Page 5 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

We’re passing one of the older-looking buildings when Clemmie grabs me and pulls me into the entrance.

“Shit, quick,” she hisses as a tall woman wearing a long, billowy patchwork dress marches by determinedly.

The sunlight catches on the large crystal around her neck, and the dozens of bracelets around her wrists jangle as her arms power her forward.

“Sorry, that’s Agatha. We definitely don’t have time for a chat with her today.

It’s impossible to escape, and she’ll only want to talk about Lando. ”

The woman seems far too focused on wherever she’s going to pay attention to us, but I peer around the doorway and watch as she disappears past the fountain. Turning back to Clemmie, I find she’s walked inside, so I quickly follow her. It’s like I’ve been transported back in time.

It’s a bar called The One True Love, the inside of which is all old beams and walls made of thick stone slabs, and I can totally believe this was here five hundred years ago.

The first thing I see is an unlit fireplace, as tall as me, with carvings around the outside depicting nature and the same cherubs and hearts I’ve seen everywhere. Heavy-looking wooden tables are crammed together, lining the walls.

The dark wood adds a coolness to the air, and I breathe it in. It’s the sort of place where poets and playwrights from centuries past came with their quill pens and pots of ink to work, but today, they’re full of people eating a late lunch and sipping their glasses of wine.

Colored sunlight beams through stained windows and hits the floor I’m hurrying over to catch up with Clemmie.

The bar itself is marked with drink rings and etched with scuffs and scratches.

It doesn’t look like it’s been polished in forever even though the beer taps along the top gleam so brightly that I can see my reflection.

Like everything I’ve experienced so far, this bar is both surprising and beautiful. There’s so much character in here that it would probably take my entire six months and more to hear all the stories. I’ve never been anywhere so old.

Behind the bar, however, with his arms crossed over a sturdy chest, is the grumpiest-looking man I’ve ever seen. A thick gray mustache droops down from his heavily lined face, making his scowl seem even deeper.

“Well, look who the cat’s dragged in.”

“Hey, Eddie,” replies Clemmie, rushing forward. To my surprise, she wraps her arms around him in a hug, which melts the scowl off his face.

I think it does. It’s hard to tell behind the facial hair.

As she pulls away, Clemmie’s expression is more guilt than anything else. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s been a busy few weeks since I got home. I haven’t seen anyone.”

He grumbles under his breath. Without being asked, he turns and pulls two large glasses from the shelf behind him, fills them with ice, followed by Diet Coke from the fountain, and slides them toward us.

My mouth salivates immediately. There’s nothing like a crisp Diet Coke, and I’ve been dying for one since the plane touched down at Heathrow.

“And who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

Clemmie throws an arm over my shoulders. “This is my friend Holly.”

Eddie pushes his bifocals onto his head and narrows his eyes. “You the American actress who moved into Bluebell Cottage?”

Well, that lasted all of twenty minutes. Guess I’m no longer incognito, but I try not to let the disappointment show .

“Yes, sir,” I reply, giving him my best smile. “That’ll be me.”

“Hmm. Sir. I like that. You’ve got good manners, young lady. I like you. Clementine, however?—”

“How do you know about Bluebell?” Clemmie demands.

Eddie’s gaze shifts from Clemmie to me and back. “Your brother was in here grumbling about it.”

Next to me, Clemmie groans, and I blink hard. Grumbling about it ? What exactly does it mean? Is he talking about me ?

“God. Lando’s such a dick sometimes.”

Lando. The moody one.

The pair of them are looking at each other in the way I know I’m missing ninety percent of the conversation.

“Sorry . . . what’s happening?”

“Nothing . . . nothing . Don’t worry about it.” Clemmie turns to me, her expression full of frustration. “Lando just didn’t know we’d put Bluebell Cottage up for rental, and he’s kind of annoyed. But, like I said, he’s been in a mood for months. He’ll get over it eventually.”

“Oh.”

I pick up one of the glasses and take a large mouthful because I don’t really know what to say. I feel bad that he’s annoyed, but on the other hand, I had nothing to do with the rental, and I’m paying ten thousand dollars a month, so he probably needs to lighten up.

“And Eddie won’t say anything about you being here, will you, Eddie?”

Eddie looks like he couldn’t care about anything except making sure his beer taps are polished.

“Secret’s safe with me,” he replies, and I’m pinned once more by his steely gray eyes. “As long as you remember this is the best pub in the village, not The Cupid’s Arrow.”

“Got it. I can remember that for sure.”

“And you’re joining our cricket team for the summer fair.”

“Um . . . ”

“Eddie, leave her alone. She’s only just arrived,” Clemmie chides playfully and picks up her Diet Coke. “And please can we grab a couple of bags of salt and vinegar? I’m showing Holiday around the village.”

Turning around again, Eddie removes two of the smallest bags of chips I’ve ever seen from a basket and passes them to Clemmie, who shoves them in her pockets.

“Don’t leave it too long next time,” he grumbles.

“We’ll be back tomorrow. Now I have a new buddy,” Clemmie replies.

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” I add, reaching for my purse. “What do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s put it on my tab.” Clemmie nudges me gently. “Come on, I want to show you something I think you’ll like.”

I figure Clemmie’s taking me to another store or another part of the main street, but five minutes later, we’re walking through a field toward a cluster of huge oak trees. My sneakers have soaked through from the rain clinging to the long grass, but I forget all about it when we reach the center.

A tiny waterfall about twenty feet high drops into a perfectly round rock pool.

My gasp echoes around us. It looks like something you’d find in the rainforests on a remote island off South America, not in the English countryside.

I make out a small ledge behind the waterfall, which, over time, has carved a couple of steps leading to the pool. The water is crystal clear—no moss, no leaves or dirt. Nothing. I can’t tell how deep it is, but at the bottom, I can see a large pink rock, the exact shade of the blossom trees.

There’s a magical quality to it. Although that could be because Clemmie’s whispering and the buzz of Diet Coke has gone straight to my head .

I’m genuinely speechless, and it’s totally worth the fences we climbed over to get here.

As if reading my mind, Clemmie says, “There’s a much easier path leading from the gate at the back of Bluebell Cottage. If you ever want some privacy outside of the cottage, you can come here.”

Having seen how busy the village is, I’m surprised at how quiet it is.

“Do people swim in it?”

“No, it’s on our private land. If anyone’s here, they’re trespassing, but you’re welcome to,” she replies, sitting down on the grass verge and patting the spot next to her. “No one ever comes here, though.”

“What is this place?”

Removing the packets of chips from her pocket, she rips them both open with her teeth until they’re flattened out and places them between us.

“It’s Cupid’s Waterfall. He’s the symbol of our village, and legend has it his parents came here for a quickie.” She giggles through a sip.

“Oh, that’s the cherub I’ve seen everywhere.”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles, laying back. “It’s kind of cute but totally cheesy.”

Leaning back, I prop myself on my elbows and close my eyes. “Nice story, though.”

It’s probably the warmth of the sun, the birds chirping, and the crunch of chips as we slowly eat them, all combined with the tranquility of this place, but for the first time since I arrived in England, I feel truly relaxed. Content, almost.

“Anyway, you’re welcome to swim here or read books, whatever you want, but if you’d rather a proper swimming pool, come over to Burlington. I plan to spend the entire summer on the sun lounger while contemplating my life choices. I promise it doesn’t rain every day. ”

Clemmie closes her eyes, and her breathing evens out as she drifts into a nap. I lie next to her, thinking about what she said because contemplating life choices sounds exactly like what I need too.

And perhaps doing them in the English countryside makes staying here not such a terrible mistake after all.