Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The drive to Malham was short and beautiful, the thick trees that lined Foxwood’s border eventually shifting from dense wood to incredible open fields of lilting, green grass, gray stone walls, and small homes that dotted the landscape.
They traveled down a supposedly two-car road that was barely big enough for even Matthew’s small car to fit, then finally arrived at their first destination. He pulled into the little lot, then turned the Mini Cooper off.
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to turn it back on?” Winnie asked.
“You keep carrying on that way, and she’s going to throw a fit,” Matthew warned.
Winnie only laughed. She reached forward then, trying to open the door, but nothing happened.
“Handle doesn’t work, remember?” Matthew said.
He sent her a smile, then exited the car himself. Soon, he arrived at her side and opened the door for her.
Another memory flashed through her mind of high school and boys opening doors for her on dates, but she suppressed the thought. They were on a business trip, that was all. Despite the fact that he’d prohibited them from speaking about business at all…
She expressed her gratitude, then made to step out of the vehicle, only to freeze with her boot hovering in the air just above the muddiest ground she’d ever seen.
“Hence why I suggested the wellies,” Matthew said, waiting for her to exit the car.
With what little pride she had left, Winnie pushed aside her reservations and placed both boots on the ground, pushing herself out of the low vehicle.
The heels stuck directly into the mud like needles into a pincushion, but she faced him with an easy smile. “Ready?”
He shook his head. “You’re not going to make it far in those.”
“Look, I’ve walked miles in these shoes in New York. I can handle however long it’ll take to get to Malham Cove.”
“I’m sure you could. But the terrain is a touch different than New York City’s streets.” He looked to the boots with a shake of his head. “You’ll aerate half of Yorkshire with those on. Just put on the ruddy wellies.”
Winnie wrestled with herself. She was supposed to be taking his advice. But…those wellies. They were hideous. She took a step forward, her heels making it far more difficult to move than she’d thought.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes. “Fine. I’ll wear them.”
“Finally,” Matthew muttered.
He made for the trunk and pulled out the gaudy creatures, handing them to her with far-too-chipper a smile.
She mumbled another thanks, sat back down in the car, and one by one, exchanged her sleek, black, leather, high-heeled boots for the rubber, flower-covered monstrosities.
Matthew left to pay for parking, and by the time he returned, she was standing in the mud with Char’s boots donned.
Matthew’s amused smile didn’t help. “Now those look good on you.”
She grimaced. “I should not be seen in public like this. ”
“I don’t know,” Matthew said, placing the parking stub on the inside of the dashboard before locking up his car. “I think they fit your personality perfectly.”
She glared at his smile. “Where do you even buy stuff that looks like this?”
“I think Char purchased them from a charity shop,” Matthew responded.
“That checks out,” she muttered.
“You ought to be grateful,” he continued. “You’ll be able to make it to the top of the cove. And, bonus—now I won’t lose you in the crowds.”
After all the comments about his car, Winnie absolutely deserved his teasing. But as she stared down at the boots, the pink, yellow, and orange contrasting harshly with her classy black raincoat and dark blue jeans, she shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t be seen like this.”
She made to open the car to switch back to her own boots, but Matthew cut her off, wrapping his fingers around her hand, and pulling her across the lot.
“Come on, you muppet,” he said with a laugh. “No one cares what they look like but you.”
She would have protested, but his hand around hers had rendered her completely senseless.
As soon as they’d crossed the parking lot and tramped through the worst of the mud, he released her, but the warmth around her remained.
Fortunately, the rain boots she now wore distracted her enough from the fact that Matthew Wintour had just held her hand.
“How do you even walk in these?” she asked.
She stepped awkwardly in them, feeling as if she wore snowshoes.
Matthew looked down at her. “How long has it been since you’ve not worn heels?”
“Does being barefoot count? ”
“No.”
“Then I can’t remember.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, seriously,” she said. “I can’t remember. Maybe when I was riding horses?”
“A decade ago?”
“Probably.”
He shook his head. “Well, just go slower until you get the hang of it.”
It took longer than she cared to admit, but eventually, Winnie was finally able to step more naturally.
“There you go,” Matthew said beside her. “Now you’ve learned not to trudge, we’ll reach the top of the cove before nightfall.”
Winnie ignored his teasing, and the two of them continued down the quiet road as she took in the sights around her.
It was a gorgeous area, filled with massive, towering trees, full green leaves, and a small river that trickled gently beside the road. They crossed by a few people who nodded their heads in greeting, most of them walking small dogs who stopped to sniff at every branch, tree trunk, and spare rock on their path.
She and Matthew fell into a comfortable silence, and it continued as they reached a small café off the side of the road. They ate their breakfast—scones and hot chocolates—on the small, white tea tables set up with sunshades atop, as Winnie looked around her in amazement.
Everything was just so quiet . In New York, cars constantly honked, police sirens whirred, and crosswalk signals incessantly beeped. If people spoke, it was only on their phones, eyes focused straight ahead or on the sidewalk before them.
Here? Here, not a phone was in sight as the people sat on their small tables outside, quietly murmuring their conversations. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the tops of the trees, and even the water softly trickled instead of raged as it trailed down its path .
That near reverence continued as they left the café behind, following along a tan-colored pathway lined on both its sides with grass, thick, full, and rich.
Most people whom they passed by along the way tipped their heads in greeting, their dogs as quiet as the owners. Others greeted a soft, “Hiya,” or “All right?” before continuing on their way in further peaceful silence.
If she tried to say hello to even one stranger in New York she’d either be ignored or stared at like she was crazy.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about how friendly everyone was here, but as the cool air kissed her cheeks and the green and gray atmosphere filled her soul with a peace she hadn’t known to exist since she was a child, she had to admit, she could get used to it.
“You’re not thinking about work, are you?”
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?”
She gave him a dubious look. “Kissing gate? That’s really what it’s called?”
He nodded in earnest, sidling through part of the gate as she waited for her own turn. “Really. They’re used to keep animals contained. But it’s also tradition for a gentleman to hold the gate closed until he receives the proper payment—usually a kiss—from a lady. Only then does he let her through.”
Winnie paused, looking at Matthew as he remained where he was, preventing her progression as he held the gate closed, just as he’d described in his story.
He had to be joking, right? There wasn’t any way he was actually considering making her pay in the way he’d explained. And yet, as their eyes connected, those blue depths staring into her soul, her breath caught in her throat.
She had a feeling that was exactly what he was considering.