Page 11 of A New Love

“No, no. Just leave him be for now. You have class all week.”

Amelia sighed over the line. “Fine. I’ll just ignore his calls if he tries me.”

Charlotte took a slow, calming breath as she tried to channel her daughter's strength.

"Final boarding call to London," echoed the overhead announcement, drawing Charlotte’s attention.

"Amelia, I love you," she said into the phone, her voice thick with emotion. "I'll call you as soon as I land."

"Love you too, Mom," Amelia replied softly, a hint of fierceness still present in her tone.

Charlotte disconnected the call and slipped her phone into her purse, then hesitated for a moment. Her heart raced as she stared at the open door leading to the jet bridge. The decision felt monumental – a single step that would irrevocably change her life. She joined the queue and waited impatiently for her turn to board the plane – the vessel that would carry her away from the life she'd known and toward the unknown future that awaited her in London.

"Welcome aboard, Ms. Moore," the flight attendant greeted her as she stepped onto the plane, studying her boarding pass before gesturing down the aisle. "Your seat is 23A."

"Thank you," Charlotte replied, her voice barely audible above the din of settling passengers.

Navigating the cramped space, she finally arrived at her window seat. With a sigh of relief, she stowed her purse beneath the seat in front of her and settled into the embrace of the airplane chair. As she fastened her seatbelt, Charlotte's hands shook slightly – a mix of nervousness and anticipation coursing through her veins. She could hardly believe that she was actually doing this – going on an adventure to a foreign land, a world away from the shattered remnants of her life in New York.

"Everything okay?" asked the woman sitting beside her, noticing the tremble in Charlotte's hands.

"Ah, yes," Charlotte assured her, offering a small smile. "Just a bit nervous, I suppose."

"First time flying alone?" the woman inquired sympathetically.

"Something like that," Charlotte admitted with a soft laugh.

The plane's engines roared to life, vibrating through the cabin as they prepared for takeoff. Charlotte glanced out of the window, her eyes fixed on the tarmac outside. She felt the sensation of her stomach lurching forward as the jet picked up speed, and she gripped the armrests tightly.

"Here we go," she whispered to herself, feeling a mixture of exhilaration and fear.

As the aircraft ascended, Charlotte watched the cityscape of New York shrink beneath them, its towering skyscrapers receding into the distance like toys abandoned by a careless giant. The clouds swallowed the city whole, leaving nothing but an endless expanse of white fluff in their wake.

What it looked like to Charlotte was exactly what she needed—a clean slate. A blank canvas.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A wave of anticipation washed over Charlotte as the plane touched down at London's Heathrow Airport. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her old life waiting to be left behind. The gentle hum of fellow passengers unbuckling their seatbelts and gathering their belongings blended with the rhythmic footsteps of flight attendants moving up and down the aisle.

"Thank you for flying with us," one of the flight attendants said, smiling warmly at Charlotte as she stepped into the bustling airport terminal. Her heart fluttered at the thought of the adventure that awaited her in this foreign city.

Locating the baggage claim area, Charlotte weaved her way through the sea of travelers, her eyes scanning the conveyor belt for her suitcase. With each passing moment, the familiar artistic energy that coursed through her veins grew more potent. She knew that London's rich history and enchanting scenery would serve as the perfect muse for her art. She could paint here—she could feel it in her bones.

"Ah, there it is," Charlotte murmured softly to herself as she spotted her teal suitcase. Lifting it off the conveyor belt, she slung her well-loved leather satchel over her shoulder and made her way to the exit.

The cool London air nipped gently at Charlotte's cheeks as she stepped outside, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement. She hailed a taxi, the vibrant yellow car pulling up before her with a satisfying crunch of gravel. The driver, a middle-aged man with silver hair, adjusted the rearview mirror as Charlotte settled in the backseat.

"Where to, love?" he asked, his voice and accent wrapping around Charlotte like a comforting embrace.

"Um, the train station, please," Charlotte replied, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the address on a crumpled piece of paper. She read it off, and he nodded. “But, um, could you drive around a bit first, please? I’d like to see some of the city.”

"Righto," the driver said cheerfully, shifting the taxi into gear and pulling away from the curb. As they navigated through London's bustling streets, Charlotte marveled at the city's unique blend of historic charm and vibrant modernity. The artist in her longed to capture its essence within her work, the colors and textures begging to be immortalized on canvas.

"London's quite the sight, isn't it?" the driver commented, catching Charlotte's gaze in the mirror as she snapped a few photos with her phone camera. She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Indeed," Charlotte replied, her voice barely audible as her thoughts drifted toward Chesham Cove.

Charlotte's heart pounded in her chest as the taxi driver expertly maneuvered through the busy streets of London. The iconic landmarks she'd seen only in movies and postcards now stood before her, tangible and breathtaking. Big Ben loomed proudly in the distance, its clock face a sentinel over the city, while the grand structure of the London Eye traced an arc against the sky.

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