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After unpacking in her small room, Ellie took a deep breath and returned downstairs. She found Mrs. Price organizing books behind the front counter, and as Ellie entered, Mrs. Price looked up, her gaze warm and welcoming.
"There you are, dear. Feel a bit more settled?" Mrs. Price asked, gesturing toward a small round table near the front window. She poured them each a cup of tea, the gentle aroma of lavender and chamomile rising to meet Ellie's senses, wrapping her in a familiar warmth she hadn't felt in months.
Ellie smiled as she took her seat, her hands cradling the warm cup. "It's a lovely room, thank you. I… wasn't sure what to expect, but this place feels comfortable," she admitted, feeling a little sheepish. There was something about Mrs. Price that put her at ease, as if the older woman had a quiet understanding of what weighed on Ellie's heart.
Mrs. Price studied her with a knowing look, her hands folded around her own cup. "Sometimes, the places we need find us," she said softly. "Tell me, Ellie—if you don't mind sharing—what brings you to Cornwall?"
Ellie hesitated, her gaze dropping to the intricate patterns on her teacup. She traced the rim with a finger, feeling a flicker of apprehension as she debated how much to reveal. But something in Mrs. Price's gaze encouraged her, so she began, choosing her words carefully. "I suppose… I wanted to get away from London. The city holds so many memories, and it just felt too heavy."
Mrs. Price nodded, her expression compassionate. "The weight of memories can be hard to bear alone. Was it someone special?"
Ellie looked down, her heart constricting as she recalled the life she had lost. "Yes… my husband, William. He was killed in the war," she said quietly, surprised at how the words still hurt, even though she had spoken them so many times. "It's been months, but I can't seem to move forward. Everyone said time would make it easier, but I still feel… as if I'm lost."
A silence fell between them, gentle and unforced. Mrs. Price reached across the table, placing a hand over Ellie's. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Ellie. Losing someone we love doesn't just fade away with time—it becomes part of us. Moving forward doesn't mean leaving them behind; it means finding a way to carry them with us without feeling lost beneath the weight."
Ellie's eyes stung, but she managed a small smile. "I hadn't thought of it that way. It's just… I thought coming here might be a fresh start, a chance to let go."
Mrs. Price nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. "Letting go isn't about forgetting. It's about making room for something new—a way to remember them that brings peace instead of pain." Her own eyes glimmered for a moment, as if she, too, had known the sting of loss.
Ellie appreciated the kindness in Mrs. Price's words, sensing that the older woman spoke from experience. "Thank you, Mrs. Price. I think that's what I've been looking for, even if I didn't realize it."
They sipped their tea in companionable silence for a moment before Mrs. Price's expression turned brighter. "I could use a bit of help around the store if you're up for it. I've got a collection of new books in the back that needs organizing, and you're welcome to keep any that catch your interest."
Ellie's face softened as she nodded. "I'd be glad to help."
Following Mrs. Price to the back room, Ellie found stacks of books waiting to be shelved. The familiar rhythm of handling books and creating order began to calm her thoughts. The old wooden shelves creaked softly, and the faint scent of aged paper filled the air, reminding her of the quiet library where she and William had spent lazy afternoons lost in stories.
As they worked side by side, Mrs. Price held up a thick volume of poetry, flipping through the pages. "Ah, Tennyson! Have you read much of his work? His lines have a way of capturing the heart."
Ellie glanced over, intrigued. "I've read a few, but I'm more of a novel person, to be honest. I love getting lost in stories, especially ones with strong characters."
Mrs. Price chuckled, nodding in agreement. "There's something about immersing yourself in a well-told tale that makes the world outside feel a little lighter, isn't there? I often lose track of time right here in this shop, surrounded by all these stories waiting to be discovered."
"Do you have a favorite?" Ellie asked, curiously.
"Oh, it's hard to choose just one! I do have a soft spot for the classics—Jane Austen, particularly. Her characters feel so real; their dilemmas resonate even today."
Ellie smiled, feeling the warmth of their conversation. "I've always admired Austen's wit. Her characters feel so relatable, even after all these years."
As they continued to chat, Mrs. Price mentioned various authors and books that had shaped her love for literature. They shared laughter over anecdotes about their favorite stories, and Ellie felt a lightness in her chest, a respite from the heaviness she had carried.
When the afternoon light began to fade, Ellie picked up an old poetry book, its faded cover soft under her fingertips. She opened it to find a line that brought back a powerful memory of William. The words wrapped around her like a bittersweet embrace, and she allowed herself a moment to feel the surge of grief, realizing that maybe Cornwall could be the place to start honoring her memories instead of running from them.
Returning to her work, she found a glimmer of something close to peace, a quiet understanding settling in her heart. As Mrs. Price returned, checking in with a kind smile, Ellie felt a warmth growing in her chest—not just from the tea, but from the hope of healing that was beginning to stir within her.
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