Page 35 of Love At First Fright

“A nd here is the cottage,” Mr. Tokes said, directing Ellis, Rosemary, and Fig down a cobblestoned pathway, hidden from sight from the main house, that had late-blooming lilac asters flowering on either side of it.

“It’s been frosty over here the last few days, so it might be a bit nippy in there at first, but I’ve popped the heater on for you.” The elderly man smiled.

“Thank you,” Ellis said, glad he hadn’t bothered to wear his celebrity disguise of a hat and sunglasses.

They’d parked by the side of Mr. and Mrs. Tokes’s home, a thatched-roof cottage that was down a bumpy one-lane road, and he’d decided that the likelihood of this elderly couple being familiar with movies he’d been in was low enough to chance it. He’d been correct.

Their holiday cottage was aptly named Aspen Cottage for the yellow-leafed, slender trees planted beside it.

It was postcard perfect: warm red brick with two chimneys on either side of the slate roof, a door painted in cream and vermilion, and windows surrounded by climbing ivy.

Ellis’s heart lurched when he felt Rosemary squeezing his hand. It’s beautiful, she mouthed at him.

“What’s a lovely young couple like yourselves doing out here then?” Mr. Tokes asked, unlocking the door.

“Just taking a break from the city,” Rosemary replied, keeping their story vague. Ellis was thankful for it.

“Well, you picked the right place for it, won’t hear much apart from wildlife around here. I’ll tell you what I’d recommend, follow that path there.” He inclined his head towards a small dirt track that wove through a grove of fir trees to the west of the house.

“You follow that path through the woods and up the hill, just a short walk, mind you, and you’ll come to the top of Chipping Hill. Beautiful spot for a dog walk. If it was summer I’d say you should take a picnic.”

He left them the keys to the cottage and told them to look around and make themselves at home.

“Come knock on the door if you need anything. The missus is in the village tonight—pub quiz—so it’ll just be me. You can message through the app, I guess, but I don’t check my phone often. Best knock if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Ellis said, as Mr. Tokes closed the door behind them.

It was a little chilly, but the cottage’s ceilings were low, painted white with exposed wooden beams, and Ellis figured it would warm up soon enough. Fig was already busying herself sniffing every inch of the place and commanding the comfiest bit of the sofa for a nap.

“This place is insane!” Rosemary said, looking around at the cute little kitchen with its colourful tiles, and the open hearth, where a homey-looking sofa waited for them. He had plans for Rosemary on that sofa.

After knocking his head on the low ceiling twice, Ellis followed Rosemary up the narrow stairs.

Small bathroom with a deep, clawfoot bathtub—more plans for Rosemary—and one bedroom.

It was just what they needed. A round window looked out from the bedroom to the back garden, where the vegetable patch waited to be raided.

They had a late breakfast in the kitchen: Ellis whipped up eggs on toast, the eggs fresh from Mr. Tokes’s hens, while Rosemary cut up some fruit from a local grocer and fought with a stovetop Bialetti to make them both a strong cup of coffee. They ate standing against the countertops.

“Why am I so hungry?” Rosemary said, in between mouthfuls. “Feel like I could eat a horse.”

“It’s the night shoots. These turnaround days are always brutal, your body doesn’t know when to eat or when to sleep, so it compensates by making you feel hungry and tired the whole time.”

He couldn’t help but laugh when Rosemary fired off finger guns and said, “That’s just showbiz baby.”

A small part of Ellis had been worried that being alone with Rosemary might feel strange.

After all, they were from very different worlds, and they had only met recently.

He hadn’t been in many relationships, but they weren’t meant to feel this easy, were they?

Right on cue, like a badly timed rainstorm, Ellis’s phone rang, Brody’s caller ID popping up on the screen.

“I should probably take this,” he said.

“I’ll go unpack,” Rosemary replied, heading upstairs to give him privacy. He didn’t want privacy; he wanted to throw his phone off a cliff.

“You’re a sly piece of shit, Ellis Finch,” Brody began.

“And good morning to you, Brody,” Ellis said drily.

“Where the hell did you disappear off to, huh? You were supposed to go for a drive with Jenna. That convertible was going to be part of a new sponsorship for her.”

“I owe you photos, not my entire weekend, Brody.”

Besides, he thought Jenna had probably found someone much more exciting to take on a winter picnic.

