**A Path to the Heart Through Storms**
My life was crumbling like a house of cards. The divorce knocked the ground from under my feet, and with the shattered pieces of my past, I returned to my grandmother’s cottage on the outskirts of the Cotswolds. Granny Ethel was my anchor—she adored me and my son, Alfie.
“Alfie’s the spitting image of his father, Rob,” I’d say with a bitter smile, watching my boy play. “He’s the only good thing left from that marriage, like a ray of sunshine in a dark sky.”
“I warned you not to get tangled up with that rogue,” Granny tutted, shaking her head. “Anyone could see he was flighty, and that bottle had a hold on him. If he’s drinking in his youth, it only gets worse. But you wouldn’t listen—‘Love, love!’—as if you’d lost your senses.”
“What’s the use of harping on now, Gran?” I sighed. “Are you going to remind me for the rest of my life? At least we have Alfie, and that’s what matters.”
“Don’t fret, my love,” Granny pulled me into a hug. “Not another word from me. Look at you—still a proper beauty! Where would that Rob find another like you? Fool of a man, that’s what he is.”
“Half the boys in school were after me,” I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, “but I’m not looking for romance now. Don’t trust anyone. They’re all sweet at first, then—” I waved my hand dismissively.
“Not all men are like your ex,” Granny countered. “Take Tom, for instance. Remember how he was mad for you? Solid lad—hardworking, no bad habits. Still single, too. The last of your old schoolmates left unwed,” she added with a sly grin.
“Oh, Gran, don’t start,” I groaned. “I don’t want to think about anyone. I’ve got Alfie’s school prep, the house to sort. Mum and Dad moved to the city for work, so I’m the one minding things here now. And I ought to help you—”
“Help is welcome,” Granny nodded, “but no rush. Get settled first. I’m fit as a fiddle—seventy’s just a number! Just seeing you and Alfie is joy enough. Your parents won’t abandon us. Maybe they’ll retire back here, and we’ll all live together—you in the big house, me in my cottage next door.”
“You’re such a mother hen, Gran,” I laughed, hugging her tight and planting a kiss on her cheek.
“But do think about Tom,” she gave me a playful nudge, like she used to when I was little. “Men like him don’t grow on trees.”
I’d been back in the village for three months, and Tom, the local farmer, was never far from sight. Like Granny, he believed my marriage had been a mistake I was still recovering from. How and when they’d cooked up their scheme, only the heavens knew, but they kept crossing paths—at the village shop, the post office. Granny whispered updates about me and Alfie, fretting over my lingering loneliness.
Tom blushed, sighed, but couldn’t bring himself to face rejection again. Seeing his hesitation, Granny egged him on:
“She’s changed, Tom. Grown wiser. Beauty isn’t everything—what matters is a good heart. And you, my lad—you’re steady, hardworking, kind—”
“And no oil painting,” Tom smirked, then sobered. “I’ve loved her all these years, Ethel. Never stopped thinking of her.”
Granny’s eyes welled up, and she promised to help however she could.
“Just don’t rush it, love. Don’t crowd her. She’s still healing—only been a year and a half since the divorce. Give her time.”
“What if someone else sweeps her off her feet?” Tom worried. “I let her slip away once. I won’t again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Then listen close,” Granny winked. “Help around quietly—don’t push. Keep your feelings close, be patient. We’ll see how things unfold.”
“You’re quite the matchmaker, Ethel!” Tom laughed. “You really think this’ll work?”
“Like a charm!” she assured him. “I’ll put in a good word—but mind this: hurt her, and you’ll break my heart too.”
Tom nodded, warmth spreading through him as if he’d already won both Granny’s blessing and my heart.
Spring bloomed in full force, the freshly turned earth waiting in the gardens. One morning, the roar of a tractor outside woke me. I rushed into the yard in slippers, an old jumper thrown over my shoulders.
“Tom, what’s all this?” I blinked at the pile of mulch in the trailer.
“Yours, of course!” he called, hopping down. “Granny ordered it. Said to deliver it, no arguments. Open the gate. Wait—you’re not dressed for this weather! Go inside before you catch cold!” He swung the gate open himself, backed the tractor in, and dumped the mulch by the fence.
“How much do I owe you?” I reached for my purse.
“Not a penny. Pensioner’s discount for Granny. Put your money away,” he said briskly and drove off before I could protest.
The next day, his younger brother, Will, spent hours spreading the mulch—again, refusing payment.
“Tom and I have an understanding,” he shrugged. “He says no pay, so no pay.”
“What is this, communism?” I groaned. “Am I suddenly a war veteran?”
Granny just beamed. “Now your garden’s set for spring. That mulch will keep the soil rich for years. Plant whatever you like.”
A week later, Tom returned with a load of manure, tarped neatly behind the shed.
“Thought you’d have use for it,” he said, dead serious. “Count yourself lucky—it’s free.”
“Thanks, Tom,” I smiled. “Never pegged you for such a domestic type. Fancy a cuppa? Made some scones.”
He nearly bounced with joy but caught himself, remembering Granny’s advice. “Another time. Swamped with work. Here—for Alfie,” he tossed me a chocolate bar. “Folks keep giving me sweets, but I don’t eat ‘em. Might as well pass ‘em on.”
I took it, warmth flickering in my chest. “Thank you. You’re welcome for tea anytime—Granny, Alfie, and I’d love the company.”
Tom drove off belting out tunes, his heart lighter than air. And Granny noticed the thaw in me—she never brought Tom up, only smiled when I mentioned his kindness.
Soon, a pile of sand appeared by the house, then gravel. The neighbours whispered.
“Now that’s a proper homemaker! Putting men to shame. Must be fixing the place up—good on her!”
“Still, it’s hard doing it alone,” the old ladies sighed. “She ought to remarry.”
When Tom delivered the gravel, I threw up my hands. “More Granny perks?”
I knew the game by now, stifling a grin. My heart fluttered watching him.
“Enough with the freebies,” I teased. “Running out of space!”
“Take what’s offered,” he said, warmth in his eyes. “Gravel’s handy for repairs—or filling potholes. I’ll come by this weekend, sort the muddy bits.”
We stood on the porch. Before he could leave, I grabbed his hand and tugged him inside.
“Get those boots off—tea’s getting cold,” I ordered. “I’ll be cross if you refuse.”
Tom obeyed, glancing around the cosy kitchen.
“Lovely place you’ve got,” he said, biting into a scone. “Blimey, these are good! Worth marrying for.”
“So marry me, then,” I replied, meeting his gaze with a smile.
He choked on his tea. Finishing in silence, he stood to leave. At the door, he turned.
“Ta for the tea. Don’t forget your passport tomorrow—meet me at the registry office.”
“Tom!” I laughed. “Hold on—”
“Don’t say you were joking!” He pushed the door open.
I caught his arm. “Honestly, you’re like a bull in a china shop. How’s marriage supposed to work without love? Silly man.”
“You think I don’t love you?” The words burst out. “I’ve been mad for you since we were kids! Never stopped thinking about you—no one else ever mattered!”
I pressed a finger to his lips, then traced his stubbled cheek. He pulled me close and kissed me.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I murmured. “Could’ve skipped the mulch and manure, though.”
“Ah,” he grinned, giving the game away, and we both dissolved into laughter.
“Ganged up on**”Love had found its way through the storms, and in the quiet of the English countryside, our hearts finally learned to rest.”**
