Author's Note: Hello everyone! This update took a little bit longer than expected, I apologize for that. Thank you everyone for the support you have shown me, and the kind words that encourage me to keep writing this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Three:

LOUISA

I wanted to stay in bed all day and hide from the world with the assistance of my covers, and for a moment I thought I would actually be able to. But then the harsh reality washed over me in the form of my mother who knocked lightly on the door before entering the small, almost suffocating room.

"Hello, love," my mum murmured as she crept in the room and sat on the edge of my bed. I thought about perhaps steadying my breathing and pretending I was asleep as I had done back in my elementary days, but thought better of it. My eyes flickered to her face but I was unable to look at her for very long. The guilt and feeling of misery took ahold of me.

"It's fine if you stay in bed for most of the day, but don't you think it would sadden Granddad if you were to waste those two tickets?" she asked lightly, as if she was doing her best to act nonchalantly. I looked at her, trying to decipher the expression on her face. She was looking at me with a cautious yet compassionate look, but I could sense the underlying tone of her words: Louisa, you need to get out of bed.

I thought about arguing with her, fighting to keep my privilege of staying under my covers where at least I could pretend time stopped, but instead I gave a small inclination that I had heard her. Relief filled her face before she leaned towards me and smoothed a couple of flyaway hairs on my head. She then gave me a quick kiss on my forehead and left me to my own devices.

WILL

"Well, tell Thomson & Murray that that we won't go through with it if they continue to act like this. In our last meeting we had an agreement, I won't be suddenly whiplashed around and concede to demands from them" I said smoothly before ending the conversation with a quick efficient click. I stared at the phone briefly, the conversation running through my mind for only a mere moment before I pushed it aside.

I drummed the pads of my fingers on my desk, which produced a dull sound, and found myself rather impatient. I glanced through the glass to see fellow coworkers in a flurry, clearly engrossed in their own tasks. I turned towards the large window behind my desk and tried to take in the scene of the bustling streets of Central London below, a poor attempt to clear my mind.

"I take it that it didn't go well," Rupert said as his greeting as he waltzed in my office. He looked quite bored as he took a seat without any invitation from me, and surveyed my office. I glanced at him briefly and then set my mind to focusing on the laptop screen before me, wanting nothing more than for him to exit my office just as suddenly as he had entered it.

After a moment it was clear that he wanted me to contribute to the conversation which had been so far one sided. My eyes flickered to him briefly (he was now warping a paper clip that had been lying on the edge of my desk) before I turned my attention back to the constant flood of emails that entered my inbox, "I thought you and Alicia were supposed to be on your honeymoon."

I saw Rupert shrug in my peripheral line of vision, "We delayed it since we thought it best I close the Hardings deal before our honeymoon," he then added as an afterthought, "I sent her to some luxury spa to make it up to her, so she's not too upset about the change of plans."

I repressed the urge to grimace. The marriage already seemed like it was deteriorating, although it wasn't any of my concern. I frowned as I spotted in the reflection of my laptop's screen that my tie was slightly ever so crooked. No, Rupert and Alicia were none of my concern ever since the two had snuck around behind my back. A bitter taste arose in my mouth at the mere thought of the past, but I instantly pushed it to the back of my mind. I had other matters that concerned my mind (like closing the Thomson & Murray deal once and for all) even if my ex-best friend from college was sitting across from me attempting to cozy up to me and pretend everything was perfectly alright between us.

Rupert cleared his throat, "So Thomson & Murray are backing out?"

I noticed that I fingers hit the keyboard with slightly more force as his words reached my ears. I forced myself to continue replying to the long stream of emails, "I haven't lost a deal yet, and I don't plan to."

I felt Rupert shoot me a dazzling smile, the kind that swayed and persuaded potential clients to agree to whatever the end goal was, "You may not have yet, but you know that old Yank, Dan Bains, is just waiting for you to screw up. He's been vying to one up you ever since he came here from New York."

