Chapter 1 #2
Cold air blasts us as we turn the corner, and I pull my coat a little tighter to cover Everly.
She’s strapped to my chest, and with any luck, she’ll soon be taking her first nap of the day.
I pray she can’t hear my heart hammering because with every step forward, it feels like I’m getting closer to a cliff’s edge and not the main street of this town.
Valentine Nook is as cute in real life as its name suggests. The road is lined with old brick buildings, super quaint storefronts all painted in shades of green, and along the walls climb the roots of wisteria, which will look incredible when it blooms.
Two guys up ladders are removing black-and-orange bunting festooned from lamppost to lamppost, remnants of Halloween a couple of days ago.
Most of the store stoops are still decorated with fall pumpkins, which no doubt will soon be replaced by Christmas ornaments.
I can already tell it won’t be of the plastic blowup variety.
No inflatable Santas here.
This place will be tasteful wreaths, perhaps some Nutcrackers, maybe a few reindeer . . . because despite my nerves, it’s one of the prettiest streets I’ve ever seen. If I wasn’t loyal to Aspen, I’d say it’s the prettiest.
I bet it looks awesome for the holidays.
Shoppers amble along the cobbled sidewalk, stopping to peer into window after window. Others exit stores laden with bags and smile as they pass, their eyes flicking down to Everly against my chest. Every so often, I catch their chatter and the English accents.
As far as I can tell, the vibe of this small town isn’t too dissimilar to Aspen, which means if I want information, there’s only one place to go, and that’s the local bar.
I walk the length of the main street until I find what I’m looking for—the sign swinging above the door says this place is the One True Love.
It’s funny how all bars smell the same. Kind of musty, kind of sweaty, and a little bit smoky from the days when smoking inside was acceptable.
It’s all gross, but I find comfort in it because there’s so much life in a bar.
They’re where you go to meet people, find people, and it doesn’t appear English ones are any different.
A fire crackles in an enormous hearth, and the stone surround of the carved fireplace looks old enough to have been here since the dawn of time. Dark beams run the length of the main room, and while I know a lot of places back home add them for a cutesy charm, these feel original.
It’s busy, but not too busy. Quiet enough that I can see almost all the tables in here, with half of them occupied and only one person bussing tables.
An older guy stands behind the bar, which is lined with the shiniest beer taps I’ve ever seen.
He’s restocking the bottles on the shelves, and it seems as good a place as any to start.
“Excuse me.” I wait for him to finish what he’s doing.
The guy pushes the box onto the shelf, and once he’s sure it’s not going to fall, he turns around and peers at me over the top of his bifocals.
A thick mustache droops down each side of his mouth, under which are a set of pursed lips, and I wait for him to tell me that babies aren’t allowed in here, even if they are sleeping and barely six weeks old.
Instead of feeling intimidated, which I imagine is how many people feel, I’m immediately drawn to him. He reminds me of Joe, my father’s best friend, my occasional boss, my surrogate dad for the past six years, and you’d never find a grumpier—or more loving—older man in your life.
But it’s clear this guy’s going to let me do all the talking. Yep. He’s the English Joe all right.
“Could you help me?”
“That will depend on what you need help with,” he grumbles on a huff.
My nerves almost get the better of me. My mouth dries out and my heart stutters, but I manage to get the words out. “I’m looking for someone named Alex Burlington. Do you know where I might be able to find him?”
His eyes dart to the left, quick enough that I panic Alex might be in here right now. I only took a quick scan of the tables when I walked in, but I definitely didn’t see him.
“Alex, you say?” The guy picks up a glass and begins drying it.
His face is poker straight, but not enough to have me questioning whether this particular small town is the small town I’m looking for. The name is unique enough that I never forgot it. Because who’d forget a name as cute as Valentine Nook?
I nod and try again. “Yes, Alex Burlington. I understand he lives here . . . or near here . . . in this town . . . He told me he did.”
“American, eh?” His mouth rolls and disappears under the thick hair on his top lip, and he studies me. Eventually, he asks, “Are you friends with ’Oliday?”
I stare at him, confused. It takes a second to decipher the accent. “Um . . . No. I don’t know any—”
His words catch up to me, and I stop talking. Holiday.
I send a silent message of thanks to Saylor because if she hadn’t read US Weekly and People, I wouldn’t have known that Holiday Simpson, the actress, is dating Lando Burlington, the English duke.
