The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  ‘Can I assist you to your abode?’ Jo enquired, in his regal tone. He held out his hand, his nose wrinkling with a cute smile. Florence stepped forward and placed her hand in his. Each time she had done this this evening, she noticed that jolt in her chest, that feeling of her heart expanding.

  ‘I’d like that,’ Florence said, interlacing her fingers in his as they began the short walk to her hut. They discussed the evening’s events, the grand barn, the décor Ella had helped Jo find at a Charity Antique shop, and the book trail before arriving on Florence’s deck. Florence looked up at the lantern over the door and her brows drew in, in thought. She turned to look at Jo.

  ‘Jo, I can’t stay here every time I come and visit. This hut can no longer be mine – you’re going to need it for holiday goers, for customers,’ she told him expressing her concern as she leant against the wood, the lantern above the door lighting up the deck with a sunset orange glow that highlighted the gorgeous hut, which she loved so much.

  Jo’s hands had gone into his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his toes and heels, curls falling in his face, his lips pursed in thought, before announcing, ‘I have an idea. You can stay with me.’ Once the words had left his lips, he then gave a more confident nod. ‘Yes, you can stay with me at the barn. There is more work to do, I know. I’m putting in a tub and working out the electricity for upstairs, but it’s all doable and liveable, but that is only if you want to. We can talk. We should talk about your visits, when you’d like to come and stay, how often you can come and stay. Maybe I can come and see you.’ Jo’s words raced out of his mouth.

  Florence chuckled softly, stepping up to him and moving the curls out of his face. ‘Hmm, sleepovers in the annex.’ Florence tilted her head to one side, playfully scrunching up her nose.

  ‘They would be the best kind,’ Jo returned, as he let Florence move her fingers over his jawline.

  ‘With bedtime stories?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing at his.

  ‘Every night,’ Jo said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Florence noted, her own lips curving into a sweet grin.

  ‘You do that,’ Jo whispered as he leant down slowly, bringing a hand to gently cup the back of Florence’s head. Hesitating for a flicker of a moment with their noses touching, they allowed their smiles to grow wider, savouring their closeness, before their lips met once more.

  When they broke away from each other, Florence was the first to open her eyes. She played with the curl dangling in front of Jo’s eyelids causing Jo’s lips to curve into that delicious side smile of his, with the warmth of her touch.

  ‘So, did you think about it?’ he asked when he opened his eyes, making Florence laugh and playfully push him in his chest. Jo caught her hands and held them tight in his. Then taking a step back and not letting go, not wanting to leave her, he whispered slowly, ‘Goodnight, Florence.’

  She let one hand drop first, their eyes never leaving each other’s, as Jo unhurriedly began releasing her other hand. With their fingertips touching as Jo backed off the decking, Florence returned, ‘Night, Jo,’ with a dreamy sigh.

  Florence watched as Jo bowed stepping on to the grass. He gave a small nod, his lips were curved into a smile that crinkled his eyes, those eyes that shone with love and mischief. Once he was a mere speck in the distance, Florence stepped inside her hut and tip toed across the room, being careful not to wake Bronte. When she reached the bed, she flopped down onto the quilt her knees having done that wobbly weak detail that she had read about in so many of her books.

  Epilogue

  The pale blue pastel cabin, which sat between the main cottage and the barn, emitted the most rich, aromatic smell of coffee around the grounds. Florence could smell it from the annex as it drifted in on the breeze that floated through the window. She licked her lips, being known to occasionally swap her beloved breakfast tea for coffee these days. She couldn’t help herself, for Langston and Bronte brewed the most delicious blend. Florence then smiled, the smell signalling the start of the day and a very special one at that.

