Valentine Nook: Chapter 8

“Welcome to the Valentine Nook Summer Fair.”

I manage to tear my eyes away from watching his brothers and Clemmie hurry toward the cricket field. Holy hell, that is one good-looking family.

Miles and Hendricks could walk straight onto a Times Square billboard and fit right in. Alex too. All the same dark hair and bright blue eyes, long legs and broad shoulders. But that’s where it stops.

If Miles is the smooth talker of the group, Hendricks is quieter and more analytical. And not just because Miles likes the sound of his own voice. Being a twin, I can easily spot the balance between the two because it’s what I have with Tanner.

Then there’s Alex, the cool one, who seems most similar to Lando.

But where the other three are good-looking, Lando is handsome. There’s an edge to him that’s missing from his brothers. Hardened and serious, intimidating.

Older.

If I hadn’t bumped into him yesterday and walked the length of High Street, shared a donut with his horse and heard him laugh, I’d have never believed he was capable of anything other than extreme grumpiness.

I suspect it’s a side of him that few get to see.

Nor do they see the smile he’s currently directing my way.

“Thank you.”

“Have you been to a summer fair before?”

I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or if he’s genuinely wondering.

Popping a hip, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m American. I’m not from another planet.”

“Oh really?” Deep creases frame his eyes, and a genuine grin spreads across his face. “So you have been to a summer fair, then?”

“Yeah. In fact . . .” I tap a freshly manicured finger against my cheek, and my new baby-blue polish catches the light. “I think we invented the summer fair. Our one in Maine has a quarter million visitors every year—” I turn and make a big show of peering around, taking everything in, including how much tweed is being worn. “This is small fry in comparison.”

Lando’s laugh booms out, and warmth radiates through me. “Then I expect you to give me a full assessment and provide any pointers for where we can do better next year.”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

He sweeps his hand in front of us. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

I’ve never loved crowded spaces, the jostle of people, the feel of being too close to someone. It’s gotten worse as my career has grown. It’s one of the reasons I keep my personal life so low-key. I don’t court publicity. I stay off social media and usually avoid all the classic haunts where celebrities hang out.

Today, I don’t seem to mind how crowded it is because it gives me an excuse to stick close to Lando. Close enough that his hand brushes against mine more than once.

“How’s Thunder today?”

“He asked me to bring him back some donuts,” he quips, making me chuckle.

I’m still smiling to myself as we pass by several booths selling local produce, cute tote bags, and souvenirs. I spy Valentine Cook’s display of fruit and vegetables, and The Beanery selling coffee and donuts, which I nearly stop and buy for Thunder.

There’s one with a line easily three times the size of anyone else’s. It’s the final booth along the row, with double the space of the others, and covered in a pink glittery cloth.

As we get closer, I see the table is heaving with products—bags of herbs, candles and incense burners. Crystals of all sizes are on sale next to bottles neatly lined up and filled with colored liquid.

The sign hanging above says this booth is the number one purveyor of love potions and spells in England, and next to it sits an A-frame listing out times for card readings.

It’s cute and eye-catching, and I want to stop to see what it’s all about.

I could certainly do with a little extra help in the romance department, but I’m hurrying to keep up with Lando’s long strides, which appear to have lengthened.

“Orlando—” the lady from behind the table calls, and I recognize her as the woman Clemmie pulled me away from on my first tour around the village.

Lando appears to share the same opinion as his sister. “Not now, Agatha. Must dash.”

I’m still jogging to keep up with him as we enter a second field.

“Yoo-hoo, Your Grace. Your Grace . . . hellooo⁠—”

Lando turns at the sound of his name being called to find a small older lady rushing toward him, carrying a large wicker basket. She’s moving with surprising speed for how heavy the basket must be, given it’s full to the brim. She must have bought up half the stalls already.

She’s also wearing rain boots with her skirt. I knew I’d blend in.

I want to laugh, but next to me, Lando stiffens. It’s so slight, virtually imperceptible unless it was a movement you were also familiar with. It’s that protective need to slip into another version of yourself and don your armor. One I know well.

I get the impression that if he could rush away from this lady too, he would. But it’s too late.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fraser.”

“Wonderful fair this year, Your Grace.” She beams up at him adoringly. “We’re so happy to see you out and about again.”

She makes it sound like he’s been locked away with a contagious disease.

One glance at Lando and I can tell he’s not sure he wants to be out and about. It’s also painfully obvious that his being out and about is not a subject he wishes to discuss, but Mrs. Fraser isn’t one to pick up on social cues.

“I was just saying to Judy Dennett that you’re much better off . . . with the right woman—” Her gaze moves slowly in my direction.

Lando clears his throat loudly enough to stop her talking. “Okay, thank you, Mrs. Fraser . . . I appreciate it . . . Don’t want to keep you, that basket’s looking heavy, and we must dash . . . Best pony to judge . . .”

