Page 21 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Holiday

I sprint the final forty yards the same way I always do—like Tom Brady heading for the end zone.

I kick up my pace as I round the corner of the lane, pass the field where the calves have been grazing for the past week, and take the home straight right up to the gate of my cottage.

In the absence of a home gym, I’ve started running again, and I truly can’t remember why I stopped. There’s something so freeing about sticking in your earbuds and pounding your feet against the gravel.

I also seem to have acclimated too well to the English summer because it’s baking hot today, and I’m gasping.

I should have left much earlier—like when I woke up—but I’m having the hardest time getting out of bed these past weeks because I’m so damn comfortable.

I can’t remember the last time I had such a long stretch of perfect nights of sleep.

I’m wiping sweat from my face when I see it.

A giant stuffed bear.

A giant stuffed bear is in the front seat of an SUV. It’s one of the farm Land Rovers I’ve seen around here, with the logo of Burlington Estates printed on the side, and it’s freshly washed .

Therefore I’m looking around for the driver—preferably one around six feet three, thick stubble, piercing blue eyes—but all I see is a woman about my age exiting through the gate next door to mine.

Miles’s place.

She’s dressed in a pair of jeans with a shirt thrown over the top. All perfectly innocent and casual, cute even, especially with the slides she’s wearing, but something about her messy hair makes me think she’s not just been over for a coffee.

Or maybe she has, if the coffee was served last night, followed by a lot of tequila.

No, this girl is freshly fucked.

A pang of envy stabs me in the belly because I can’t remember the last time I looked like that. Or if I ever have.

Maybe this car, along with the bear, is hers, or Miles was driving it. All the endorphins I earned seem to melt away into disappointment. I’m waiting for her, but instead she peers inside, then back at me, with her head tilted.

“Cool bear.” Bracelets jangle as she pushes her sunglasses up. “Are you Holiday Simpson?”

“I am.” I offer her a smile, but it’s not returned, not really.

Half a smile, perhaps. Enough for me to know she’s not looking to make friends.

“Cool,” she says again. “I heard you’d moved here. I’m a friend of Miles’s.” She points behind her in case I didn’t notice her exiting his place before her eyes drop to the ground and slowly drift back up. “We’re kind of seeing each other.”

It’s an odd thing to say. I don’t know how to respond, especially as she’s staring at me. Then it clicks.

This girl’s warning me off.

I might have been slightly jealous about the way she appears to have spent her last twelve hours, but that’s where it stops. It certainly has nothing to do with who she spent it with .

I try not to laugh as I refrain from telling her I’d need an offer that dwarfed my L’Oreal contract before I hooked up with a guy like Miles.

I met him for all of ten minutes. In that time, he not only checked me out but also another four girls who walked past me. No, Miles is not the type of guy to ever be labeled as “seeing” someone.

I know guys like Miles. I’ve met guys like Miles.

They ooze charm and charisma, and you’re their entire world for a whole twenty minutes before they get bored and move on.

But she doesn’t look like she’d care for me to tell her that. She also probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing she’s not the first person I’ve seen leaving his cottage in the mornings.

Instead, I hold my smile and say, “That’s good to know.”

“There’s a note on your car, by the way,” she calls behind her as she walks off.

I peer across the hood, and sure enough, there’s an envelope with my name scrawled across the front. Inside, I find a note and a set of keys.

D ear Holiday,

Thank you for the donuts. You can use this next time you visit me, so you don’t get run over on the country lane.

Love, Thunder.

P.S. Sorry about the bear. He refused to get out of the car.

B y the time I reach the bottom of the note, my cheeks ache from the size of my smile. I might have left Lando and Thunder a basket of donuts, but I never expected them to be reciprocated.

I don’t even know why I left the donuts. But the look I caught on Lando’s face when I asked him what he did for fun punched me in the gut.

I never want to see that look again.

Tugging open the door, I grab the bear and pull him out.

He’s much bigger than he looked sitting behind the front seat, bigger than me even. Heavy. I’ve never seen a bear in real life, but it’s possible he’s life-sized if a little squishier than a real bear would be. Softer too.

