Page 17 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Holiday

“ W elcome to the Valentine Nook Summer Fair.”

I manage to tear my eyes away from watching his brothers and Clemmie hurry toward the cricket field. Holy hell, that is one good-looking family.

Miles and Hendricks could walk straight onto a Times Square billboard and fit right in. Alex too. All the same dark hair and bright blue eyes, long legs and broad shoulders. But that’s where it stops.

If Miles is the smooth talker of the group, Hendricks is quieter and more analytical. And not just because Miles likes the sound of his own voice. Being a twin, I can easily spot the balance between the two because it’s what I have with Tanner.

Then there’s Alex, the cool one, who seems most similar to Lando.

But where the other three are good-looking, Lando is handsome . There’s an edge to him that’s missing from his brothers. Hardened and serious, intimidating.

Older.

If I hadn’t bumped into him yesterday and walked the length of High Street, shared a donut with his horse and heard him laugh, I’d have never believed he was capable of anything other than extreme grumpiness.

I suspect it’s a side of him that few get to see.

Nor do they see the smile he’s currently directing my way.

“Thank you.”

“Have you been to a summer fair before?”

I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or if he’s genuinely wondering.

Popping a hip, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m American. I’m not from another planet.”

“Oh really?” Deep creases frame his eyes, and a genuine grin spreads across his face. “So you have been to a summer fair, then?”

“Yeah. In fact . . .” I tap a freshly manicured finger against my cheek, and my new baby-blue polish catches the light.

“I think we invented the summer fair. Our one in Maine has a quarter million visitors every year—” I turn and make a big show of peering around, taking everything in, including how much tweed is being worn. “This is small fry in comparison.”

Lando’s laugh booms out, and warmth radiates through me. “Then I expect you to give me a full assessment and provide any pointers for where we can do better next year.”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

He sweeps his hand in front of us. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

I’ve never loved crowded spaces, the jostle of people, the feel of being too close to someone.

It’s gotten worse as my career has grown.

It’s one of the reasons I keep my personal life so low-key.

I don’t court publicity. I stay off social media and usually avoid all the classic haunts where celebrities hang out.

Today, I don’t seem to mind how crowded it is because it gives me an excuse to stick close to Lando. Close enough that his hand brushes against mine more than once.

“How’s Thunder today? ”

“He asked me to bring him back some donuts,” he quips, making me chuckle.

I’m still smiling to myself as we pass by several booths selling local produce, cute tote bags, and souvenirs. I spy Valentine Cook’s display of fruit and vegetables, and The Beanery selling coffee and donuts, which I nearly stop and buy for Thunder.

There’s one with a line easily three times the size of anyone else’s. It’s the final booth along the row, with double the space of the others, and covered in a pink glittery cloth.

As we get closer, I see the table is heaving with products—bags of herbs, candles and incense burners. Crystals of all sizes are on sale next to bottles neatly lined up and filled with colored liquid.

The sign hanging above says this booth is the number one purveyor of love potions and spells in England, and next to it sits an A-frame listing out times for card readings.

It’s cute and eye-catching, and I want to stop to see what it’s all about.

I could certainly do with a little extra help in the romance department, but I’m hurrying to keep up with Lando’s long strides, which appear to have lengthened.

“Orlando—” the lady from behind the table calls, and I recognize her as the woman Clemmie pulled me away from on my first tour around the village.

Lando appears to share the same opinion as his sister. “Not now, Agatha. Must dash.”

I’m still jogging to keep up with him as we enter a second field.

“Yoo -hoo , Your Grace. Your Grace . . . hellooo ?—”

Lando turns at the sound of his name being called to find a small older lady rushing toward him, carrying a large wicker basket. She’s moving with surprising speed for how heavy the basket must be, given it’s full to the brim. She must have bought up half the stalls already.

She’s also wearing rain boots with her skirt. I knew I’d blend in.

I want to laugh, but next to me, Lando stiffens. It’s so slight, virtually imperceptible unless it was a movement you were also familiar with. It’s that protective need to slip into another version of yourself and don your armor. One I know well.

I get the impression that if he could rush away from this lady too, he would. But it’s too late.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fraser.”

“Wonderful fair this year, Your Grace.” She beams up at him adoringly. “We’re so happy to see you out and about again.”

She makes it sound like he’s been locked away with a contagious disease.

