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Matthew’s words broke through the silence, though it did nothing to detract from the quiet around them.
“No, I was just thinking about how slowly everything seems to move here. More intentional, you know?”
“That’s what I believe you New Yorkers like to call mindfulness.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Although,” he continued, “I will say that it’s easier to be at peace here surrounded by such beauty. But that’s Yorkshire for you.”
Winnie peered up at him, his wistful tone intriguing. His blue eyes looked distant as he stared at the stone walls climbing up the green fields and the skies textured by both dark and light clouds. A look of tranquility stretched across his features, soothing any worried wrinkles he might have had and easing a small smile on his lips.
She’d never seen him like this before, as if he was at one with his surroundings. But then, as she observed the people around them, they all had that same look.
What was it about this place that cast that relaxing spell on everyone—herself included? Not even the memory of Saturday’s failure or of Dad’s calls could diminish the feeling. It was as if her heart slowly opened to allow stillness to drift in like the trickling of the brook by the café.
“I love your boots.”
Winnie was pulled from her thoughts at the compliment delivered by an older woman walking by.
“Oh, they’re not mine,” she instantly responded.
“Well, I think they’re lovely,” the woman insisted, then she walked on.
Winnie had been so caught up in the spell of Malham, Yorkshire, and seemingly England as a whole that she’d forgotten all about the blasted wellies.
Matthew nudged her with his elbow. “See? They’re the height of fashion.”
Winnie rolled her eyes. “Nice try.”
But as they continued, more women, both young and old, complimented her boots. Winnie continued to respond on the defensive until the fifth comment, where she finally held her tongue and merely expressed her gratitude.
“There you go,” Matthew said with an approving nod. “Just accept it.”
Their eyes caught, and they shared a smile before a large, gray and white cliffside loomed in her peripheral vision.
Matthew followed her gaze. “There it is. Malham Cove.”
Winnie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the view of the beautiful cove outdid anything she could have imagined. Reaching heights that had to be more than two hundred feet, the cove boasted of a curving cliffside, white limestone that was stained gray, and a waterfall pouring down the center of it. Full, craggy trees filled the area at the base of the cove, and a river led away from the waterfall, gentle and curving, with steppingstones placed deliberately across it.
On one side of the cove, sheep speckled the land like white stars in a green sky, and on the opposite side, a long stretch of stairs led directly to the top.
“Are we going up there?” she asked, pointing to the stairs.
He smiled. “Hence why I suggested wellies.”
“How many steps are there?”
“Four-hundred,” he said assuredly. “Can you manage?”
She scoffed. “Please, I’ve climbed more flights of stairs in New York.”
Only a slight exaggeration. Still, she couldn’t let him know how intimidated she was by the prospect of climbing so many steps.
They neared the cove closer and closer, Winnie still marveling at the tranquility around her before they reached a stone wall that blocked their way. As she drew closer, however, she noticed that the walls overlapped with a wooden gate in the middle of them, only one person being able to fit through at a time.
“So what’s the point of this?” she asked.
He looked back at her as he went through first. “You’ve never seen a kissing gate before?”
