Six days later
Harry had been right. England had to be the greatest place on earth, and Bowie seemed to be loving their trip as much as her.
London had been amazing. They could easily have spent their entire trip there, but she’d wanted to get out and explore the countryside, and even though driving on the wrong side of the road was no joke—especially on the roundabouts that were literally everywhere—Bowie had handled it like a champ. They’d made a few stops on the way out from the capital, but so far the Cotswolds was her favorite spot yet.
After breakfast this morning at a quaint little café in the fairytale village of Bourton-on-the-Water, they’d walked along the postcard-perfect River Windrush and stopped to feed the ducks. She’d taken at least two hundred pictures of the village. Then they’d visited both Lower and Upper Slaughter, the villages a billion times more lovely than the names made them sound, and after another short drive, they were now here.
Being in the picturesque market town of Stow-on-the-Wold was like stepping back in time. Winding, narrow streets lined with golden Cotswold stone houses and buildings. Climbing roses and clematis scrambled over gates and walls, peonies and more roses blooming in the pretty little gardens she passed. It was just as crowded as Bourton had been, packed with tourists.
The place had been so packed, they hadn’t been able to find a parking spot anywhere in the main square or along the feeder roads. Bowie had let her out to explore while he tried to find a spot, and would text her to meet at the main square when he had.
Enthralled, Aspen wandered up a tiny, cobbled lane and ended up in front of a stone church that had to be at least five-hundred-years old. “St. Edward’s,” she read from the sign at the door. And it was open for visitors.
She went in and gasped as she looked around at the interior, all stone with wooden pews, and gorgeous stained-glass windows everywhere. She took another few dozen pictures, then walked around the churchyard, reading the ancient headstones, and found herself in front of the coolest set of doors she’d ever seen.
Probably oak, the arched double doors met at a point in the middle. Stained-glass cutouts ringed the stonework above them, but the most incredible part were the two giant evergreen trees growing on either side of them.
She took at least a dozen shots of that too, then stood back to admire it properly. When the noon bells started, she gasped in delight and recorded a video. This place was the coolest! Wait until she showed Bowie. There was nothing this old back in the States.
Her phone buzzed in her hands. Bowie, texting her to say he’d found a spot and would meet her in the square in fifteen minutes. He must have parked a long way away.
She took her time leaving the churchyard, turning left out of the wrought iron gates to walk along a cobbled, narrow lane that bordered the back of some buildings. When she reached the end of them, she caught the scent of freshly-baked pastries and groaned, her feet moving toward it without conscious thought.
As soon as she rounded the corner she spotted the bakery right away. Huffkins, the circular sign hanging off the side of the stone building read. She vaguely remembered Harry mentioning it, and that he’d said it was worth the stop.
A short lineup had formed out the doors. She waited her turn, noticing a dog sitting a few feet from the entrance. There were dogs everywhere here. They were even allowed in pubs and shops, which she found completely charming, and she’d even petted a few, convinced she was now a dog person thanks to Sinbad.
This one was some kind of shepherd mix, maybe, with ears like a Labrador. Medium-sized, with creamy-white fur covered in brown patches. It sat there calmly, its eerily intelligent gaze fixed on the doorway, as if watching for its master.
So cute. The urge to pet it was overwhelming, but as the lineup moved close enough for her to reach the dog, she held back. She’d never petted a dog without talking to the owner and getting permission first, just in case it wasn’t friendly. This one looked like a friendly enough dog, and surely the owner wouldn’t have left it out here without a leash on unless it was, but she was still unsure.
“Hi, puppy,” she crooned to it.
The dog looked at her but didn’t move, ears perking slightly. No tail wag. No wiggling.
Kind of a lukewarm reaction. Maybe it didn’t like strangers. “You’re very pretty. Or handsome, if you’re a boy.” It seemed rude to check. “Are you friendly?”
“You can pet her if you like. She won’t bite.”
Startled, she looked up as a man stepped out of the bakery door. A tall, good-looking man with dark hair, a trimmed beard and a powerful build. He reminded her of an older version of Bowie, around forty or so, except he had a wooden cane in his hand.
He half-smiled at her, the scars around his left eye tightening. “Her name’s Karas,” he added in a dreamy accent that sounded like nothing she’d heard on the trip yet so far. More blue collar somehow.
