I felt the cool breeze whisk my auburn hair away from my face as I stepped off the bus and looked around at my new surroundings. A picturesque English landscape spread out in front of me, the rolling hills covered in grass and scrub and dotted white with sheep. There was one road in front of me, Broadgate, that led straight through the heart of the village of Grasmere, and I couldn’t wait to find my hotel, get my things settled in my room, and then head out for a short afternoon walk to take in the sights.
Before I took a step, though, I heard a short, quick whistle, and I turned to see the bus driver pulling my suitcase out of the storage in the bottom of the bus. Slightly embarrassed, I hurried over to him to retrieve it.
“Now don’t go forgetting this as soon as you arrive, missy,” he said, smirking a bit as he did. He stood up a little straighter after he closed the bus’s storage and added, “And I suppose I’ll see you again in about two weeks, Miss…”
“Melanie. And yes, two weeks exactly,” I replied with a smile.
“Alright, well don’t go getting into any mischief before then, little American,” he said as he stepped back onto the bus. “And enjoy your holiday!” he called just before he shut the bus’s door.
I gave a short wave goodbye, since I was the only one on the bus getting off in Grasmere, and then turned toward the village.
With my backpack slung over my shoulders and my suitcase being towed behind me, I began to make my way down the sidewalk, already noticing all of the grey stone buildings that must have been there for years and years; I didn’t even want to hazard a guess as to how long they had been standing there. I wasn’t too concerned with specific history, though the subject interested me more than most. Being a student artist, I was able to appreciate things just by looking at them, but it was also fun to find out stories about places and incorporate them into drawings and paintings.
Which brings me to my whole reason for being in Grasmere at that time. I was eighteen years old and had been accepted into the University of the Arts in London as an international student, since I was originally from the United States, which was always apparent in my accent. Classes didn’t start for another three weeks, so I had decided to take in the English countryside while I had the chance, specifically the Lakes District.
Of course, I had brought some of my tools of the trade, and that was mainly what was weighing down my backpack to the point that I was close to breaking a sweat when I reached the Grasmere Hotel, the place where I was to be staying.
…
My room was very nice, for my standards, with a double bed on one wall, a private shower room, and a view of Broadgate just outside the hotel. I quickly set up my suitcase and other clothes inside the wardrobe and found a place for my art supplies on the desk. Once I had everything generally where I wanted it, I threw on shorts, tights, and a large sweater, along with my brown combat boots and a beanie, since I knew the temperature was cooler than what I was used to back home. Grabbing my good camera and my cross-body purse, I headed out of the hotel and back onto Broadgate.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and the bright August sunlight lit up the landscapes and clearly defined the contours of the hills surrounding the village. My eyes were everywhere at once as I walked across the bridge over the river that my hotel backed up to, and I saw how the patio of the restaurant overlooked the shimmering, babbling waters. Turning on my camera, I snapped a few photos of the river and the hotel itself before replacing the lens cap and heading farther down the road, my steps light and carefree.
I wandered down Broadgate a good ways, knowing that I must look like one of the biggest tourists ever with my camera, but I was too concerned with the beautiful scenery to even care. After a while, though, I came across a small café that sat on the opposite side of the road. I wasn’t accustomed to vehicles driving on the left side of the road, so I hesitated before I crossed, looking both ways several times before I thought it was safe. I felt my cheeks flush as I thought I saw people turning to watch me flounder at the crossing, and I knew that they probably recognized that I wasn’t from there, that I was a foreigner. I tried not to care too much, but I couldn’t help feeling slightly embarrassed by the incident.
With that situation in mind, I hurried inside the café, my camera bumping against my abdomen as I stopped to shut the door behind myself. When I turned back toward the counter, I was faced with a very quaint main room with a few small tables, a large window facing the street, and the counter where orders were to be placed and cakes were displayed.
I walked up to the counter, a little nervous to be in such a seemingly-intimate café without having been there before, but since I had already come inside, I had committed myself to staying and ordering. I found a laminated menu sitting on top of the counter, and I picked it up to read it. There was a long list of different kinds of tea and very few of coffee, which was fine by me since I had never been very fond of coffee. I glanced up to my left for a moment and just caught a glimpse of a face peeking at me from around the corner that led to the kitchen, but as soon as I made contact, the person slipped out of sight, disappearing into the employees-only area. I blinked a couple of times before returning my attention to the menu in my hands, the flush beginning to return to my cheeks, however much I urged it not to.
After a couple of moments, a short homely woman who appeared to be in her forties trundled out from the kitchen and approached the counter saying, “Hello dearie, may I get you something?”
She seemed kind, and I nodded, my roots kicking in as I said, “Yes, ma’am. Could I have one chai tea, please?”
“Of course,” she replied, smiling as she rung up the order at the register. I handed her one of the crisp bills I had received at the currency exchange in the airport the day before, and she said, “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll have Matt bring it out to you in just a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” I replied quickly before turning away from the counter and slipping into a seat at the table in front of the window.
‘Crap,’ I thought to myself. What if that face that had been peering at me belonged to this Matt person? What if he was cute or handsome or had the most perfect eyes and what if I developed some sort of crush on him? What if it went farther than that and I got in over my head? After all, a lot could happen in two short weeks and—
‘Get a grip, Mel,’ I thought to myself, balling my hands into fists on my lap under the table. But then, trying to relax, I straightened out my fingers, stretching my palms, and exhaled deeply but softly so I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. Ever since I was little, I had a bad habit of hyperactive anxiety so that I would worry over small things, like how nervous I would be if the boy bringing me tea was cute. I had developed a pretty good grip on it, and it rarely spun out of my control, but occasionally I still had breakdowns and moments of paranoia. Luckily, this wasn’t one of those now rare occasions.
Then, as I distracted myself by pulling the strap of my camera over my head and began looking through the photos I had taken, I heard a voice over my shoulder that slightly startled me.
“Um, you ordered the Chai tea, right?”
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First part of my newest story, VERY loosely based on real events that happened to me over the summer (at least this first part). I'll hopefully updating this one fairly frequently, and a big shout-out to the real life Matt, my best friend in England, the inspiration for this story, and the boy I can't wait to someday meet in person<3
Remember to vote and comment if you liked it, as feedback is a large part of my writing process! Thank you!