Lando’s long fingers grip my arm, and he tugs me away before Mrs. Fraser can continue, and I get enough information to piece together what she’s talking about.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, releasing me but only once we’ve disappeared through another wave of people who’ve arrived in the last ten minutes. “I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“That’s okay. She seemed . . . enthusiastic.” I grin.

Immediately, his shoulders relax, and he nods. “You could say that. Mrs. Fraser is—how should we put it? She loves getting in people’s business.”

“A nosy old hag?”

“Something like that.” He sighs, though the beginnings of a smile reappear on his face as he stares at me.

I can see that he’s expecting me to ask what she was referring to. I can tell he’s bracing for it, but if it’s a subject that makes him that uncomfortable, I don’t need to know unless he wants to tell me.

Instead, I go with, “So we’re judging a pony competition, are we?”

The expression that flickers across his face is both gratitude and relief. “Yes. Yes, we are. If you’d like to join me, that is. I have to warn you, though, we don’t usually have celebrities of your caliber here.”

“Oh?”

“No, it’s usually the local newsreader, perhaps a B-lister visiting the area. No one as Hollywood as you.” He grins. “It might cause quite the stir.”

My hand clasps my chest. “Will I need security?”

In the split second, before I blink, I catch his pupils flare, and he slowly shakes his head. “No, I’ve got you.”

And my throat goes dry.

Sadly, a small child running between us breaks the moment, followed by several other slightly larger children.

“Where were we?” Lando clears his throat and asks. “Oh yes, the pony judging. It’s not for another hour, so what do you say we visit the coconut shy? How are you at throwing?”

I have no idea what a coconut shy is, but thanks to my brother, my throwing arm is pretty darn good.

“Better than I am at shooting,” I reply.

“And have you tried our cider yet?”

I shake my head. “No, but I have a feeling I’m about to.”

“You catch on quick, Hollywood. Let’s go.”

I follow Lando through the field to where the games are set up on the opposite end to the cricket, beyond a wide boundary. Thanks to my brother’s lengthy explanation this morning, I’ve almost grasped the concept of cricket. At least enough to know that it’s called a pitch, not a field, and a match, not a game.

“So, as a summer fair aficionado, what’s your favorite part?” Lando asks.

“Hmm. Good question.” I tuck away a loose strand of hair that stuck in my sunglasses. “The food, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But also I really love the old-fashioned games, you know where you shoot at a bullseye and win a stuffed bear, that kind of thing.”

“Then the coconut shy will be ideal.”

I’m wondering if I should pull my phone out for a quick search on Google when we reach the bar Clemmie’s serving at, which turns out to be an Air Stream version of The One True Love.

“Hey, guys, how’s it going? Having fun, Hol? Hope Lando’s behaving himself,” Clemmie calls out when she spots us walking over.

I push my sunglasses up and watch him roll his eyes at his sister. “He’s been the perfect gentleman.”

There have to be ten people serving, but they still can’t pour the drinks quick enough. Every time someone’s departure creates a gap, it’s quickly filled by a surge of new customers.

It’s not the first bar I’ve seen in the fields, but it’s the busiest by far. Patrons carry away trays holding half a dozen glasses at a time. One guy walks off with four cups clamped between his giant hands while he holds another between his teeth, and the small gaps they leave behind are quickly filled.

Luckily because Clemmie is serving, or because I’m with the guy running the place, we step around the side where it’s quiet.

“Quit yapping, Clem. Walking around is thirsty work. Hollywo . . .” Lando pauses, and there’s amusement in his tone when he finishes the sentence. “Holiday wants to try our cider.”

“All right, keep your knickers on,” Clementine shoots back, passing over two dark green cups that have been pre-poured. Similar to Solo cups, these have Valentine Nook Summer Fair printed on them. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ find✦novel.net

Clemmie and Lando watch me as I take my first sip. The crisp, bubbly apple taste hits my throat. It’s incredibly refreshing and immediately goes to my head.

“Well?”

I take another sip under their watchful eyes. “Hey, best cider I’ve ever tasted.”

Clemmie whoops. “Correct answer.”

“It’s made from Burlington apples. The ones Churchill doesn’t eat, anyway,” Lando adds, taking a huge gulp of his own.

Clemmie’s already moved on to serving more customers. As there’s not enough space at the bar for us to stand here and drink, I pick up my cup and once again follow Lando.

“See you two later. Don’t have too much fun without me,” Clemmie calls after us as we make our way over to the field of games.

The coconut shy is essentially nine coconuts balanced on the top of ten evenly spaced poles set into an overlapping diamond formation, ready to be knocked off.

What’s shy about it, I don’t know.

It also looks easy enough, though from the way Lando’s looking at me, I suspect he thinks otherwise.