“Where did you go? Just tell me now, and I’ll send Jenna and the paps and all this will be forgiven.”

“Not a chance. I don’t want your forgiveness, Brody, I just want some peace and quiet for one fucking weekend.”

“You want peace? Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, dude, but you’re a star. I made you a star. And that comes with consequences. Or do I need to remind you what could happen if you don’t cooperate?”

And there it was, the old threat raising its ugly head. Always there as an undercurrent in his every interaction with Brody, but never quite surfacing until his agent decided they were in dire straits.

Ellis sighed deeply. “No. You don’t.”

“When you’re back in London we’ll arrange another shoot, next time maybe look a bit more enthusiastic, eh? You both look miserable in the photos.”

“Sure,” Ellis said, defeated. He just wanted this call to end.

“Good man. Well then, have a lovely fucking weekend, Ellis. I hope whoever you’ve shacked up with—and yes, don’t think I don’t know what you’re like—well, I hope they’re worth it for this mess.”

Ellis listened to the sound of Rosemary singing softly to herself as she unpacked upstairs.

“They’re worth it,” he said, and hung up the phone.

He stood in the kitchen for a moment, inhaling the scent of coffee and chopped berries from breakfast. He watched the dust motes dance in the slatted sunlight that came in from the window. He willed his hands to stop shaking.

Eventually, Ellis made his way upstairs, following the tune of Rosemary’s humming. He leant against the bedroom door, his eyes tracing Rosemary’s full figure as she unpacked her things and laid them on a chest of drawers beside the bed.

And then he strode over and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. She smelt delicious, like vanilla and sweet cherries. Rosemary sighed and leant back into his embrace, running her hands up and down his forearms soothingly.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Mm-hmm. Just my agent.”

“Do I need to hire a hit man?”

He chuckled, bending further to rest his forehead in the crook of her neck. Warm, soft.

“What do you know about hiring hit men?”

“You’d be surprised. Publishing can get ugly.”

“Ha. Well, I’ll let you know if we ever arrive at ‘order a hit man’ territory.”

“Good. For now, can I give you a hug instead?” she asked, and pivoted in his arms to face him.

“Please,” he muttered, and although Rosemary was so much shorter than him, her hug seemed big enough to encompass him entirely.

Had he ever felt this immediately safe with a person?

If he told her right now that he was at home here, in the circle of her arms, how would she react?

He didn’t speak. Instead, Ellis held her tight as if she were his only tether, the only thing grounding him.

The shake in his hands faded, the knot of worry that always flared when he spoke to Brody began to unravel.

Rosemary held him, and everything was easier to manage again.

He raised his head to see how she’d got on with unpacking.

“You brought a candle with you?” he asked.

“Umm, yeah.” She looked sheepishly back at him. “It’s a ghost-repelling candle. In case there are any to bother us.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I…uh…It was a gift from my friend Dina, she’s a—well, she makes candles sometimes. And I figured, better safe than sorry.”

“Without a doubt,” Ellis agreed. Whatever she needed to do to feel comfortable, he was on board with.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked. “Feel like I’ve missed feeling the sun on my face.”

Rosemary sighed and nodded. “Yes, please.”

—

They followed Mr. Tokes’s directions up to Chipping Hill to take in the view.

If Ellis was honest, now that he’d recovered from his call with Brody, his mind had swiftly travelled to the gutter, because the only view he was interested in was of Rosemary’s hips as they swayed in front of him up the path.

They crested the hill, the early-November light breaking through the clouds and scattering across the countryside.

Ellis saw tufts of woodland in the distance, broken apart by the squat stone steeples of village churches and winding country lanes.

The fields were a riot of burnt orange and deep evergreens, as late autumn fell away into winter.

Beside him, Rosemary huffed out a steaming breath and pulled her jacket tight around her.

He let Fig off her lead—she had a good recall so he wasn’t worried.

“I missed this,” she said. “The sense of space. Of sky. It was impossible in New York, you could never see the sky without the teeth of skyscrapers in the way.”

They found a bench, partially hiding them from the windchill. It really was remote out here, not another person around.

“That’s why I moved out of London.”

“You don’t live in London?”

“Not anymore. I’m not far away, but I had to leave. Before I had dogs, I lived in an apartment near Soho, and it was so noisy all the time. Couldn’t hear myself think. Now I have a garden.”

“I’ve always wanted to have my own garden,” Rosemary said wistfully.