  The fact that both Langston and Bronte were early risers like Florence meant that there was always fresh coffee and tea ready for her when she woke, that is on days when the Caffeine Heights hut was open and Langston and Bronte were on site. The moment the girls had returned to work after the spectacular barn opening, Bronte had shared the story of the event and regaled Langston with stories of her time spent at Camp Calla Lily and begged him to figure out cover for the café so that she could take him to visit. Langston had agreed and the four of them, Florence, Jo, Bronte, and Langston, had enjoyed a wonderful weekend together at the end of last summer. Langston, just as Bronte had done, quickly fell in love with the place and joined Florence and Jo’s team of two in revamping Camp Calla Lily.

  Jo and Florence already knew they wanted to host drama workshops and put on shows and events where children could unleash their imagination, read, craft and be whoever they wanted to be. Upon being mesmerised by the gorgeous pastel homes, Bronte had been a whirlwind of excitement and ideas and had asked Jo ever so nicely if he would make her a hut. At first, Bronte had put in a request for a hut in the shape of a unicorn, it then changed to a book and then she finally settled on the idea that Caffeine Heights have their own hut and for them be a part of the events. This idea had caused both Florence and Jo’s heads to turn with them both thinking it a rather marvellous one.

  After Jo had tied up loose ends in London, sold his flat and finished a project that helped him pay George’s debts, things had been running more smoothly. George still grumbled about the money, but Jo had put his foot down, ensuring his grandad that once Camp Calla Lily started making a profit again that George could pay him back.

  In the past year, Jo and a small team of friends had built an additional three new huts – pastel green, pastel lilac and pastel orange – for holiday makers. The green and lilac were bigger than the rest to accommodate larger families. The main cottage, with its eight guest rooms, had been booked up most weekends. In October they had hosted a special Halloween book trail and held a pumpkin carving event and Christmas saw the original huts occupied by couples enjoying the cosy and romantic festivities, dipping into the village to enjoy the Christmas markets and spending evenings at Camp Calla Lily curled up sipping on hot chocolate around the indoor log fires and occasional winter bonfire. The New Year had brought in individuals looking to cleanse and see in the New Year independently and surrounded by the peace and tranquillity the grounds offered.

  Jo hoped that in the future they could build more family huts and look into a camp-style sleeping bunk for kids, but for now they offered day workshops that didn’t require children to sleep over unless the whole family stayed at the cottage or in one of the huts for the weekend and made a holiday out of the weekend classes. Jo had put much of his own money in the renovations, while Florence had added decorations and stocked up the barn as she saw fit, insisting on doing it herself. Money had been tight, but the profit had slowly been growing. Likewise, Bronte and Langston had put savings aside, thrilled with their new venture in a mobile Caffeine Heights, though naturally Jo had lowered the price greatly for his friends, without them knowing. Since Langston’s first visit to the camp, he and Jo had hit it off and Florence felt Jo would happily make such treats for people free of charge if he could. He had a kind soul like that and looked after the people he loved.

  It was hard to get a word in edgeways when Jo and Langston were together, for they were always heads together deep in discussion over great poets and writers the likes of Ralph Ellison and Ralph Emerson, Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou and Oscar Wilde. But it was a joy to behold as both Jo and Langston inspired each other and had been filling out notebooks with their own works whenever they got a spare minute. Florence loved having Langston and Bronte around. Their hut opened for an hour in the morning and for two at lunchtime on weekends, to offer another food alternative than Sal’s Calla Lily Café. Sal had
wholeheartedly welcomed a little friendly competition over the last few months, but he needn’t worry for Caffeine Heights was to be the main food stop for the children’s snack breaks and lunches so they didn’t have to traipse up to the main building and disturb the other holiday makers in the café when the workshops were on, so there was business for everyone.

  Jo was grateful and pleased to see the camp making money again and the difference in his grandad’s demeanour was palpable. George still saw to the bookings, to allow Jo to focus on the grounds, but these days George had help with Margot often staying for weeks at a time. At first it was just the occasional weekend, but as Florence was busy during the week with school and working at Caffeine Heights, Margot had decided to venture to Camp Calla Lily to be with George so they could keep each other company.

