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Charlotte's chest felt as if it werefilled with the warm glow of a summer sunset, the kind that painted the skiesabove Chesham Cove in strokes of pink and orange. Her gaze traced the familiarlines of his face, the stubble that shadowed his jaw, the crinkles at thecorners of his eyes—marks of the honest life he led. Here, in this living roomadorned with sea glass and driftwood sculptures, she felt the last remnants ofher reservations slip away like sand through an hourglass.
Simon shifted slightly, breaking theirintimate tableau. He reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, hismovements deliberate but betraying a hint of the nerves he must have beenfeeling. The small box he retrieved caught the light, its simple elegancespeaking volumes about the man who held it.
"Charlotte," he began, hisvoice a mix of vulnerability and hope, "there's something I've beenwaiting for the right moment to—"
She watched, entranced, as he openedthe box, revealing not the contents but the promise of a question that hung inthe air between them—a question that might just seal the beginning of a newchapter in their intertwined story. The anticipation that fluttered in herstomach was not one borne from fear but from the sheer exhilaration of steppingforward, hand in hand, with the man whose love had become her safe harbor.
The fire flickered across Simon's faceas he carefully unhinged the box. Charlotte's breath hitched, her eyesreflecting the sparkle of something delicate and lustrous nestled within thevelvet lining—a necklace, its pendant an intricate knot symbolizing eternity.
As Simon presented the necklace, itspendant glinting softly in the dim light, Charlotte felt a complex swell ofemotions churn within her. The intricate knot, symbolizing eternity, wasbeautiful, a symbol of Simon's thoughtfulness and the depth of his feelings.Yet, an unbidden wave of disappointment crashed over her, dousing the warm glowof anticipation that had built up moments before. She had convinced herself, ifonly for a fleeting second, that the box might contain an engagement ring—atangible sign of commitment she hadn't realized she was yearning for untilfaced with its absence.
The realization that this necklace waslikely the item Simon had been shopping for in the jewelry store—a scene shehad stumbled upon weeks earlier—settled heavily in her heart. Thedisappointment was a bitter pill, its taste all the more poignant amidst thevulnerability of her confession and the intimacy of their evening.
"Charlotte?" Simon's voice,laced with a hint of concern, pulled her from the quicksand of her thoughts."Do you like it?"
She forced a smile, the facade brittleas thin ice. "It's beautiful, Simon. Really." Her words were aneffort to shield him from the storm of disappointment and confusion swirlinginside her.
Simon's expression softened, the reliefevident in his sigh. "I saw it and thought of you immediately—the eternityknot, for how I feel about you."
Charlotte's heart ached with acomplexity she couldn't voice. The necklace, while thoughtful, felt like asymbol of her misplaced expectations rather than a celebration of theirconnection.
"I... I need to findRoxanne," Charlotte said abruptly, her voice barely above a whisper. Thewords were an escape hatch, a way to distance herself from the immediacy of heremotions and the guilt of her disappointment. “But thank you, really.”
"Stay tonight," Simon urged,his eyes searching hers for a sign of what had suddenly shifted between them."It's late, and you're upset. You don't have to go through thisalone."
His offer was a lifeline, one shedesperately wanted to grasp. Yet, the turmoil inside her—a maelstrom of dashedhopes and self-reproach—demanded solitude, a space to nurse her wounds unseen.
"I can't, Simon. I'm sorry. I needto...th-think," Charlotte stumbled over the words, her gaze dropping toavoid the piercing honesty of his. "Roxanne might need me."
With a heaviness that mirrored theleaden skies of Chesham Cove's stormier days, Charlotte stood and fastened thenecklace around her throat, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth ofSimon's hand as he reached out to her one last time.
The walk back to the village was ablur, her feet tracing the familiar path through the veil of gathering mist,each step taking her further from the warmth of Simon's cottage and the futureshe had dared to imagine. The night air was a cold slap against her skin, aphysical manifestation of the internal chill that had settled over her heart.
As the lights of Chesham Cove villageflickered in the distance, Charlotte's mind raced, replaying the evening'sevents, Simon's words, and the look in his eyes. She clutched the necklacetighter.
Internally, she chastised herself forthe surge of juvenile disappointment that had overshadowed Simon's gesture oflove. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling of being adrift, caught in the ebband flow of what she wished for and what was.
She pushed it all aside. For now, andto distance her aching heart from her own dashed hopes, she needed to findRoxanne.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It didn’t take long—mostly becauseChesham wasn’t that big. Charlotte watched as Roxanne's silhouette cut throughthe night, her steps certain and brisk on the cobblestone path leading back tothe pub. Charlotte hesitated, then smoothed down the fabric of her cardigan, anervous habit, before trailing after Roxanne.
"Roxie," Charlotte calledout, her voice softer than she intended, lost amidst the gentle night breezethat carried the scent of salt and sea.
Roxanne paused, turning with an archedeyebrow that was all too familiar. "What's up, Lottie?"
"You ran off," Charlottebegan, feeling the weight of her intentions like wet sand in her shoes. Shereached for her sister's arm, urging her to slow down, to really listen."I think it might be worth considering... maybe just toning down theattitude a bit. This storming off is too much. And not just with Dad andLiam—here in Chesham, too, you could stand to be more reserved."
"Reserved?" Roxanne bristled,her stance rigid beneath the golden glow of the streetlamp. "I'm not aboutto change who I am to fit into this—this postcard village."
"Roxie, please," Charlotteimplored, sensing the growing tension. "You're bold, and I admire that,truly, but sometimes your ways can come off a bit strong here."
"Strong? You mean honest? Direct?Since when are those bad things? I'm not the one who ran away from New York tohide in some seaside fantasy."
Charlotte felt a pinch in her heart, areminder of wounds still fresh, of Daniel and the life she had left behind. Butthis was about more than her—it was about Roxanne finding her place too, wasn'tit? "It's not about hiding," she said quietly, her gaze dropping towhere the sea met the shore in the distance. "It's about starting over.And sometimes that means adapting, even just a little."
"Adapting," Roxanne repeated,the word lingering between them like the last notes of a song. She shook herhead, the annoyance clear in her furrowed brow. "Look, I appreciate whatyou're trying to do, but I don't need advice on how to conduct myself. Thissituation is frustrating enough without having to pretend to be someone I'mnot."
