly, it decides to have a tête-à-tête with my skull.

“Seriously?” I chastise my reflection in the full-length mirror while cautiously probing the fresh goose egg forming on my forehead. Spinning around, I collapse onto the bed, conveniently forgetting about our sloping adversary overhead. Our second introduction is significantly less charming than our first one.

I dial Lila’s number, squinting one eye shut to focus on the screen. “Hey,” I greet her when she picks up.

“Hi babe,” Lila’s voice filters through the phone, soft like a warm hug. “Feeling better?”

“Well,” I begin, wincing as my fingers brush against the tender spot on my forehead. “I’ve moved into this charming cottage, but I’ve had a bit of an altercation with a particularly stubborn old ceiling.”

Lila chuckles sympathetically from the other end of the line. “Oh, Mills! Always finding new ways to bump your head! Let me guess...you were wearing those ridiculous platform boots again?”

I glance down at my bare feet, numb from the cold wooden floorboards. Combat boots may be a staple in my wardrobe, but I know they’re not ideal for navigating low ceilings in ancient cottages.

“Absolutely not. I was sporting stylish wedges, but they met their demise when a cow pursued me in the rain,” I confess sheepishly.

“You’re lucky you got away unscathed!” She snorts.

“Well…I’m concerned that I might have suffered a concussion,” I admit, gnawing nervously on my lower lip.

A pause follows before Lila breaks it, her voice tinged with mock seriousness:

“Are you seeing stars? Is there an animated bird chirping above your head? Are you picturing Shitty McLiar standing in traffic in his tightie whities?”

At the thought of Brady, my heart clenches painfully, and I fall silent.

“I swear, Mills, I’m making a voodoo doll of that jerk as we speak!” she vows fiercely. A playful note in her voice tugs a reluctant chuckle from me despite the sting of the whole Brady situation.

“Or perhaps,” she adds. “I’ll expose him on social media until he wishes he was hiding in some desolate cabin in northern Canada.”

“Just let it go. But thanks, Lil,” I manage with a sigh. “I needed this.”

“It’s what friends are for,” she replies. “Now go ice your head and put on something warmer than that flimsy dress! You must be freezing.”

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