I need two hands to wrangle this bear. I manage to kick the car door closed with my foot and drag him over to the gate, where I have to set him on the ground so I can flick the latch.

Then it’s a tussle to fit us both through the narrow opening and up the path to the front door, where he gets dropped again.

All in all, it takes five minutes from opening the car door to setting him in my kitchen.

I had plans to follow my run with a small workout on the yoga mat in the backyard, but carrying a fifty-pound stuffed animal twenty yards has me pooped.

While I’m deciding on a permanent place to keep him—because there’s no way in hell I’m carrying him around with me—I flick on the coffee machine and open the fridge.

Another five minutes later, I’m on the back patio, coffee in hand, with a plate of eggs in front of me while the bear sits on the opposite bench. He’s staring at me as I lean into the squashy outdoor cushions and take a sip of my coffee.

It doesn’t take long before my eyelids feel heavy again. I’m convinced the birds chirping in the trees have me drifting off. It’s like a white noise machine, only more effective, and I’m tempted to take a nap.

It’s almost noon, and I’ve done nothing except go for a run.

When I’m working, Ashley manages my schedule, which usually begins with a pre-dawn visit to the gym.

Currently, she’s handling everything in my absence, overseeing my affairs in LA, looking after my place, and keeping me informed only on matters I need to know, so I receive a brief, non-urgent email summary to review.

Aside from that, I have a handful of other things to do, but for someone who’s used to her day being planned to the minute, it’s amazing how little I can fit in if I really put my mind to it.

I could make them stretch out the whole week.

It’s hard to decide which one to do first, especially with the time difference.

My parents won’t appreciate a super early wake-up and neither will Tanner.

There’s a book I keep starting and putting down. I also need to review the contract terms with my lawyer so I fully understand them when Marcy flies over.

The fruit trees in the backyard are ripe enough to pick, and Pierre said he’d teach me how to make an apple pie if I brought them. I also need to practice the donuts.

But what I really want to do is something I probably shouldn’t.

I’m trying to figure out how I can see Lando when a goat hops over the hedge at the end of the backyard.

From the way he trots up the path toward the apple trees, I can tell this isn’t his first time here. However, after he stops and stares, opens his little mouth and lets out a bloodcurdling scream, I assume he’s never seen a stuffed bear before.

Then he falls over, stiff as a board.

“Oh fuck.” I scramble out of the chair so fast it falls over and so does the coffee. “Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”

Dealing with a dead goat was not on my list of things to do today. Or ever, if I think about it.

But then, as quick as he fell down, the goat’s eyes blink open, and he jumps up, at which point I wonder if maybe I’m having a heart attack. Especially when he trots over to the apple tree, rises on his hind legs, and munches away at the first one he finds.

Some days, I think I could easily move to England and live an idyllic life in the countryside, and then other days, when I may or may not have killed a trespassing goat, I want to board the first plane back to LA.

What the fuck is happening?

And not that I care so much, because who am I to get between a goat and his five-a-day, but he’s eating all the fruit I was supposed to be making pies with, and I can’t stop him on my own.

I dial Clemmie, the first thing I can think of doing.

“Hey, what are you up to? Want to come for a swim?” she says before I can get a hello in.

“Sure. But first, I should tell you there’s a goat in my backyard, and it may or may not have had a heart attack. Or a stroke. Is that something goats do? Now it’s eating the apples.”

I’m glad I have her on speaker because the next thing from Clementine is her yelling, “Lando, Churchill’s got into Holiday’s garden.”

There’s a muffled response before Clementine adds, “We’ll be right there.” And the phone goes dead.

I freeze.

Shit.

This wasn’t even remotely close to any idea I had about how I could legitimately see Lando today. But I’m going with it.

And if he’s coming too, then I have approximately ten minutes to wash this running sweat off and make myself vaguely presentable.

I sprint up the stairs, and for the first time since I arrived here, I manage to get to the top without adding more bruises.

I f Clemmie’s grinning widely when I open the front door, then Lando’s doing the exact opposite.

