Page 4 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Holiday

“ H ave you spent much time in England before?” Clemmie asks as we make our way out of the house and down the road.

Except I soon learn it’s not really a road. It’s a lane with no sidewalk and only wide enough to fit one car down at a time.

We’ve already had to move out of the way of a tractor carrying bales of hay and a couple of large, frisky-looking horses being led by a teenage boy. I almost fell into the hedge while trying to avoid them.

I shake my head. “Not out here. I’ve only been to London, and usually, it’s a quick visit with press junkets or award ceremonies. Never longer than a week.”

Clemmie’s blue eyes widen. “Wow, really?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re here for six months?”

I nod again, because technically, that’s the idea as long as the roof stops leaking.

“What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one,” I reply truthfully. I didn’t get that far. I usually have a plan. Perhaps I should come up with something. “I’ve never had time off before.”

I wait for Clementine to be shocked or pick up on my nerves at the prospect of doing nothing, but instead, she loops her arm through mine as though we’re lifelong friends. It creates a comforting familiarity.

“Then you’ve come to the perfect place. You’ll absolutely love it here.”

Her grin is so wide and enthusiastic, the reticence I felt earlier vanishes.

Large hedges we’ve been walking alongside give way to a fence lined with the same blossom trees I have in the backyard of my cottage.

A little way up is a pale green gate too high for me to see over, but it doesn’t stop Clemmie from pushing it open.

Perhaps privacy isn’t a thing in the countryside.

“This is my brother Miles’s house.”

I peer around the wide open gate to find a cottage as equally cute as mine but with a collection of rain boots and mud-covered sneakers stacked up by the front door. A saddle is resting on a beam in the porch along with a pile of blankets.

“As you can see, he’s not the tidiest. He’s not the quietest either. His parties keep the whole village awake. But he gets away with it because he’s Miles , and because he invites everyone. I’d decline if I were you, though you’ll likely be the guest of honor.”

“Sounds exhausting.” I chuckle. “Is he younger or older?”

“Older. I’m the youngest, and I have four older brothers.”

“Four?” I gasp. “I have three siblings. An older brother and a sister, and a twin brother. I always think that’s enough. I can’t imagine four brothers.”

“It definitely has its disadvantages,” she groans ominously and shrugs out of her raincoat, only to hang it on the gate as she closes it. “I’ll get that later . . . ”

It hasn’t been long since the rain stopped, but the heat is already drying the puddles dotted around the ground, and the birds have commenced chirping. It’s warm enough that I’m hoping I won’t regret wearing jeans because while I’m used to the dry Californian heat, this humidity will stick to me.

“Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Miles and my brother Hendricks are identical twins. They used to live in that cottage, but Hendricks became a dad, and their place wasn’t exactly child friendly.

He and Max, who’s four, now live in Burlington, our family home across the fields”—Clemmie points in a general direction although there are too many hedges in the way for me to see anything—“along with my mum, and my eldest brother, Lando. My other brother Alex lives across the village.”

There’s something about Clemmie I can’t quite put my finger on.

It makes me think her upbringing was different from mine, with her rose gardens and perfect chickens, and the way the tractor driver and the kid with the horses were almost deferential in their greetings to her.

And now she’s telling me she still lives at home with almost her entire family.

My parents’ house isn’t small, but with the four of us kids plus six grandchildren, the most I can manage under one roof is a week during the holidays.

As much as I love my parents, the thought of moving back home makes me break out in hives.

“Sounds like a houseful.”

“It is. Especially with the mood Lando’s been in lately. I do what I can to stay out of his way.”

“Why’s he in a mood?”

“He went through a breakup.” Clemmie tuts.

Her deep eye roll tells me exactly what her opinion is and makes me laugh because it sounds like her brother is as dramatic as mine. And considering I act for a living, that says a lot .

I’m about to say as much, but then we turn a bend in the road. Suddenly, I’m walking over a stone bridge under which flows a stream coming from a large fountain at the end of the prettiest main street I’ve ever seen.

I must have been more tired than I thought on arrival here, because there’s no way I noticed this.

It’s seriously stunning and so quintessentially English that it doesn’t look real. It could be a film set, but even the movies couldn’t make anything this cute.