The duke, also known as Alex’s brother, whom I briefly met last year when they all visited Aspen. Those articles are partly responsible for my visit here, plus Saylor and her pursuit to get me to leave Colorado and come to find Alex since the day he left last December.
But mostly I’m here for Everly. I have to put her first. She and Alex deserve to know the other exists.
The guy behind the bar continues to stare at me.
“No, I’m not friends with Holiday. I don’t know her. I’ve met Lando. But I need to find his brother, Alex,” I repeat, adding a smile because I hope he’ll take pity on me.
At best, I hope he’ll give me Alex’s number, or at the very least some directions to his house.
If not, I’ll go to the next bar and ask there.
Now that I know I’m in the right place, there must be numerous people who can help.
Valentine Nook has the same kind of small-town feel I love back home, and if someone walked into the bakery or the Old Saloon and asked for me, Joe would . . .
Shit.
I realize my first mistake, and I honestly don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before.
There’s no way Joe would give out any of my details to a stranger. And from the looks on this guy, he’s not going to give me any help with Alex.
“Look,” I say eventually. “Do you have a pen and paper? Could I give you my cell number, and if you have a way to contact Alex, please give it to him? I’m only here for a few days, so it’s kind of urgent.”
My return flight is on Monday. I figured coming for a long weekend was enough time to do what I needed to do. Not to mention, I can’t afford to stay any longer than a few days. I have to get home and figure out how to run my business with a newborn.
I’m about to ask him again when I get the sense someone is staring at me, and my head snaps around.
Since I had Everly, I’ve become more aware of strangers—there’s something about a baby that makes people want to stop and talk to you.
And talk I can deal with. It’s the ones who want to touch her that make me step away.
But instead of someone older, as it usually is, I find a tall woman about my age, with long, dark blond hair scraped back from a clear, fresh face and tied into a ponytail. She’s pretty, but there’s something about her that makes me wonder if we’ve met before.
“Hello. Gorgeous baby. How old?” she asks through a broad smile.
I glance down at Everly to find her eyes wide open and captivated.
“Six weeks.” I adjust the little hat she’s wearing. It’s blue with cream piping and was knitted for her by one of my customers.
“She’s beautiful.”
My shoulders drop, and I forget I’m waiting for a pen to give my contact details over, because if I’m anything, it’s a sucker for compliments about my daughter.
“Thank you, she really is.” I smile back.
“Are you visiting?”
I nod. “Just for the weekend.”
“From America, I’m assuming by the accent. I love America. Which state?”
“Colorado. Aspen,” I reply.
She nods in acknowledgement, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
When her eyes flick up to mine, I have the distinct impression that she wants to say something.
It’s a little unnerving, especially because the guy behind the bar seems to have walked off, and I still don’t have a pen to leave my contact details.
“What’s her name?”
I turn back to the girl, trying not to be annoyed the guy walked off, because now what am I supposed to do? I thought English people were supposed to be helpful.
“D’you think that the barman is coming back?”
Her eyes scan over the bar. “Yes, he’s always popping off. He won’t have gone far. Did you need something?”
“I wanted a pen to leave my contact details.”
“I’m sure I can help you with that,” she replies and rushes around the other side. As she searches under the countertop, her lips move quickly as she talks to herself, before holding up a pencil. “Ah, this will do.”
Grabbing a napkin, I carefully scrawl all my contact information. I’m tempted to leave a note for Alex too, but I don’t know these people, and I can’t exactly say what I need to say on something that’s used to mop up spilled beer.
“What’s her name?” she asks again when I finish writing and place the pencil down.
“Everly,” I reply, rubbing down my daughter’s back.
The woman mutters the name a couple of times under her breath, eventually saying, “I love it.”
I try hard not to frown even though something feels off. This is weird. It’s a weird interaction.
“Thank you, and thanks for the pencil.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good, but it was nice to meet you.”
“I hope we’ll see each other again soon,” she calls as I walk away.
I don’t reply. I need fresh air, and now that Everly is sleeping, I want to move. Based on experience, she sleeps better when I do. Even though she seemed content enough staring at the lady who’s still calling to me.
I stop by the door to wrap my coat back up and adjust Everly’s hat again, when the door is pulled from the other side, and in rushes someone I know I’ve seen before. My whole reason for being here follows him.
The guy I’ve thought about every day for the past ten months.
Alexander Burlington, my daughter’s father.