"There shouldn’t be any," he replies, searching his pocket, before pulling out a key. "But if something comes up, our contact information is on the paperwork.”
I study him, trying to assess what has him so tense, what, exactly, has put his back up yet again. He holds the key out, waiting, but his gaze flicks to mine, noticing my stare.
"Why you lookin’ at me like that?"
He casually wipes a hand across his face as if expecting to find more flour lingering there.
I cross my arms, tilting my head slightly.
"Just … trying to figure out if grumpy is your default setting …"
Ford says nothing, just holds the key out, expectant, his expression unchanging. I sigh, stepping forward to take it, and as my fingers graze his,a sharp pulse snaps through the touch. I tense for half a second, surprised, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came. A static shock, surely.
After the briefest, and frankly, most abrupt tour of the cottage, Ford left without ceremony, shutting the door behind him like he couldn’t get out fast enough.
I stand motionless for a beat, letting the quiet settle, and letting the space around me fully sink in. I can’t believe this is my home. The cottage is charming, effortlessly cosy, and the kind of home that feels lived-in despite its fresh start with me. I’m lucky it came fully furnished really, because I have no idea what I would have done otherwise.
I glance around, taking in the space. The cottage blends clean lines with rustic charm creating a sort of quiet elegance. There are linen sofas bracketing a reclaimed wood coffee table, its surface worn smooth with age but set atop sleek black metal legs, and pale oak floors are softened by a textured jute rug. In the background, floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the wall, framing the fields and distant mountains to create a living painting.
Even the kitchen is a perfect mix of understated glamour, and a farmhouse feel, with muted green shaker cabinets and brushed gold hardware, balanced by sleek appliances and quartz counters. Open shelves hold stoneware mugs and pots of growing herbs, practical yet warm. Then my eyes drift to the swing seat nestled in the small garden, a quiet retreat surrounded by patches of wildflowers and soft greenery dotted carefully around. A perfect little sanctuary.
And this place, this life, is exactly what I need.
There isn’t much to change, at least not from what I can see so far. And that’s a relief, because I want to spend my time focusing on my new venture rather than obsessing over decor.
The location couldn’t have been more ideal. The ranch sits just outside a small, quaint town—the kind of place that looks like it’s straight from the pages of a storybook and nestled right at the edge was a perfect little building, up for sale.
Well, it was for sale. Now, that’s mine too.
I used the inheritance and life insurance payout I received after my mum and sister passed away to purchase it. The weight of that reality is never far from my mind but knowing that I’m using it to build something worthwhile, to create something good, makes it feel like more than just money. It’s a new beginning, a way to honour them in my own way.
My Bookstagram following has grown steadily over the years, drawing in new authors looking for help with their reach, eager for someone to read and promote their books. And somewhere along the way, I realised I could turn it into something bigger—something for myself, too.
So, I’m opening an indie bookstore.
During my research, I discovered that this town has a thriving book club, one so popular that people travel from nearby towns just to be part of it. And yet, strangely enough, there isn’t a bookstore in sight. I found that odd. And I plan to fix it. Now, I just need to get everything up and running.
I grab my suitcases, hauling them up the stairs with considerably more effort than I care to admit, until I reach my new bedroom. There are two bedrooms in the cottage, and I would like to make one my office and personal library—although, I left all my books behind in London, donating them to charity. A noble choice, sure, but one that shattered my heart in the process. It felt like saying goodbye to pieces of myself. Still, I managed to bring a few favourites with me—the ones that are too precious to partwith. And of course, the books that I am currently reading and wanting to promote.
The silver lining is that now I get to rebuild my collection. Sure, I have my Kindle, but nothing compares to the feel of pages between my fingers. There’s something special about the soft rustle as they turn and knowing you have the weight of a story in your hands—not to mention the unmistakable scent of ink and paper.
My bedroom is spacious and welcoming, a sanctuary all on its own. A large bed rests against one wall near the charming, small-paned windows, while another houses a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a delicate dressing table. Fluffy rugs adorn the wooden floor, so I toe off my Converse, pressing my bare feet into the softness and letting the sensation root me into this new chapter. I inhale deeply and let gratitude settle over me. Finally,finally, my life feels like it’s shifting in the right direction.
Still wrapped in the quiet hum of contentment, I cross the room and flop onto my bed, letting the plush mattress swallow me whole. I stare up at the ceiling. Exhaustion from the long journey is finally creeping in, but just before sleep claims me, one lingering thought curls into place.
Ford lives next door.
Ford, who is frustratingly attractive, yet as standoffish as humanly possible.
Ford, with that sharp jaw, those strong hands, and that quiet, unreadable stare.
There’s something about him—something closed off and a little guarded. Something that draws my attention even though I should know better. And though I do know better ... I can't stop my mind from wondering how often I'll see him.
6
Stormy
Abright glow spills across my face, dragging me from the depths of sleep. I jolt upright, breath catching, heart hammering. The room is quiet, still, but my pulse doesn’t trust it. I blink hard, disoriented, the harsh flood of sunlight slicing through the window and making me squint. It’s too bright. Too loud. Like the world forgot how to whisper.