  Florence didn’t mind; she didn’t think her heart could grow any bigger but seeing her nanna so happy had made it so. Moreover, when time and work would allow, Jo would come to Manchester and stay during the week or come and pick her up after school on the Friday and they would drive down to Camp Calla Lily together. School had been going well for Florence. Though she was one of the older ones in the class, she got on with everyone as they all had such a flair for the arts that Florence loved to see. Jo was enjoying every aspect of working freely on the camp and being able to share and run ideas by his grandad. He was also making sure to take time for himself to write and had sent off his story, the one he had acted out to Florence the night of their campfire, to some publishers. He had made sure to give his leading man the happy ending that Florence had desired and Ella had told him bluntly that if no publisher should acquire it then he should self-publish it and she turn would proudly display it in the window of The Vintage Bookshop.

  Jo had stuck to his promise of sleepovers and bedtime stories and each moment with him was a daydream come to life. As Florence stretched her arms above her head, looking around the annex from the comfort of their bed, she smiled as if she had just read a favourite chapter in one of her favourite novels, for this chapter of life she was currently participating in had to be her favourite yet. Her smile only grew wider when she twisted to her right and looked down to see Jo gazing up at her, his hair sticking out all over the place, his hazel eyes sparkling in the sunrise that beamed through the circle window behind her.

  ‘Good morning, Florence,’ Jo said in a bright and cheerful voice as he sat up, putting an arm around her, and kissing her cheek.

  ‘Good morning, Jo,’ Florence returned, leaning into his kiss.

  ‘Are you ready for today?’ he asked, playing with her sandy waves, his fingers grazing over her bare shoulder.

  ‘I think so. There are nerves but at the same time I can’t wait,’ Florence expressed, dropping her chin on her shoulder where Jo’s fingers were. She kissed one and he smiled.

  ‘You’re going to be fantastic and I will be the best assistant you’ve ever had,’ Jo noted, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the lips.

  ‘You will be the only assistant I have ever had,’ Florence replied with a chuckle, feeling a warmth spread through her when Jo looked at her with hooded eyes and a cheeky grin. He kicked off the duvet and jumped out of the bed. Rounding to her side of the bed, he offered her his hand. Florence took it and Jo pulled her to her feet, spinning her around as though they had been transported to a ballroom and a grand orchestra were playing. Minutes passed as they floated around the annex, laughing, and moving in sync before they busied themselves in the small bathroom getting ready for the day.

  Once dressed, Florence in a long and floaty pink sundress, Jo in black trousers and a white tee, they walked hand in hand out of the barn’s clearing, through the dense forest of magnificent trees into the open hills towards Caffeine Heights. When they reached the pale blue hut, Bronte was just wriggling out of her and Langston’s tent, which was nestled behind the hut, while Langston poured out four takeaway cups. Langston and Bronte always pitched a tent when they stayed over at the camp, not wanting to use up the accommodations reserved for guests and because they were both fond of sleeping under the stars. The cosiness of their sleeping quarters and with a little of the magic that Florence felt Camp Calla Lily possessed, thanks to her parents watching over the place, plenty of laughs and late-night conversations had meant that Bronte and Langston’s relationship had flourished in these parts. Just thinking about it made Florence’s heart swell.

  Having been the best of friends for so long, Florence had felt that both Bronte and Langston were hesitant about ruining the relationship they had and so they hadn’t rushed and neither she nor Jo had put any pressure on them by meddling. They had simply encouraged and supported their feelings, lent listening ears and positive notes and allowed destiny to do its thing.

  ‘Good morning,’ Florence said brightly as Bronte skipped over to the hut and took her cup from Langston, who always held hers in his hand until Bronte was ready to take it. Florence watched as their eyes connected. Bronte popped a sweet kiss on his cheek and Langston beamed and winked ever so casually before turning his attention back to Jo who was chatting enthusiastically about a recent poem Langston had written.

  ‘Morning,’ Bronte said to Florence after a long sip of the delicious roast, her cheeks rosy with a romantic flush. ‘Are you excited for today?’ she added as the girls took a seat at the picnic table.

