Page 6 of Valentine Nook
Seriously, the Jane Austen vibes are on point.
I, of all people, should know you can’t judge a ramshackle-looking house by its cover because the front door is where ramshackle stops.
Once you’ve crossed the threshold to this deceptive little place, you’ll find a beautifully laid out, super cozy yet spacious, and incredibly well-put-together home. A kitchen with professional-level appliances, three perfect bedrooms including a primary suite overlooking a backyard I’d die for in LA, along with furnishings my interior decorator would call “country cottage chic” before sending me a mid-six-figure bill.
But all that money, and the goddamn roof leaks.
It’s what’s taking this place I’ve rented for the next six months from utterly perfect and charming to I-need-to-move-back-to-Los-Angeles-where-it-doesn’t-rain, stat.
It’s been rainingall morning.
“No,” I say eventually, sitting up and re-plumping the pillows. “No. I’ll call the maintenance guy. There’s a maintenance guy here, right?”
I’m ashamed to say I don’t know.
In my defense, I’ve had an insanely busy eighteen months, after an insanely busy two years, after an insanely busy three years before it. You get the picture. This is the first time since I started my career that I haven’t worked. It’s a much-needed respite in a quiet and private setting.
And hopefully relaxing.
Ashley did what she does best and organized my chaotic life so I could escape from it.
She gave me a list of options, and I chose the prettiest, jumped on a plane, and now here I am, sitting next to a saucepan.
“I’ll do it.”
“Ohthank god.” I sigh with relief.
“I think this place will be good for you, boss. I printed off everything you need about the village, and it’s in your travel wallet. You’ve only been there a few days. If you still hate it in a week, I’ll see if your second option is still available. Or book you a flight home, whichever you prefer.”
“Thanks, Ash. What would I do without you?” I peer into the phone to catch her mumbling a response I don’t hear, which is when I notice her background and the sun rising over the Pacific. “Where are you, anyway? And come to think of it, why are you up so early? I said call me when you wake up, but I didn’t expect it to be before the sun.”
“On my way to surf camp. I decided I’m going to learn while you’re out of town this summer.”
A pang of homesickness flickers in my chest. I could have learned to surf this summer too, but maybe I’ll learn something else—how to fix a roof, for example.
Or bake. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that.
“What time is it?”
“Five o’clock.”
I groan again. That’s why I’m being so grumpy. Jet lag. I’m still on LA time, and I’ve been traveling so much recently that my body has no idea whether I’m coming or going.
“Hope the water isn’t too cold.”
“I need cold. It’s been over one hundred degrees every day this week.”
I peer out of the rain-splattered window.
In fairness, even on this miserable day, the views from my bedroom are stunning.
Fields upon fields upon fields stretch as far as I can see, broken up by tall, thick hedgerows. Patches of brown tell me they probably haven’t had rain in a while. In the distance, I can make out horses grazing, and when I crack it open, all I can hear are birds and the occasional moo of a cow.
It’s not one hundred degrees, but it’s warm, and the air is fresh with that just-rained scent, which is something you could never say about Los Angeles, where smog rules the sky. The blast of the English countryside has sufficiently reinvigorated me, and I’m taking control of the rest of my day—today’s the day I’ll be brave and venture out.
“You go enjoy the water. I’m going to get my shit together while I wait for the maintenance guy.”
“Okay, boss. I’ll call him now. Message me if you need anything.”
