Milk Honey & Her

▪️ C O R A ▪️

“You’ll get used to the quiet.” The words seemed to float in the air as Cora sighed, the scent of dried lavender filling the room.

Cora Whitmore stood in the middle of the dusty sitting room, the late afternoon sun slanting through the lace curtains and catching motes of dust that danced like tiny ghosts. The walls, lined with faded floral wallpaper, wore their age with quiet dignity, softened edges curling where time had kissed them. An old stone fireplace dominated one corner, its cold hearth framed by a mantel cluttered with porcelain figurines. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet, worn smooth by decades of footsteps, their grain catching stray beams of light.

This had been her Aunt Helen’s sanctuary. And now, somehow, it was hers.

By the door, her suitcases slumped like it had given up, stuffed with clothes from a life that already felt too far away. The city and everything in it; deadlines, crowded sidewalks, the man she had left behind; seemed less like her past and more like a strange dream she had finally woken from.

The silence here was dense, almost physical, yet oddly kind.

A sharp bleat sliced through the stillness causing Cora’s head snapped towards the window.

In the garden just beyond the gate, a young goat stood chewing on what had once been a flower. Its soft, patchy coat of brown and white caught the light, and the little nubs of its horns peeked up like promises of what they would someday become. Despite its small size, it looked entirely too confident.

Cora blinked, “Oh, what’s this?”

She stepped out onto the porch, the cool air brushing her face as she approached the animal. The goat turned and stared at her with blank, judgmental eyes. It immediately trotted forward, nudging her knee with its damp nose.

A laugh rose in her chest, bubbling up from somewhere long buried. She crouched to pet it, fingers brushing its tangled fur. “Where on earth did you come from?”

It could not have wandered far, given that they were in the English countryside after all. The little intruder had probably slipped away from one of the nearby neighbours.

“He’s not usually this bold.”

The voice startled her more than the goat had. Low, rough-edged, and unexpected. It carried over the fence, from the road just beyond her garden gate.

Cora jerked upright and turned to find a man standing on the other side of the fence, his hands tucked into the pockets of a worn canvas jacket. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell a little too long over his brow. A week’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw, roughening features that might otherwise have been too handsome. His boots were muddy, dust clinging to them like proof he belonged more to the fields than the road.

He nodded once at the animal now sniffing her feet. “Waffles,” he said plainly.

Cora blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The goat,” he clarified. “His name’s Waffles. He lives next door. With me.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Of all the things she had imagined when she’d inherited a country cottage, a goat named Waffles and his quietly rugged keeper were not among them.

The man gave a slight shrug, then whistled softly.

The goat looked up at her, gave what could only be described as a very put-upon sigh, and then trotted back through the narrow gap in the fence it had somehow managed to squeeze through.

Cora unlatched the gate and pushed it open, stepping onto the road where the man stood with the goat at his side. He scratched the animal behind the ears, then glanced up at her. His eyes were a soft grey, the colour of worn river stones.

“So, are you some kind of farmer?” Cora asked calmly, though her heart was still doing cartwheels.

The man paused, then offered a faint, crooked smile, just a little shy, but kind. “Sort of. Goats, a few bees, and vegetables when they cooperate. I guess it counts.” He extended a hand. “I’m Elias.”

“Cora,” she said, shaking it.

His grip was warm, steady, and more reassuring than it had any right to be.

Waffles gave a contented bleat and ambled closer, nudging his head against Cora’s leg, then rubbing against her like a particularly stubborn cat. She laughed, surprised, steadying herself with a hand on the fence.

“Well,” Elias said, glancing from the goat to her, “looks like you’ve made a new friend.”

She smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “So, it would seem.”

“He usually saves that kind of affection for people who bribe him with apples.”

Cora looked down at Waffles, who was now contentedly licking her shoelace. “It’s okay,” she said with a shrug, “he’s cute.”

Elias glanced at her then, just briefly. “Yeah,” he murmured, “they grow on you.” “How many do you have?”

He shifted slightly, the faintest grin tugging at one corner of his mouth as he answered, “Too many. Twelve full-grown, three kids, and Waffles, who thinks he runs the place.”