  ‘Yes. I think the excitement is outweighing the nerves right now actually. The barn is all set up. I have a vague plan and I have the best assistant in the world so…’ Florence didn’t finish her sentence, she simply shrugged playfully at Bronte who laughed in understanding. There was not a lot she could do now; the children were due to arrive at half past nine and only then could she really get a feel for how she would go about teaching. She had a mixed-age group from six years old to ten registered for today’s class and so she knew a lot of the teaching would depend on getting to know the children and their personalities before any kind of curriculum was set in stone. She also wanted to find out what they liked, the kinds of books they read and plays they would be interested in performing; maybe they could merge a few together and create their very own brand-new version? Her mind wandered and she felt the happy wings in her stomach flutter.

  ‘I still can’t get over this place,’ Bronte expressed with a dreamy sigh as she looked across the fields. The sun was rising above the lake causing beautiful rays to highlight the dewy grass, the pretty paint, and the detail of each hut. She still had one year left to complete her English degree and when not at school or writing her essays she was as busy as ever working at Caffeine Heights. But as the coffee shop had grown in popularity it had allowed her and Langston this escape to Camp Calla Lily, where, as much as Bronte loved their shop in Manchester and it had been a dream come true, Bronte wished she could spend more time. However, Bronte very much believed in Jo and Florence’s vision and hoped that once the workshops took off and they established their seasonal events and once she herself finished university, she could be the one to look after their coffee hut and get away from the city more. She and Langston had talked about the possibility of such a venture, but Bronte knew how much he worried about the shop and how difficult it had been to leave someone else in charge the weekends they were away, so she was aware it might be a little while yet before she could call Camp Calla Lily home. It was certainly a lovely goal to keep on the not too distant horizon.

  ‘It is rather special,’ Florence returned with a dazed smile as she paused to take pleasure in the sunrise and scope out the fields, where flowers opened up to the soft sunlight and the birds could be heard and seen flying from tree to tree during their morning chorus. ‘Jo has worked so hard to revive it and I believe he’s done a spectacular job; I never want to leave.’ She chuckled to which Bronte raised her cup in agreement.

  ‘This place is definitely magic. Did Olivia say she can make it next week?’ Bronte asked.

  Florence’s smile grew. ‘Yes, she and Drew will be here on Saturday,’ she
answered.

  ‘I can’t believe how excited she gets for the book trails. I think we’ve converted her to the book side,’ Bronte replied, before letting out a soft chuckle. Florence wasn’t sure if they had or if it truly was the magic of the camp that could make anyone’s imagination come alive. The thought warmed her heart.

  She couldn’t wait for Olivia and Drew to visit and to have all her friends and family together. Mornings with her friends, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying her warm drink had become one of Florence’s favourite things, it wasn’t quite the same waking up to the brick walls and noisy cars back in Manchester, but she appreciated that all the same too. She had come a long way from being the girl who confined herself to her four walls and printed pages. Though the printed pages were not going anywhere anytime soon Florence was thoroughly enjoying her time at school and was not nearly as anxious about meeting new people anymore. Furthermore, having learnt so much already, she felt wildly more prepared for the day ahead.

  Out in the field Florence heard the mighty roar of a dragon being slayed by an army of sword-wielding, howling knights. She and a small creature with emerald eyes raced around the barn collecting the precious gemstones, golden goblets, and sparkling treasure in a race against time. They couldn’t let the knights see them; the dragon had been a distraction so they could make off with the treasure without being caught. They had to avoid the dungeons at all costs so they could deliver the goods to the evil witch so that she would release their fellow villagers.

  Out of nowhere an eagle swooped in through the rafters, its loud cries alerting the knights who were celebrating over defeating the dragon. Florence saw one man look her way through the stone window. Their eyes connected and panic flooded her body. ‘We have to move quick,’ Florence whispered to the cute creature next to her. Picking up their pace, they threw the riches into their bag and Florence flung it over her shoulder. The noise of battle armour was getting louder as the knights trudged towards the barn.