Amonth had passed since Wyatt had seen Edith in London. He’d been busy with work, from meetings in person to those online, and travelling around the UK visiting venues and clients. It was good to have this time in the UK to get things done, and he’d arranged plenty to keep him busy leading up to the wedding.
He’d allowed himself some time off afterwards to enjoy the beautiful scenery of Cornwall. To make that possible, he’d rented a cottage in Porthpenny where Titus and Finn lived. He’d rented the cottage for June and July so he could have a base while in the UK, and he was heading there today to drop off his belongings and meet up with Titus. Of course, he knew now that Edith lived in the village too and that there was a chance of seeing her, but he’d tried to put that from his mind in order to avoid dealing with the conflicting feelings that brought to the surface.
After he’d stopped at the cottage, which was a quaint little fisherman’s cottage overlooking the harbour, he left the car on the driveway and wandered down into the village.
The June air was laced with salt and seaweed, the sweet scents of flowers blooming in gardens and window boxes, and the honeysuckle, roses and clematis that grew around doorways and tumbled over stone walls. The village was pretty and colourful, and he could understand why Titus enjoyed living there.
As he walked, he was aware of the tapping of his shoes on the cobbles and the cries of gulls circling the boats in the harbour. He passed a bakery, and the aromas of freshly baked bread and pastries greeted him, making his mouth water.
Pausing to look inside, he watched as a young man arranged a tray of saffron buns on the counter, their golden crusts studded with raisins. In the trays behind the glass were flaky, butter-browned Cornish pasties, loaves of bread, sausage rolls, fat fluffy scones and more. Everything was fresh and delicious, and he looked forward to sampling the local produce.
Further along, he came to a shop calledThe Book Nook. He stopped and admired the pretty exterior: planters on the pavement filled with colourful flowers, and two old Wellington boots on the steps overflowing with fragrant blooms. Around the glass of the window and the door, fairy lights twinkled. The window display was of recommended summer reads. Peering through the glass, he saw the shelves were well stocked, and the interior looked cool and inviting.
There was no way he could walk past a bookshop and not go inside, so he pushed open the door and crossed the threshold. The scent of books and coffee greeted him, and he paused for a moment, savouring the anticipation of entering a bookshop where there were so many words for him to read, so many worlds waiting to be explored.
As he browsed the shelves, a memory unfolded of him and Edith all those years ago, strolling around the bookshops of Bath together, hand in hand. They’d browsed the fiction section, sometimes leaning against each other as they selected a book and read the blurb, sometimes laughing as they reached for the same book. When she’d leant against him, he’d kissed her hair automatically, inhaled her scent and thanked the universe for sending him such a wonderful woman to be his best friend and his lover, and one day, hopefully, his wife.
His wife…
And what had happened instead? He had let her go. No, more than that, he had deliberately neglected her so that she’d feel he wanted nothing more to do with her. The woman he’d once imagined waiting at the end of the aisle for and then vowing to love and honour for the rest of his life. Back then, he couldn’t imagine living without her. But he had lived without her, and now that he’d seen her again, he had no idea how he had managed that. Edith had beeneverything.
‘Hello there.’ The voice came from behind the counter, so he turned.
‘Oh, hello.’ He smiled and gave a half-wave.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ The woman smiled at him, and he took in her long white-blonde hair laced with purple streaks and her warm butterscotch eyes. She was wearing a denim dress with short sleeves and had a pencil tucked behind her right ear. ‘I’m Rosa Lake and this is my shop.’
‘Hello, Rosa. I’m Wyatt Simmons. I’m renting a cottage in the village for the summer, so you’ll probably see more of me.Bookshops are irresistible to me, and this one is amazing.’ He held out his hands as he looked around and Rosa laughed.
‘Why, thank you.’ She came around the counter, and with her came a waft of pink pepper, grapefruit and something floral. It suited her appearance, he thought, and what he could only describe as her aura. He’d met a lot of people over the years, and he thought he was a pretty good judge of character, and Rosa seemed like one of the decent ones. ‘Were you looking for anything in particular?’
Wyatt cleared his throat. ‘I was just browsing but, now that you mention it, I could do with a book about how to be a best man.’
‘You have a friend getting married?’ she asked.
‘I do. He’s from here, actually. Titus Pinnock.’
‘I know Titus. He’s marrying Finn.’ Rosa nodded. ‘Oh! And so you’re the best man?’
‘That’s right.’
‘OK, no problem. Come with me.’
Rosa led him to the rear of the shop and to a section of non-fiction titles. She ran her finger along the spines until she stopped on one and slid it from the shelf. ‘Here you go.’
Wyatt accepted the book. ‘Thank you. I’m not exactly the shy and retiring type, but in this instance I could do with some help and inspiration. I’m from New York, as you can probably tell, and while I’m guessing the best man thing is the same here as there, I don’t want to make a faux pas and ruin the wedding for the grooms.’
‘I’m sure it is the same thing really, but it’s always good to check.’ Rosa nodded. ‘Feel free to have a look through the book and check it’s right for you while you’re here. There’s a coffee machine on the table there, so help yourself to a drink and something to eat.’ She pointed at a table with said coffee machine and some baskets of biscuits and muffins.
‘Wow! That’s great, thanks so much.’
While Rosa went back behind the counter, Wyatt selected a few more titles from around the shop and then set them on a side table next to one of the armchairs and made himself a coffee. He grabbed a biscuit and went to sit down. He sipped the coffee as he looked at the books he’d selected, already knowing he would get them all, but enjoying the opportunity to take five and to soak up the atmosphere of the bookshop.
His gaze drifted to the window overlooking the harbour, and it struck him that Edith had probably been in here too. Perhaps she’d sat on this very chair and sipped coffee or hot chocolate while reading one of those romance novels she’d always liked or the psychological thrillers that kept her guessing. Edith’s life was threaded through this village just like Titus’ and Finn’s. She had walked these streets, had gazed out at the sea, strolled along the beach and lived out important moments of her existence right here where he had walked today. Their lives had converged again after many years, and so many new experiences, and now, here they were again, on the precipice of something else. Something new. Something as yet undecided. Like two boats being brought into the harbour, they were being moored together. Who could have predicted that they would both be involved in a mutual friend’s wedding? It was like this was meant to be and there was nothing he could, or would, do to fight it.
When he’d finished his coffee, he checked his phone and saw he had a new message. For a moment, his heart leapt — maybe Edith? He opened it, saw it was from his mother, and immediately locked the screen, keen to avoid that particular drama right now. He’d read it properly later and reply, probably have to call her or she’d fret herself into a frenzy and then it would be even harder to calm her down.
He got up and went to the counter, paid for the books and then headed back out into the fresh air, trying again to stop himself searching for Edith in every face he saw. At any moment, he could bump into her, and the thought both excited him and made him apprehensive. He felt he needed time to prepare before he saw her again, or everyone would read his feelings on his face, as clear as the ink on the books he’d bought.
