Treasure Under Another’s Roof: A Tale of Gold, Wit, and… Feelings
Oliver arrived in the countryside to visit his grandad, Henry—partly for the fresh air, partly to escape the city’s relentless buzz. But this time, he hadn’t just packed clothes; he’d brought along a proper metal detector. From the moment he stepped in, the old man squinted at the gadget, baffled, before finally cracking:
“What’ve you got there, lad? Gone fishing with that contraption?”
“Grandad, this isn’t a fishing rod. It’s a metal detector—pretty professional, too. Read online there’s gold buried round here somewhere. Fancy a shot at finding it.”
The old man chuckled, gazed thoughtfully toward the field behind the garden, and drawled:
“Heard that tale from my own father, I did. And, between you and me, I reckon I’ve a hunch where that treasure might be. Trouble is, there’s a house sat on it now.”
Oliver nearly hopped with excitement:
“Well, can you get me in there, then?”
Grandad shrugged, eyes dancing with mischief:
“Oh, I could. But I doubt they’ll let you dig up their garden. Even if you found a fortune, they’d claim the lot. It’s their land. Unless…”
Oliver frowned:
“Unless what?”
“There’s a lass staying there, just back from London. Smart, kind… not one of those high-maintenance types. Now *there’s* a proper treasure.”
“Grandad, not this again! I didn’t come for girls. I came for gold.”
“Who said anything *but* gold?” Grandad cackled. “Only, treasure comes in different forms. Be friendly, mention your little hobby, and who knows? She might convince her folks to let you scan their garden. Find something, and they might even cut you in.”
Oliver hesitated, but the glint in his eyes held fast:
“You *sure* it’s there?”
“Pretty as my pipe’s smoke. Dad whispered it to me—some toff buried his coins a century back, fleeing the chaos. Half the village tore up the place looking. Then the house went up, and poof—mystery unsolved.”
“You knew *all this time* and never dug?”
“With what? My bare hands? ’Sides, didn’t have a fancy beeper like yours. Then you turned up…”
“Fine. But how do I even talk to this girl?”
“Leave that to fate. We’ll stroll past, ‘accidental-like.’ I’ll natter about blight on the apple trees—*terrible* this year—and you jump in, introduce yourself. Blimey, show some backbone!”
Oliver waffled a moment longer but agreed. Ten minutes later, they loitered by the cottage gate. Grandad launched into small talk with the owner, while Oliver locked eyes with the girl stepping into the yard—*Emily*. Brown hair, hazel eyes, a grin warm as fresh toast. Suddenly, his mission seemed… less pressing.
They talked. Then walked to the lake. Then she roped him into helping string up a new grapevine awning. The metal detector gathered dust in its box. Each evening, Oliver only returned to Grandad’s to sleep. Gold never came up. He’d lost interest in buried things.
A week later, packing to leave, he found Grandad grinning on the bench, pipe in hand:
“Well? Strike it rich?”
Oliver glanced at the purpling sky and smiled:
“Yeah. Just… not the way I planned.”
“Told you, didn’t I? Real gold ain’t in the ground. It’s in folks.”
The metal detector stayed behind—draped in the shed under an old blanket. Emily, though? She stayed in Oliver’s heart.