“Afternoon, Your Grace,” the man behind the counter greets. “Come to give it a go?”

“We have, Mike,” Lando replies, peeling notes off a stack he pulls from his pocket. “And we’ll take a couple of buckets. It’s my friend’s first time at the coconut shy.”

I thrust my hand out to Mike. “I’m Holiday. I’m new here.”

Mike gets that look people do where he can’t quite place me, but he shakes my hand anyway and heaves the buckets of balls on the shelf in front of us. They’re roughly the same size as a baseball, though a little heavier, but I’ll make it work.

I knew all those hours spent pitching to Tanner would come in handy one of these days.

I curl my fist around the first ball. “So what? I have to knock the coconuts off?”

“Sure do. Just aim and throw,” says Mike.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Hollywood.”

I grin wide at the two men staring expectantly at me, and as I pitch my fist back, I realize the back of the booth is empty.

“Hang on, what do I win if I get them all?”

“Anyone who knocks them all off wins dinner for two at a restaurant of their choice in the village,” Mike replies.

“No stuffed bear?”

Lando shakes his head. “No.”

I put the ball down. “I’m used to winning a stuffed bear.”

“You need to knock them all off before we can negotiate prizes.”

I was going to go easy, but the smile he’s wearing is so placating that I’m going hard.

“I’d like to negotiate now if it’s all the same to you.”

Lando scratches through his beard, and one thick eyebrow rises. “All right, if you knock them all off without missing a throw, I’ll add a stuffed bear to the prize.”

“An extra-large, life-sized one.”

“Life-sized?”

“It’s what they have at the fairs in America.”

“Okay, a life-sized bear.” He holds his hand out, and I shake it.

“You have yourself a deal, Gracie.” I toss the ball into the air and catch it. “Let’s see what I can do.”

Pitching my arm back, the first ball flies out of my hand with enough speed and accuracy not to only knock the coconut in the middle but crack it open.

“What the . . .?” Mike’s reaction is exactly the same as Lando even though I can tell he’s trying to hide it.

“Beginner’s luck.” I lift a shoulder and throw him a wink.

The second coconut doesn’t crack, but it falls off just the same.

The third, fourth, and fifth follow.

By the time the sixth flies off its perch, a small crowd has begun to form behind me. But as I’m sure Lando’s guessed by now, this isn’t my first rodeo. In fact, he’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, a wide grin stretched over his face.

I don’t hate it.

I channel Tanner and all those times I’ve watched him play or practiced with him over and over in the backyard until the ninth ball hits the coconut square in the middle, and it topples to the ground.

A couple of people behind me clap. A group of boys step forward to give it a go of their own, while muttering it can’t be that hard.

I push the remaining bucket of unused balls over to Mike and hold my hand out.

Silently, he pulls an envelope from his pocket, places it in my palm, and grins wide. “I guarantee no one else is going to do that today.”

“Thank you,” I reply, turning to Lando whose eyes are open wide. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I can see he’s battling with himself while he tries to figure out a way to tell me he’s impressed without coming across as sexist or offensive. It’s kind of cute, so I decide to go easy on him.

“My twin brother, Tanner, plays baseball in the major leagues. I was the one who practiced ball with him for hours and hours on end growing up. You learn some things.”

Lando nods slowly. “And what did you get out of it?”

“He practiced my lines with me.” I laugh. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first guy who’s underestimated me.”

Two deep creases appear between his brow, and his smile drops. “I don’t doubt that. And I’m certain it’s never a mistake made by the same person twice.”

The last part of his sentence is spoken with such sincerity that I can only shake my head in response.

As we say goodbye to Mike and turn to leave, a couple of boys have blocked our path. Though they’re not boys. They’re men, young men but still men.

One of them steps forward, phone in hand. “’Scuse me, are you Holiday Simpson? Can we get a picture?”

It was going to happen sooner or later. I’m not exactly hiding myself in the village, but for the past couple of weeks, there’s been peace in walking around undisturbed.

Any disappointment I feel, however, vanishes when I realize Lando’s stepped Rottweiler-like between me and the guys because his natural instinct is to protect. Even before he figures out what’s happening.

I place a hand on his arm to let him know I’m okay, then nod to the guys.

“Sure. No problem.”

I put on my best smile, the one I practice for moments like this. The one that’s shared and viewed millions of times over. It’s the one that everyone knows, that makes me look happy all the time. Friendly.

Hollywood’s Golden Girl.

But as my eyes flick to Lando and his scowl, my smile morphs into a wide grin. Right now, he looks like he wants to rip the guy’s arm off for slinging it around my shoulders.

“Thanks. Big fan. We loved your last film.”

“That’s kind, thank you. Thank you for your support,” I reply, easing away from them for their own safety, given the murderous expression on Lando’s face.

