An equally happy and wagging Elsa trots after her.
* * *
“Seriously, Elsa. Please stop.” I wipe dog saliva from the side of my neck for what feels like the four-hundredth time since we hit the road.
Apparently, Elsa likes to ride on the back seat of the truck with her head between the seats, and I seem to be blocking her usually clear view.
Summer chuckles as she keeps her eyes focused on the road ahead.
I prod her shoulder. “Don’t dare tell me again that it means she likes me.”
“But shedoes. Anyway, we’re almost there.”
Farmhouses appear on either side of the road, the first buildings we’ve seen for about half an hour.
“This is the start of Blythewell,” Summer says. “What are we looking for?”
I check my phone. “Max’s instructions say, ‘Through the village and out the other side.’”
Gradually we pass more and more buildings. And they change from agricultural barns to country homes. Some brick, some clapboard. All look like they were painted yesterday.
“Are shutters compulsory around here?” I ask, as Elsa finally takes the hint and leans against the back seat.
“It’s pretty cute. My grandparents used to bring me here for ice cream sometimes when I was a kid. It’s even nicer on the other side—more heritage homes there. Your cousins picked a nice spot to set up their parents for retirement.”
We enter the center of the village with stores on either side. It’s pretty cute. A coffee shop, bakery, florist, a general store, something with a window full of baskets called Nellie’s Charms—all the staples of country life.
The other cute thing about my view is Summer’s profile against the low winter sun.
“We’re almost through the village,” she says. “Where next?”
I drag my eyes away from my gorgeous driver and read the next line of Max’s note. “‘First right after the clock tower,’ which I guess isthat.” I point at a wooden tower covered in carved flowers on an island in the middle of the road, then go back to the instructions. “He says, ‘Then second left. Narrow path, careful you don’t miss it.’”
I sigh. “It can’t ever just be ‘first right, second left’ with Max. There always has to be something like ‘careful you don’t miss it.’ As if everyone but him has the potential to fuck up.”
As Summer turns right, I take in the pub on the corner. “The Frisky Ferret. Good name.”
She points at the yarn shop on the opposite corner. “More importantly, that place has the best kettle-dyed yarn.”
Beyond the buildings, there are fields to the right and a hill on the left.
Light snowflakes start to fall and Summer turns on the wipers. “Well, there’s first left.” She nods toward a road behind the knitting store.
“Second must be there.” I gesture a little way ahead to a gap in the fence that runs alongside the road.“It does look narrow.”
Summer hits the brakes to stop us overshooting. It flings Elsa forward off the back seat, and her nose rams into the side of my face.
“Sorry, folks.” Summer laughs, as I rub my cheek and Elsa climbs out of the footwell andback onto the seat.
“Did Max mention it was steep?” She drops the truck down a gear as we climb the hill. “At least the gravel gives us some traction.”
She leans forward, grips the steering wheel, and concentrates on the road ahead as the wipers swish the snowflakes back and forth. “Where are the houses, though? Do you know what number we’re looking for?”
“Oh, it doesn’t have a number. It’s the only one up here. This path ends at the house.”
We curve to the right and a pair of huge wrought iron gates, in a high wall around what is presumably my aunt and uncle’s new home, come into view.
Summer jerks the truck to a sudden halt.