One glance at Lando and I can tell he’s not sure he wants to be out and about. It’s also painfully obvious that his being out and about is not a subject he wishes to discuss, but Mrs. Fraser isn’t one to pick up on social cues.

“I was just saying to Judy Dennett that you’re much better off . . . with the right woman—” Her gaze moves slowly in my direction.

Lando clears his throat loudly enough to stop her talking. “Okay, thank you, Mrs. Fraser . . . I appreciate it . . . Don’t want to keep you, that basket’s looking heavy, and we must dash . . . Best pony to judge . . .”

Lando’s long fingers grip my arm, and he tugs me away before Mrs. Fraser can continue, and I get enough information to piece together what she’s talking about.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, releasing me but only once we’ve disappeared through another wave of people who’ve arrived in the last ten minutes. “I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“That’s okay. She seemed . . . enthusiastic .” I grin.

Immediately, his shoulders relax, and he nods. “You could say that. Mrs. Fraser is—how should we put it? She loves getting in people’s business.”

“A nosy old hag?”

“Something like that.” He sighs, though the beginnings of a smile reappear on his face as he stares at me.

I can see that he’s expecting me to ask what she was referring to. I can tell he’s bracing for it, but if it’s a subject that makes him that uncomfortable, I don’t need to know unless he wants to tell me.

Instead, I go with, “So we’re judging a pony competition, are we?”

The expression that flickers across his face is both gratitude and relief. “Yes. Yes, we are. If you’d like to join me, that is. I have to warn you, though, we don’t usually have celebrities of your caliber here.”

“Oh?”

“No, it’s usually the local newsreader, perhaps a B-lister visiting the area. No one as Hollywood as you.” He grins. “It might cause quite the stir.”

My hand clasps my chest. “Will I need security?”

In the split second, before I blink, I catch his pupils flare, and he slowly shakes his head. “No, I’ve got you.”

And my throat goes dry.

Sadly, a small child running between us breaks the moment, followed by several other slightly larger children.

“Where were we?” Lando clears his throat and asks. “Oh yes, the pony judging. It’s not for another hour, so what do you say we visit the coconut shy? How are you at throwing?”

I have no idea what a coconut shy is, but thanks to my brother, my throwing arm is pretty darn good.

“Better than I am at shooting,” I reply.

“And have you tried our cider yet?”

I shake my head. “No, but I have a feeling I’m about to.”

“You catch on quick, Hollywood. Let’s go. ”

I follow Lando through the field to where the games are set up on the opposite end to the cricket, beyond a wide boundary.

Thanks to my brother’s lengthy explanation this morning, I’ve almost grasped the concept of cricket.

At least enough to know that it’s called a pitch, not a field, and a match, not a game.

“So, as a summer fair aficionado, what’s your favorite part?” Lando asks.

“Hmm. Good question.” I tuck away a loose strand of hair that stuck in my sunglasses. “The food, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But also I really love the old-fashioned games, you know where you shoot at a bullseye and win a stuffed bear, that kind of thing.”

“Then the coconut shy will be ideal.”

I’m wondering if I should pull my phone out for a quick search on Google when we reach the bar Clemmie’s serving at, which turns out to be an Air Stream version of The One True Love.

“Hey, guys, how’s it going? Having fun, Hol? Hope Lando’s behaving himself,” Clemmie calls out when she spots us walking over.

I push my sunglasses up and watch him roll his eyes at his sister. “He’s been the perfect gentleman.”

There have to be ten people serving, but they still can’t pour the drinks quick enough. Every time someone’s departure creates a gap, it’s quickly filled by a surge of new customers.

It’s not the first bar I’ve seen in the fields, but it’s the busiest by far.

Patrons carry away trays holding half a dozen glasses at a time.

One guy walks off with four cups clamped between his giant hands while he holds another between his teeth, and the small gaps they leave behind are quickly filled.

Luckily because Clemmie is serving, or because I’m with the guy running the place, we step around the side where it’s quiet .

“Quit yapping, Clem. Walking around is thirsty work. Hollywo . . .” Lando pauses, and there’s amusement in his tone when he finishes the sentence. “Holi day wants to try our cider.”

“All right, keep your knickers on,” Clementine shoots back, passing over two dark green cups that have been pre-poured. Similar to Solo cups, these have Valentine Nook Summer Fair printed on them.