There was a wood-burning stove in the corner of the room, but there was also a heating system that must have been on a timer because I wasn’t cold, despite the dreary weather outside. After sending a text to Greer to let her know I’d arrived and spending a dreamy hour staring out at the sea, I hopped in the shower in the bathroom that accompanied the master bedroom. By the time I emerged, the sun had broken through the rain and turned the village resplendent with color from the vibrancy of the flowers in the harbor gardens, to the bright painted stonework of some of the buildings.

Deciding to take up Penny’s recommendation, I blow-dried my hair, changed into skinny jeans and a T-shirt, and grabbed my purse, excited for breakfast. My belly had been grumbling at me for hours, completely in shock at the time difference.

A fairly strong breeze blew up from the water, but I enjoyed it as I stared across the harbor to the other side. Perched atop the land above the right side of the harbor was a large stone building with a garden. I could see empty benches and chairs outside. Guessing this was The Anchor, I walked the path along the harbor road and followed it as it took a steep turn upward.

There were already a few people milling about, and from their camera-phone snap happiness, I gathered they were tourists. Standing aside to let two cars pass me, I noted another pub called The Alnster Inn. It too appeared to be open. I wondered why Penny didn’t recommend it.

As I hit the summit of the steep hill, the entrance to The Anchor appeared. Its small parking lot was already full, so I took that as a good sign. Again, there were outdoor benches and seating for dining outside, but why would you eat in the parking lot when you could enjoy the view on the other side of the building?

As I ventured inside, my heart delighted at the rustic interior. It was everything I imagined an old English pub to be, with low ceilings and thick dark wooden beams. A long bar top ran along the left side of the room, but the right side was cut in half by a wall. In the front room were tables and chairs with hardly any space in between and a massive fireplace that took up nearly the entire end wall. A bench ran down the outer wall beneath the small, old-fashioned windows with their bottled panes and iron detailing, and tables were situated in a row in front of the bench. The front room was busy, and some diners looked up from their plates at my arrival.

A small bark drew my attention, and I could see the diners sitting near the fireplace had their dogs with them.

Yes, it was everything I thought a pub would be.

I smiled at the blond woman that stood behind the bar.

“Table for one?” she asked.

I nodded. “Please.”

“There’s a couple of smaller tables free in the back room.”

Giving her my thanks, I strolled down the narrow passage along the bar and stepped into the second room. It opened up into a much bigger, more modern space with a bank of doors along one end that led out onto the alfresco dining area I’d seen from the harbor. Spotting a free table near the doors, I sat down and gave a happy sigh at the view.

An English breakfast turned out to be nothing like the version of it I’d had back home in Chicago. It was strange to my palate, but, ultimately, I decided I liked it. Feeling better now that I’d eaten, I reluctantly finished my coffee and got up to pay at the bar.

“Staying in Alnster?” the woman asked.

It took me a minute to understand what she was saying because she pronounced the name of the village differently from how it was spelled. “Anster? I thought it was called Alnster?”

She chuckled. “If it’s spelled A-L-N round these parts, it’s usually pronounced like ‘an’ with a silent L. And w’s in place-names are sometimes silent . . . just to confuse you even more.”

“Oh.” I grinned gratefully at her. “Well, I’m glad I found out now before I pronounce the village name wrong to customers.”

At her eyebrow raise, I continued, “I’m renting Much Ado About Books.”

The bartender frowned. “Penny’s still renting it out?”

I shrugged, wondering at the question. “She rented it to me for four weeks.”

“Four weeks? I guess I’ll be seeing you around then. I’m Milly Tait. I own this place with my husband, Dexter.” She held out her hand to shake.

I took it. “Hi, Milly, I’m Evie. Have you been here long?”

“The Anchor was opened by my granddad seventy-five years ago. Was just a pub back then but Dex is a chef, and he turned the place into a proper gastropub.”