As soon as there’s a gap, Lando steps close to me again.

He stares until the guys have walked away out of sight, then turns us in the opposite direction, like he’s worried they’ll come back.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Yes,” I reply, folding up the dinner envelope and slipping it into my purse. “Not as much as some actors because I keep a lower profile, but yes. First time here, though.”

“Must be annoying.”

I take a breath. I’m always careful to respond to comments like this in case it comes back to bite me in the ass. But with Lando, it sounds like he’s speaking from a place of experience. If that older lady from earlier is anything to go by.

“Sometimes. When people don’t respect boundaries. With social media, everyone feels like they’re entitled to a piece of you. But this is a career I chose, and meeting fans comes with the territory. And I do love it most of the time. It’s just a bit more intense right after a film releases.”

“And you just had one come out?”

It’s a question, not a statement.

I stop walking and glance up at him, pushing my sunglasses on my head.

It’s been a long time since I met someone who’s never seen my work, even from my early days.

It’s been even longer since I spent time with anyone who had no interest in films or fame or Hollywood. It’s a strange experience meeting someone who already knows a ton about you, thanks to Wikipedia or whatever tabloid outlet they’d got their hands on that day.

It’s even stranger to meet someone who doesn’t.

But Lando’s asking because he genuinely wants to know. Because this is all new to him.

“Are you telling me you haven’t watched my films?”

He takes in my shocked expression and his mouth drops. “Um . . . um . . . I⁠—”

“I’m messing with you.” I laugh and shove him playfully in the ribs.

“That may be . . .” He clears his throat. “I’m still embarrassed to say I haven’t, but that’s nothing on you. I just never have the time to sit and watch a movie. Alex said it was very good, though,” he adds quickly.

“Well, then, please thank him for me. If you ever do find yourself having time, I can recommend a few good ones. Not mine, just really good movies.”

“But I’d like to see yours,” he replies, “as long as you bring the popcorn.”

“I can do popcorn.”

A huge roar of cheers erupts from the cricket pitch, and everyone around us spins to see what caused it. But there’s too much in the way to see. I want to ask Lando what he thinks happened, and if we can go watch a little when I notice an impossibly glamorous older woman walking toward us.

The type of woman I aspire to be when I reach her age.

Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect makeup.

She has to be mid-sixties, wearing navy blue slacks and a white button-down that doesn’t look like it’s ever had a speck of dirt on it. She’s dressed in that impossibly expensive and put-together way, but only if you know what you’re looking for—custom fits and the highest quality fabrics.

She’s so English and proper. I imagine she has afternoon tea with sandwiches every day.

I notice people watching her as she passes them, though her eyes are on no one but Lando, and as this woman looks exactly how Clemmie will look in forty years, it’s not a stretch to figure she’s his mom.

“Oh god.” I barely catch what he’s mumbling from the side of his mouth. “Holiday, I apologize in advance for anything about to happen.”

“There you are, darling. I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I haven’t seen you all day.”

Lando bends down, placing a brief kiss on her cheek. “Hello, Mother.”

But she isn’t looking at Lando. Her entire focus is on me, and she thrusts her hand out. Lando’s watching me, and I can’t tell if it’s through nerves or curiosity.

“You must be Holiday. Welcome to Valentine Nook, my dear. My daughter has been singing your praises. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. I’m Victoria Burlington, Lando’s mother.”

I have met so many people in my life, which instilled in me the ability to be both incredibly charming and not easily intimidated, but right now, I have to dig deep. I also fight the urge to curtsey.

Removing my sunglasses, I give her my very best smile. A genuine one. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“How are you enjoying the cottage?” she coos. “Lando used to live in it, you know. If you have any problems at all, he’ll be able to help.”

I turn to Lando. I’m certain he’s not mentioned that before, and I’m also certain Clemmie hadn’t either. No, it’s brand-new information.

That uncomfortable expression is back on Lando’s face, and this time, it’s coupled with a hint of embarrassment, and I wonder why. But then again, this lady is his mother, so it comes with the territory.

“He’s been awesome help. He and Clemmie have been welcoming me to the village.”

“I’m so happy to hear that.” Her eyes bounce between Lando and me. “And you must come for supper. How about next Friday?”

Lando tuts loudly, “No, Mum. Holiday doesn’t want to come for supper.”

“Lando—”

“Mother—”

I don’t know what’s going on between Lando and his mom, but I have a sneaky suspicion it’s something to do with me. You learn to pick up on cues when people have conversations about you in front of you.

But next Friday is the Fourth of July, something I’d normally celebrate with my family. I was going to plan something at my cottage, but I hadn’t yet gotten around to it. This invitation not only saves me from hosting, but it also means I get to see Lando’s family all together.

I’m not sure who’s more surprised—him or his mom—when I answer.

“Actually, I’d love to.”