“Oh. Hi, Karas,” she said, bending to stretch her open palm out for the dog to sniff. “She’s a beauty.”
“Aye, and she knows it. Don’t you, lass?” The dog wagged her tail in reply.
Aspen grinned and looked back up at him. “My late great-uncle told me about this place. Are the pastries as good as they smell?”
“Better.”
“What do you recommend?”
He thought about it for a second. “Either the bakewell tart or the lardy cake.”
“Sold.” And she could listen to him talk all day.
She turned her attention to the dog and patted Karas, who tolerated her attention for all of a second before walking away and leaning against her master’s leg, gazing up at him adoringly. The man reached down and ruffled the top of her head, pure affection in his grin.
“Don’t feel bad,” a distinctly American voice said from behind her.
Aspen looked over her shoulder as a stunning Asian woman came out of the bakery in a plum-colored summer dress, smiling at her. “She’s a daddy’s girl, through and through. When he’s around, no one else exists as far as she’s concerned.”
“I can see that.”
Deep brown eyes held hers, assessing. “You from the Outer Banks?”
Startled, Aspen blinked at her. There was something almost…hypnotic about her. “Ah, no. Well, I guess sort of now. I just moved there a little while ago. How did…”
“Your tat. I recognized the lighthouse. But your accent’s West Coast, so I wasn’t sure.”
Oh. Wow. She’d put all that together in two seconds? Aspen hadn’t even noticed her looking at the tats. “I’m from California originally.”
“Ah. Well, welcome to the Cotswolds.” The woman nodded and curled an arm around the man’s waist. He wrapped his around her shoulders and drew her into his side, the gesture so protective and possessive Aspen had to bite back a smile. Bowie was just like that with her, and she loved it.
“Ready to get home?” the woman asked, gazing up at him with a private smile.
The proud, intense way he looked at her made Aspen feel like an interloper. “Aye, love.” They both tossed her a parting smile, and the man gave her a nod. “Enjoy your visit.”
“I will,” Aspen said.
“Karas. Come,” the man said as they started up the sidewalk, his cane tapping on the concrete. The dog darted up next to him and stuck to his side like a furry shadow.
Curiosity piqued, Aspen watched them walk over to an old Land Rover-type truck and get in, the man behind the wheel.
Footsteps coming up the sidewalk made her glance back. Bowie was striding toward her, an interested frown on his face. “Who was that?” he asked as he reached her.
“Not sure, but I think they’re from around here.” And the couple made one hell of an impression together. “The guy said we have to try the bakewell tart.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him inside the bakery that smelled like heaven.
Over a delicious pot of Earl Gray tea, they sampled the bakewell tart, a lardy cake with butterscotch sauce, and scones with fresh clotted cream and jam. She hummed in delight and popped a mouthful of scone slathered with cream and jam into Bowie’s mouth. “Well? How does it measure up?” she asked him.
“Not as good as yours,” he answered, grabbing her hand to kiss her fingertips.
“Good answer.”
He grinned, making her heart turn over. “Just being honest.”
Was it any wonder why she loved the man?
After stuffing themselves with delicious treats, she took him to the churchyard to show him around, then stopped in a shop to get a Christmas ornament on the way back to the car. Standing on the sidewalk, Bowie unlocked her door and paused to slide his arms around her, ignoring the people passing by as he searched her eyes. “Happy?” he murmured.
“I’m in heaven.” She still couldn’t believe he’d done this for her. That she got to experience it with him. “Thank you for bringing me here, it’s everything I dreamed it would be and more.”
He smiled a little, a secret glow entering his eyes. “Then maybe we’ll come back here again for our honeymoon one day.”
She stared up at him in shock, the gravity of his statement hitting her dead in the heart. For him to be talking this openly about this so soon…
“Don’t tease me.” Marrying Bowie would be the candied cherry on top of the bakewell tart that was her life.
He laughed. “I’m not.”
She looped her arms around the back of his neck and gazed up at him, thinking for the thousandth time how lucky she was to have him. Every day she woke up beside him, she wanted to pinch herself. “I love you. And there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, so if you were to get down on one knee and ask me, I’d probably say yes.”
“Probably?”
She shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to ask me and find out.”
His eyes darkened. Heated, as one side of his mouth lifted in that sexy half-grin that never failed to make her heart flutter. “That’s good to know, baby girl, because I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”
—The End—