While it’s not busy busy, it’s not quiet. Everywhere I look are people, and out of habit, I pull my sunglasses off my head and slip them on to cover my eyes.

The main street is easily the length of a football field, with a lilac explosion of wisteria climbing up two-thirds of the stone storefronts, which pops against the pale green window frames on each building.

Store signs swing ever so slightly in the breeze as customers enter and exit, their bags overloaded with goods.

I spot a couple of black Labradors sitting obediently by a flower stall laden with a rainbow selection of buds and blooms, and a long line snakes halfway down the street from what looks like a coffee shop, but it could be a bakery.

Someone’s tied their horse up outside a store called The Valentine Cook, which sells groceries based on boxes of fruit and vegetables stacked outside, reminding me of a rustic version of Erewhon.

And I now understand why New England is called New England if this is what they were trying to replicate.

But the best bit, I realize, is that no cars are driving down it, and none are parked. All the cars passing by have come around the road and headed over the bridge past my cottage.

“Welcome to Valentine Nook.”

I turn to find Clemmie beaming proudly, eager for me to love it like she does .

“You grew up here?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? I can be having the worst day, and I’ll come and sit by the fountain, and suddenly, everything seems okay again.”

I join her as she perches on the edge of the fountain’s stone wall, and I turn to study it. A large cherub takes center stage, aiming his arrow down the middle of the road. He’s surrounded by dozens of woodland creatures and animals all carved into what must have once been an enormous rock.

Around the opposite side, people throw coins into the water, making the bottom glitter in the sunlight, reminding me of the Trevi Fountain in Rome, except smaller.

I can understand why Clemmie loves it so much. I’ve been here two minutes, and I’ve already forgotten my bad mood from this morning and the water dripping from the ceiling.

“Yes, gorgeous.”

“I’m so happy you like it.” Her arm loops into mine and squeezes gently. “It’s one of the oldest villages in England. Been in my family for five hundred years.”

My neck snaps around. “Whoa, what?”

I’ve never heard of someone owning a whole town before, and the concept of something being five hundred years old is a little hard to grasp, but Clemmie just nods enthusiastically, like it’s totally normal.

“My great-great- great . . . whatever . . . grandfather owned the land and built the village. If you can believe it, it hasn’t changed much, although my father modernized it a lot, bringing in more money for the village and its businesses. And now my brother is in charge.”

“Which brother?”

“Lando, the moody one.”

Shit. I really should have read the information Ashley printed off for me .

“Now . . .” Clemmie pushes up from the fountain wall and points down the road away from the main street.

“Down that lane is the village cricket pitch, and a little farther on is Foxleigh Park, the polo club where my brother Miles plays. There’s a game every week, but next month is the big summer tournament, so you must come.

It’s lots of fun. Ooh . . .” she gasps. “The Valentine summer fair is in a couple of weeks too.”

“Summer fair. Cool. Polo. Got it. Cricket? I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s kind of like baseball. But also nothing like it. You’ll have to see for yourself,” she replies and catches sight of my confused expression. “Sorry, I know this is a lot to take in. We can do cricket and polo another day.”

I chuckle. “Thanks. Information combined with jet lag is making it hard to compute.”

“How about I show you the shops? And there’s a spa one road over that does the best mani pedi outside of London.”

“Lead the way.”

I soon figure out Clemmie is that person who knows everything and everyone.

It takes us twenty minutes to get about fifty yards because she stops to speak to each person we pass, or rather, they stop her. Three times she gets invited to afternoon tea.

People are so focused on getting her attention that no one has noticed me, and honestly, it’s refreshing, especially when she introduces me as her friend Holly.

“And that’s the vet”—Clemmie pulls me out of my daydream and points at a building across the street—“where my brother Hendricks works, although he’s never there. Usually, he can be found in the middle of some crisis he has to deal with. Goat on the loose, that kind of thing.”

A laugh escapes so quickly it’s almost a snort. Goat on the loose. I’m definitely not in Los Angeles anymore .

Walking a little farther, we pass by a clothing store, followed by a homeware store that sells locally made pottery, which I know my mom would love. There are skincare and beauty stores, a hair salon, and I spy a bookstore across the street.

I’ll need to buy more suitcases before I go home.