Edward was a lifelong bachelor, content in his solitude. He worked like a carthorse—hard and without complaint—and took pride in doing everything just so. Though he’d courted women over the years, none had ever felt quite right. That summer, worn thin from work, he booked a holiday to escape the bustle of city life. A quick online search led him to a listing: a quiet coastal cottage, a stone’s throw from the sea but far from tourist traps. The owner, a woman with two children, offered a private room and home-cooked meals in exchange for groceries. It suited him perfectly.
The journey was smooth, his satnav reliable. The cottage was old but tidy, the room cosy, and the owner, Eleanor, welcoming. A small terrier named Daisy scampered about the garden, where fruit hung ripe from the trees. Eleanor’s children—a boy and girl, no older than ten—busied themselves with chores. She never intruded, only asking what he fancied for supper, plying him with strawberries from the patch, smiling gently. Edward spent his days swimming, climbing cliffs, and writing to an old friend. Occasionally, he wondered why Eleanor had such young children at her age. Curiosity got the better of him.
“Eleanor, are they your grandchildren?”
“No,” she replied. “They’re mine. Late blessings. Life didn’t hand me a marriage, so I chose motherhood anyway. And I’m not so old—just forty-eight.”
As they talked, Edward studied her—kind-eyed, warm, with a quiet grace. He liked her name, too. Eleanor, Ellie. It reminded him of his mother. She smelled of strawberries and fresh butter. The homemade wine was sweet, the evenings cool, the sky starlit. Neither pretended—they were past games. By day, they kept to themselves; by night, Edward slipped into her room, then back to his before the children stirred. Daisy never barked at him, only watched slyly, as if in on the secret. A good little dog, efficient—ate barely a spoonful but guarded the yard fiercely. She’d taken to joining Edward on his swims, racing home ahead of him. Until one day, she didn’t.
He searched, calling her name, plastering the village with notices. An elderly neighbour muttered that visitors from the far end of the lane might’ve taken her. Edward marched there, only to learn they’d left an hour prior—with a small dog—heading for the motorway. He jumped into his car and gave chase. Eighty miles on, he blocked the road. Two sharp-tongued women spilled from a jeep.
“Move your car, mate, or we’ll call the cops!”
“Go ahead,” Edward said. “But first, return the dog.”
“Like hell!” snorted the taller one. “She was stray—we rescued her!”
“She’s not stray. She’s family. And not yours.”
The women turned shrill, threatening to smash his windows. Edward ignored them, calling, “Daisy!” The terrier yapped frantically, scrambling toward the cracked window. The women clawed at him, cursing. He wavered—striking a woman felt wrong—until a breathless policeman arrived, rubbing his temples.
“Enough! Whoever the dog goes to keeps her. No papers? Then let her choose.”
“Princess! Sweetheart!” The women waved sausage.
“Come on, Daisy,” Edward said softly.
The officer set her down. She bolted to Edward, tail whirling.
“Case closed,” the officer puffed. The women screeched about complaints until he threatened to inspect their car down to the last tablet in their first-aid kit. They fled.
Edward shook the man’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Got a terrier myself—barks at his shadow, wears a jumper in winter. Loyal little things.”
Back in the car, Daisy curled on Edward’s lap, velvety and warm. A strange contentment settled over him—one he hadn’t felt in years. The road hummed beneath the wheels, the dog dozed, and yet, beneath the peace, a pang: soon, he’d return to an empty flat. A wild thought flickered—turn around, take Daisy home. What stuff did he even own? A few shirts, some socks. He sighed and drove back to Eleanor.
Rain drenched the last week, but Edward swam anyway, Daisy paddling beside him. Nights were whispered; mornings grew heavier. On his final day, sun blazed. He packed, gifted Eleanor a parting token, left his number, and slid behind the wheel. The holiday fling was over—time to resume his tidy, solitary life.
As his car hit the tarmac, a tiny shape streaked after him. Edward accelerated; Daisy ran harder. He pushed faster, watching her shrink in the mirror until she vanished. He braked, hands shaking as he lit a cigarette. Ash dropped into the tray. Then—a speck on the road. Edward sprinted, praying no car would crest the hill. Daisy hurtled toward him, dust clogging her fur, tongue lolling. She tried to bark but coughed instead. He scooped her up, wiping grit from her eyes, trickling water into her mouth. Then he rang Eleanor.
“Your dog’s with me. She chased the car. I’ll bring her back.”
“Keep her, if you’d like. I found her days before you came—thrown from a van.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
So he kept her.
Six months later, at the university, he overheard colleagues gossiping.
“Guess who the dean married? Some woman from the coast. Middle-aged, two kids, a dog.”
“Must’ve slipped him a love potion!”
Edward stepped into view. The women tittered.
“Professor, do share—how did she win you over?”
He smiled. “Oh, there was a potion. The strongest kind.”
“Would she share the recipe?”
“Afraid not. It’s one-of-a-kind.”
Laughing, he headed home—to Eleanor, the children, and Daisy.
Sometimes, life’s best surprises come when you stop chasing perfection and let love find you instead.
