‘Oh, of course. That would be the test.’
‘Exactly. But you know, it’s a shame you’re not volunteering.’ He tapped his fork against his plate, pretending to be deep in thought. ‘I mean, this time next year, we’ll probably be married anyway. Might as well get a head start.’
She gave him an exasperated look. ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re deluded.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, utterly unfazed, going back to his breakfast as if he hadn’t just confidently predicted their future together.
Fern shook her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.
Maybe he was deluded. Or maybe, just maybe, he was onto something.
ChapterEleven
After breakfast, Fern stood in the doorway of the kitchen, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Daniel was sitting outside on a worn-out chair, his guitar balanced on his knee, fingers idly strumming a soft melody. His notepad was open on the patio table in front of him, a pen tucked behind his ear. His tousled blond curls fell over his forehead, and the faded grey T-shirt, clinging just right, paired with his Levi’s and battered Converse, made him look unfairly good.
When he glanced up and caught her watching, he grinned, an easy, lopsided smile that sent an unexpected flip through her stomach. It had been a long time since that had happened.
‘I’m heading out to explore the island. Might as well, since I’m only here for a short time.’
Daniel smiled, strumming another chord. ‘That’s what you think. Once you see Puffin Island, you’ll never leave. There’s no place like it.’
‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘I’m just speaking the truth.’
She watched him for a moment longer before grabbing her bag. His words stuck with her as she stepped outside No. 17 Curiosity Lane.The distant crash of waves and the sharp cries of gulls filled the air, not sounds you hear in the middle of the city. As she set off down Anchor Way the sun was surprisingly warm, casting a golden shimmer across Bluewater Bay. The sea stretched out before her, the waves lazily rolling against the shore. The air smelled of the seaside and something sweet, maybe from a bakery nearby, and she took a seat to savour the view.
Fern had always loved the coast. One of her fondest childhood memories was of a family holiday on the Pembrokeshire coast when she was seven years old. She’d spent hours watching the waves roll onto the shore, mesmerised. There was something deeply calming about the sea. Yet the thought of actually living by it had never crossed her mind. Her parents had been city people through and through, firmly rooted in the hum of urban life. Even as a child, she had been immersed in that world, attending a city school where independence was expected. By the age of eight, she was already navigating the London Underground on her own, hopping onto the tube before switching to a bus, making her way to school with the confidence of someone far beyond her years.
The coast had always been an escape, a fleeting glimpse into another way of life, one she had never considered could be her own. Fern sat on a weathered wooden bench near the bay, staring out at the jetty where the Sea Glass Restaurant sat perched at the end. She’d read about it and its famous glass-bottomed dining experience, where guests could sip wine while watching marine life swim beneath them. On the other side of the bay, the lighthouse stood proudly, its white and red stripes bold against the blue sky. Fern exhaled, letting her thoughts drift back to Daniel’s ridiculous proposal. How exactly was he going to make people buy junk? And was she really expected to sit around for a month while he worked his so-called magic before selling the shop? Would this mean staying on the island longer, or could she just leave him to it? She could work remotely, her job allowed it, but she thrived on the energy of the city, with the constant movement, the hum of conversation. Could she really trade that for creaky floorboards and eccentric antiques? She stood, brushing the thought aside for now, and wandered a little further along the bay until she reached a small, inviting hut with a hand-painted sign proclaiming it the Cosy Kettle.The smell of fresh coffee wafted from the hatch.
Fern turned to see a woman with sun-flushed cheeks and a blue headscarf tied over her hair. Her apron was splattered with coffee stains and what looked suspiciously like Nutella. She beamed at Fern, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
‘What can I get you?’
‘A latte, please.’
‘Coming right up. Are you on holiday?’
‘Actually, no. I’m Fern. I’ve… inherited No. 17 Curiosity Lane. Matilda’s place. I’m her great-niece.’
The woman blinked, her expression softening instantly. ‘Matilda’sshop? Oh wow.’ She leaned on the counter, her eyes bright with something close to affection. ‘That place is legendary around here. We all wondered what might happen to it. It’s wonderful to hear it’ll stay in the family.’
Fern didn’t have the heart to correct her and share that she was on a mission to get it sold.
‘I’m Becca, and this is my little kingdom,’ she said, gesturing proudly to the hut. ‘The Cosy Kettle. Open all hours. I would have thought I’d have seen you around, visiting Matilda, but I’ve not seen you before on the island.’
‘It’s… complicated. I didn’t know she existed until a little over forty-eight hours ago.’
‘Gosh! That’s a shame, as she was brilliant, but I can guarantee you will love it here just as much as she did. This place gets under your skin.’
‘I’m starting to see that,’ Fern admitted, taking the warm coffee Becca handed her.
‘Well,’ Becca said with a smile, ‘you’ve already found the best coffee on the island so you’re off to a strong start. If you need anything– a night out, waffles in the morning, a baked potato dropping off at the shop for lunch– just shout.’
‘I will, thanks,’ Fern replied before settling at one of the little wooden tables. For the first time in ages, she actually felt relaxed. This place had a strange kind of calm, like time didn’t rush forward the way it did everywhere else.
‘Hello again.’
