Deciding to take up Penny’s recommendation, I blow-dried my hair, changed into skinny jeans and a T-shirt, and grabbed my purse, excited for breakfast. My belly had been grumbling at me for hours, completely in shock at the time difference.
A fairly strong breeze blew up from the water, but I enjoyed it as I stared across the harbor to the other side. Perched atop the land above the right side of the harbor was a large stone building with a garden. I could see empty benches and chairs outside. Guessing this was The Anchor, I walked the path along the harbor road and followed it as it took a steep turn upward.
There were already a few people milling about, and from their camera-phone snap happiness, I gathered they were tourists. Standing aside to let two cars pass me, I noted another pub called The Alnster Inn. It too appeared to be open. I wondered why Penny didn’t recommend it.
As I hit the summit of the steep hill, the entrance to The Anchor appeared. Its small parking lot was already full, so I took that as a good sign. Again, there were outdoor benches and seating for dining outside, but why would you eat in the parking lot when you could enjoy the view on the other side of the building?
As I ventured inside, my heart delighted at the rustic interior. It was everything I imagined an old English pub to be, with low ceilings and thick dark wooden beams. A long bar top ran along the left side of the room, but the right side was cut in half by a wall. In the front room were tables and chairs with hardly any space in between and a massive fireplace that took up nearly the entire end wall. A bench ran down the outer wall beneath the small, old-fashioned windows with their bottled panes and iron detailing, and tables were situated in a row in front of the bench. The front room was busy, and some diners looked up from their plates at my arrival.
A small bark drew my attention, and I could see the diners sitting near the fireplace had their dogs with them.
Yes, it was everything I thought a pub would be.
I smiled at the blond woman that stood behind the bar.
“Table for one?” she asked.
I nodded. “Please.”
“There’s a couple of smaller tables free in the back room.”
Giving her my thanks, I strolled down the narrow passage along the bar and stepped into the second room. It opened up into a much bigger, more modern space with a bank of doors along one end that led out onto the alfresco dining area I’d seen from the harbor. Spotting a free table near the doors, I sat down and gave a happy sigh at the view.
An English breakfast turned out to be nothing like the version of it I’d had back home in Chicago. It was strange to my palate, but, ultimately, I decided I liked it. Feeling better now that I’d eaten, I reluctantly finished my coffee and got up to pay at the bar.
“Staying in Alnster?” the woman asked.
It took me a minute to understand what she was saying because she pronounced the name of the village differently from how it was spelled. “Anster? I thought it was called Alnster?”
She chuckled. “If it’s spelled A-L-N round these parts, it’s usually pronounced like ‘an’ with a silent L. And w’s in place-names are sometimes silent . . . just to confuse you even more.”
“Oh.” I grinned gratefully at her. “Well, I’m glad I found out now before I pronounce the village name wrong to customers.”
At her eyebrow raise, I continued, “I’m renting Much Ado About Books.”
The bartender frowned. “Penny’s still renting it out?”
I shrugged, wondering at the question. “She rented it to me for four weeks.”
“Four weeks? I guess I’ll be seeing you around then. I’m Milly Tait. I own this place with my husband, Dexter.” She held out her hand to shake.
I took it. “Hi, Milly, I’m Evie. Have you been here long?”
“The Anchor was opened by my granddad seventy-five years ago. Was just a pub back then but Dex is a chef, and he turned the place into a proper gastropub.”
“How cool. Does that mean you grew up here?”
“Born and raised. Where in America are you from?”
“Chicago.”
“Ah, big-city lass then?” she teased. “Living here will be quite the change of pace.”
“A much-needed change of pace.”
“I sense a story there. Perhaps you’ll come back in this evening and tell me all about it.”
I hadn’t known what to expect from the locals. Would they resent tourists coming in and running one of their stores, be indifferent, or embrace temporary residents? I was glad Milly was so friendly.
“I’d like that.”
After I paid up and said goodbye to Milly, I walked around the small village. The bookstore was on the very end of the coastline. There wasn’t anything beyond it but a few houses before the road ended and the cliff tops began. There was a path along the cliffs, made over the years by people traversing them, so I decided I’d put some time aside at some point to take a walk along it. On the opposite side of the village, however, where The Anchor was, was the main hub of Alnster. There was The Alnster Inn, a post office, a convenience store, a butcher shop, a bakery, a tourist shop, a café, and an art gallery/jeweler. There seemed to be two establishments to a building with lanes between each. I ventured down those cobblestoned lanes to find idyllic, quaint cottages tucked away at the end.
Back on the main road, heading away from that central hub, the village opened up into what was a housing development. The houses weren’t as quaint here, but they looked out over the water. A playground sat above the sand dunes on the opposite side of the road.
Following the sand-encrusted sidewalk along the houses, I took a turn in the road and realized the homes reached far along the coastal land. Although I spotted a small primary school, there weren’t signs of much else, and I deduced that the children more than likely had to get a bus to a high school in a larger nearby town.
After walking back toward the main street, I’d just passed The Anchor when a dog raced past me, yanking my attention away from the details of the village. The dog made my breath catch, and I hurried after it, my heart racing a little.
“Duke?” The name fell from my lips even though I knew it wasn’t him.
I drew to a stumbled halt at the sight of the large, black, elegant Great Dane as it followed its nose along an invisible line on the sidewalk. He was the spitting image of my dog Duke. We adopted Duke when he was one year old, and we’d had him until he died of old age at nine. We’d gotten him only three months after my father died, and Duke passed away just after my fifteenth birthday. His death was heartbreaking, and it also brought back a lot of memories. It had been like losing my dad all over again.
“Shadow!” a male voice bellowed from behind me.