7. Lena
7
LENA
A fter she left the café, Lena went back to her rental cottage and made a cup of ginger tea then stood in the lounge admiring the view. It was a beautiful May day with a bright blue sky and a fresh breeze. The sun streamed through the window and warmed the floorboards of the lounge and her feet in their newly gifted socks. Cradling the mug against her chest, she watched as a family played on the beach. From here, they were small as dolls, but she could make out a man, a woman and two young children, along with a tall slim black dog that she thought might be a greyhound. What a wonderful place to raise children this must be, she thought. Of course, the family could be on holiday and perhaps they didn’t live here. However, for some, living in this incredible part of the world, falling in love and raising a family here would be very special indeed. Perhaps it was because she’d always wondered if she could have a family that she found herself yearning for motherhood. She suspected the thought that it might never happen, might not be possible, had made her think about it more. She didn’t allow herself to dwell on it, not often, but when it crept into her consciousness, her heart ached, and her belly felt empty. It could be because she had known the joy of finding herself in a hopeful position that she knew how it was to experience the pain of having her hopes dashed like shells against the rocks.
Sipping her tea, she savoured the tingle of the ginger as it touched her lips then her tongue. She felt relaxed and refreshed after the sunrise yoga and her breakfast at the café — fresh fruit salad and a cinnamon bun — and she had enjoyed seeing Pearl and her granddaughter, Ellie, again. They were lovely people, and she hoped to get to know them better. And then there had been Thomas Dryden with his dark looks and brooding demeanour. He could easily have been cast as the male lead in a historical series set in Cornwall with those rugged good looks and that intriguing scar on his face. He was striking looking and mysterious, just like she’d imagine the perfect male hero in a romance novel to be. In fact, she could base her male hero on him and that would be a good starting point for her characterisation. What was it that made him so guarded, so sullen, so hot? So Heathcliff meets Johnny Depp meets Joe Wicks.
Wait! What?
Hot? Thomas Dryden?
Yes! Sooooo hot…
A smile played on her lips as she gazed out at the beach, the cliffs and the harbour, watching as people milled around, going about their business oblivious to the fact they were being observed. It was comforting being in this beautiful cottage in this picturesque location. Something about the proximity to the water soothed her.
Her thoughts strayed again to romance. How long had it been since she’d been attracted to a man? A very long time. And now she was in a new place and had encountered a man who seemed to dislike her, if she was being completely honest with herself, and yet she found him attractive. It was not at all fair, because he seemed so shut down and aloof, and even when she’d tried to befriend him, he’d shunned her.
‘Better forget about that one, hun,’ she said to herself, settling on the deep window seat and tucking her legs underneath her.
But even as she tried to focus on the view, to count the boats in the harbour and the people on the beach, she found herself thinking about how it had felt when he’d massaged her foot. He’d been happy to help, had taken her foot in his large hands and rubbed at the arch and along her toes, and eased the pain and discomfort. His hands had been warm against her skin, his touch firm and assured, and she had found herself wishing she could move closer to him and curl up in his lap. What was that about? He was a virtual stranger but there was just something about him that she was drawn to, almost like she’d known him in another life if she was being romantic about it now. His cold facade had cracked when he’d helped her and she was sure there must be a reason why he acted so hard and withdrawn, a reason why his eyes held such a wounded and wary look. Wounded animals became wary, and it was no different with human beings. There was something about Thomas that suggested he carried wounds. He certainly had at least one scar that she knew about from the car accident, but was there more to what had happened to him?
She finished her tea then reached for her laptop that she’d tucked on a shelf next to the window seat, turned it on then started to type. As the words flooded the page, it was Thomas Dryden’s handsome face that filled her mind, along with the memory of his touch and the way it had made her feel. Along with her concerns for his welfare and for what had made him so wary.