He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, which confuses me because no one’s forced him to come. I called his sister, not him.

The smile I greeted them with falters a little.

“Hey, thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Oh, no problem,” Clemmie replies, breezing through the door into the hallway.

My eyes are still on Lando, his jaw tight as he steps over the threshold. He’s looking around like it’s the first time he’s seen the place even though I could have sworn his mom said he used to live here.

Not to mention, he owns it.

“Lanny, you okay?”

Lando glances up at his sister and blinks. The trance he’s in breaks.

“Yes, fine,” he replies, and a pair of stormy gray eyes meet mine and turn away. “Fine. Hi, Holiday, where’s Churchill?”

He’s curt. Gruffer than he’s been since the first— second —time I met him.

He’s never called me Hollywood in front of other people, but he still managed a smile, yet I don’t even get that.

I point out into the backyard where the culprit has moved on to the pear tree.

“Great, Lando will deal with him. I must pee,” Clemmie says, running into the downstairs bathroom.

I glance over at Lando, who’s back in his trance. There’s a weariness to him as he stares at the wall, an unguarded sadness in the way his shoulders stoop. I want to ask him what’s wrong, what’s causing his brow to drop so deeply it could give me a headache.

But in the end, I lightly touch his arm and go with, “Hey?—”

When his eyes flick up, they don’t quite meet mine. “Right. Goat.” He marches through to the backyard and loudly claps his hands. “Churchill. Out.”

Churchill stops chewing and spits out the pear, then turns and jumps back over the hedge the way he came.

Seriously?

“Well, I could have done that,” I grumble.

The ghost of a smile hits Lando’s mouth, and for the first time since he arrived here, he looks like the Lando I’ve become acquainted with in the past month.

“Now you know for next time.”

“Hopefully, there won’t be one.”

“Don’t count on it. There isn’t a garden in Valentine Nook un-raided by that bloody goat.”

“I appreciate it.” I stare up at him, smiling. Clemmie’s still in the bathroom, so I take the opportunity. “Thank you for the loan of the car and the bear. It was very kind of you.”

His head dips, and a smile forms. “The bear you won, remember? And the car . . . that was Thunder’s thank-you for his donuts.”

“Then please thank him for me.”

“I shall.”

We stand there, staring at each other. I’m fighting the urge to run my thumb over his brow and smooth out his tension, but Clemmie walks into the backyard, so instead, I take a step back.

“Hol, what are your plans this afternoon?”

My lips make a little clicking noise as I purse them and scroll through my very short list of things I could do today but could also put off until tomorrow.

I glance at the pear Churchill spat out and grin wide. “Now that I don’t have any fruit for my pies, I guess nothing.”

“Do you want to come back with me for a swim and some lunch?”

I hesitate, and my eyes slide to Lando .

“You should come and keep Clementine company. She’s getting bored being on her own by the pool all summer long.”

I nod slowly. Message received. Lando won’t be joining us.

I hide my disappointment with an extra cheery, “Sure, that sounds great. Let me run and grab my bathing suit.”

Snatching up the first one I find, I then spot one I’ve not worn yet.

The tags are still attached, and I decide to go with that one instead.

The fact it’s the smallest, skimpiest suit I own is irrelevant.

It’s not like I’ve been thinking about the way Lando’s gaze skated the length of my body the day he spotted me at the pool.

He made it clear he won’t be joining us.

Clemmie’s waiting for me in the hallway when I walk back downstairs, with Lando already outside by the car.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Sure am. Let’s go.”

As we’re leaving, she spies the bear, who I moved to the couch in the living room just in case the goat had another heart attack.

“Bloody hell, where’d he come from?” Clementine peers at the tag still attached to the bear’s foot. “Hamley’s. Christ . He’s enormous.”

“I won it at the fair.”

“Did you? Wow .”

I don’t know why I don’t tell her it’s from Lando because it’s no big deal that he gave it to me. So I don’t understand why it feels like a big deal.

And every time he catches my eye in the rearview mirror on the way back, it has me wondering all over again.