Page 11 of Valentine Nook
People are so focused on getting her attention that no one has noticed me, and honestly, it’s refreshing, especially when she introduces me as her friend Holly.
“And that’s the vet”—Clemmie pulls me out of my daydream and points at a building across the street—“where my brother Hendricks works, although he’s never there. Usually, he can be found in the middle of some crisis he has to deal with. Goat on the loose, that kind of thing.”
A laugh escapes so quickly it’s almost a snort. Goat on the loose. I’m definitely not in Los Angeles anymore.
Walking a little farther, we pass by a clothing store, followed by a homeware store that sells locally made pottery, which I know my mom would love. There are skincare and beauty stores, a hair salon, and I spy a bookstore across the street.
I’ll need to buy more suitcases before I go home.
We’re passing one of the older-looking buildings when Clemmie grabs me and pulls me into the entrance.
“Shit, quick,” she hisses as a tall woman wearing a long, billowy patchwork dress marches by determinedly. The sunlight catches on the large crystal around her neck, and the dozens of bracelets around her wrists jangle as her arms power her forward. “Sorry, that’s Agatha. Wedefinitelydon’t have time for a chat with her today. It’s impossible to escape, and she’ll only want to talk about Lando.”
The woman seems far too focused on wherever she’s going to pay attention to us, but I peer around the doorway and watch as she disappears past the fountain. Turning back to Clemmie, I find she’s walked inside, so I quickly follow her. It’s like I’ve been transported back in time.
It’s a bar called The One True Love, the inside of which is all old beams and walls made of thick stone slabs, and I can totally believe this was here five hundred years ago.
The first thing I see is an unlit fireplace, as tall as me, with carvings around the outside depicting nature and the same cherubs and hearts I’ve seen everywhere. Heavy-looking wooden tables are crammed together, lining the walls.
The dark wood adds a coolness to the air, and I breathe it in. It’s the sort of place where poets and playwrights from centuries past came with their quill pens and pots of ink to work, but today, they’re full of people eating a late lunch and sipping their glasses of wine.
Colored sunlight beams through stained windows and hits the floor I’m hurrying over to catch up with Clemmie. The baritself is marked with drink rings and etched with scuffs and scratches. It doesn’t look like it’s been polished in forever even though the beer taps along the top gleam so brightly that I can see my reflection.
Like everything I’ve experienced so far, this bar is both surprising and beautiful. There’s so much character in here that it would probably take my entire six months and more to hear all the stories. I’ve never been anywhere so old.
Behind the bar, however, with his arms crossed over a sturdy chest, is the grumpiest-looking man I’ve ever seen. A thick gray mustache droops down from his heavily lined face, making his scowl seem even deeper.
“Well, look who the cat’s dragged in.”
“Hey, Eddie,” replies Clemmie, rushing forward. To my surprise, she wraps her arms around him in a hug, which melts the scowl off his face.
I think it does. It’s hard to tell behind the facial hair.
As she pulls away, Clemmie’s expression is more guilt than anything else. “Sorry.Sorry.It’s been a busy few weeks since I got home. I haven’t seen anyone.”
He grumbles under his breath. Without being asked, he turns and pulls two large glasses from the shelf behind him, fills them with ice, followed by Diet Coke from the fountain, and slides them toward us. My mouth salivates immediately. There’s nothing like a crisp Diet Coke, and I’ve been dying for one since the plane touched down at Heathrow.
“And who’s this you’ve brought with you?”
Clemmie throws an arm over my shoulders. “This is my friend Holly.”
Eddie pushes his bifocals onto his head and narrows his eyes. “You the American actress who moved into Bluebell Cottage?”
Well, that lasted all of twenty minutes. Guess I’m no longer incognito, but I try not to let the disappointment show.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, giving him my best smile. “That’ll be me.”
“Hmm.Sir.I like that. You’ve got good manners, young lady. I like you. Clementine, however?—”
“How do you know about Bluebell?” Clemmie demands.
Eddie’s gaze shifts from Clemmie to me and back. “Your brother was in here grumbling about it.”
Next to me, Clemmie groans, and I blink hard. Grumbling aboutit? What exactly doesitmean? Is he talking aboutme?
“God. Lando’s such a dick sometimes.”
Lando.The moody one.