Waffles bleated, as if in agreement.

“I try to keep it under twenty, too many and they start plotting.”

Cora raised an eyebrow in slight amusement. “Is there such a thing as too many goats?”

He gave a soft chuckle, “No, but for one person, yes.”

“Fair enough.”

“So, are you moving in? I haven’t seen anyone around here in a while. Your aunt’s place has been pretty quiet since she passed last year.”

Cora nodded, the weight of that truth pressing against her again. “Yeah, I inherited it, but only now got the time to come see about it.” There was a pause. She looked at him curiously. “Wait, how did you know I was her niece?”

“Small town,” he said with a shrug. “News travels faster than cars.”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes lingered on her face, searching, at the curve of her mouth, the shape of her brow, like he was trying to reconcile the woman standing before him with a version he had already known. It was not invasive, exactly, but it was enough to make Cora shift slightly, self-conscious beneath the quiet weight of his attention.

Then, his voice broke the silence, low and even, “You know, we’ve met before.”

Her brows lifted. “We have?” Heat crept into her cheeks, the embarrassment sharp and sudden. “I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t worry,” he cut in gently, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “It was years back. You were just visiting.”

Cora let out a breath, half a laugh, “That explains it. I was worried I’d already made a terrible impression.”

He shook his head, “Not terrible. Just, different, you seemed a bit stressed back then.”

“I see…” she murmured before her eyes widened as a thought clicked into place. “Wait! You’re the goat guy she always talked about?”

Elias raised an eyebrow, “Goat guy? Well, I suppose I am a goat keeper, though it’s more formally known as a small-scale farmer.”

“I guess you knew my aunt pretty well.”

His gaze softened as if seeing her in his mind. “I knew her. Helen had a way of noticing things. Quiet, steady, but you could always count on her.

Cora nodded, a faint ache stirring in her chest, “That sounds like her.”

He glanced toward the cottage, his mouth tipping in the ghost of a smile. “I’ll tell you what I really miss, her coconut drops. Never had anything like it, a Caribbean delicacy she’d call them.”

Cora’s lips curved, the memory tugging her back. “She did make the best,” she admitted. “I try sometimes, but mine don’t come close. Hers were simply divine.”

“Divine, huh? That sounds about right.” Elias said, a flicker of something like nostalgia in his eyes. “It’s good to see the family back. Helen was a good woman.”

There was another sharp tug in her chest as she replied, “Thanks, I hope I can make this place feel like home, like she did.”

Her eyes lingered on the cottage, where ivy curled lovingly around weathered stone walls, softening the edges like a well-worn quilt. The windows glowed amber in the late sun, framed by chipped white shutters that creaked with the weight of years and stories. Outside, the garden was a quiet tangle of wildflowers, pale foxgloves, delicate daisies, and lavender swaying with the gentlest of breezes, filling the air with their soft perfume.

A robin flitted from branch to branch, its bright chest puffed up like a small burst of song. Beyond the garden gate, fields rolled out in endless waves of green, bordered by ancient hedgerows thick with the secrets of forgotten seasons. The thatched roof, crowned with moss and time, seemed to hum a lullaby of home, of healing, and of slow, steady beginnings.

Elias glanced down at Waffles, now nibbling on some grass near the gate. “Well, if you need help fixing things, you’re not far from the farm.”

“I might take you up on that. Maybe I could make you something in return. Some coconut drops, perhaps, Aunt Helen did always say they were worth a favour or two.”

Elias’ lips twitched in the hint of a smile. “I’ll hold you to that, then.”

“Deal.”

He nodded once, then gave a soft whistle. Waffles perked up and obediently trotted after him.

Cora watched as they disappeared into the path winding back toward a grove of trees. The buzz of bees drifted faintly in the late afternoon air, a hidden choir beneath the wind.

She stood still for a long moment, the breeze playing at her sleeves, dust still floating like memory in the golden light.

Maybe, just maybe, this place could be home.

Author's Note: I just wanted to let you know that I'll be updating this book daily, happy reading! 💖