A small chime alerted me as a new email appeared in my inbox. I perused its contents and smiled to myself. And even though Rupert and I may have not been on the best on terms (at least according to me), I still wanted to share the good news with somebody. In a slightly smug tone I said simply, "Dan Bains will have to wait a little while then. Thomson & Murray is ours."

Rupert smiled at me amicably although it looked rather forced, "That account is huge for us. Lewins is lucky to have you, I swear."

"He was probably hoping I would mess up," a small voice whispered in the back of my mind. I was tempted to smirk but thought better of it. I should at least appear to act modest.

I closed my laptop with a smart snap before packing it away in my leather briefcase. Shrugging on my coat I then gave a short nod, "Right, well I'm off. Evans said I could take the rest of the day off if I closed the account by noon." I glanced at my watch, "If I leave now I should be home in time for a late lunch."

"Evans should know better than to enter in a bet with you," Rupert said, shaking his head in amusement as he clapped me on the shoulder. I ignored the fact that he used a bit more force than was necessary. He then added, "Will Traynor leaving early? Even when you had permission to leave early, you always stay overtime. You know Bains will have a field day when he hears that you're missing in action."

"Well Bains didn't close the Thomson & Murray account, now did he?" I said nonchalantly before I left for the day.

The train ride from London back to home was completely uneventful, and perfectly normal and unsurprising. The event that caught me by surprise was the FOR RENT sign that appeared in the corner of one the front windows of what used to be the Buttered Bun. I edged closer to the door and squinted my eyes to see if anyone was truly there.

The photographs that hung on the walls were gone. The tea urn missing. The case display where cinnamon buns would be waiting for customers to buy them empty.

I took a step back. The emptiness of the place truly convinced me that the Buttered Bun was no more. It was as I gave the place one last parting glance that a small note taped to the door caught my eye:

After eighteen years of serving the community, we are sad to be closing our doors. We thank our customers for the wonderful memories they supplied over the years.

Yes, the Buttered Bun was definitely closed.

LOUISA

Stortford Castle was a charming spot, boasting a rich impressive history that went back from the 15th century or so. It could be seen from quite a distance, attracting flocks of tourists who would stop in town for a day only to see the castle before moving on to another location more exciting.

The 3:00PM tour group consisted mostly of tourists who had their cameras ready to capture anything and everything that happened or moved. I lingered towards the back of the group, not in the mood to be part of the pushy group of tourists who all wanted to be number one in the group.

"Please do keep up," the tour guide encouraged before beginning her spiel, "The Great Hall was built in the early 15th century, and is considered to be the oldest part of Stortford Castle. Records indicate that the total construction of the Great Hall took a few years due to not only inclement weather but also a fire that caught in 1408. Reconstruction then took place in the spring of 1409 and the castle as a whole was finished in 1427, which includes-"

I briefly heard the guide's words, but then tuned them out. I was too enthralled of the amount of beauty the castle held. It was stately, yet modest. The furnishings were of beautiful craftsmanship, the details exquisite, yet the tastes were not obnoxious. Stortford Castle held a quiet type of beauty, the kind that made no instant impact at first, but made you slowly fall in love the more you looked at it. I appreciated the natural light that flooded the room, the stone that was barren yet clearly held history. I studied the intricate patterns on the tapestries, admiring the scenes that were portrayed on the fabric. The colors were a little faded, but were still rich for gazing eyes.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Miss Clark."

The voice drew me out of my reverie, and I found myself jumping slightly at the sound of his voice. My head snapped to the sound of his voice, and it took me a moment to register the fact that our proximity was close, the observation made my cheeks become flushed. I took a small step back to allow myself some breathing room.

"I am glad to see you out and about in society away from the Buttered Bun, even if it's here of all places," he said as an afterthought before looking around, clearly disinterested in the sights around him, but feigning interest anyway. He looked at me, his one eyebrow arched, "I shouldn't be surprised that you managed to somehow fall behind the rest of the tour group."

It was then that I realized that I was indeed still in the Great Hall all by my lonesome. Except with Will of course. I made that fact known. "You're not with the tour group either," I argued, trying to defend that fact that I was clearly in my own little world and had not noticed that the stampede of tourists had somehow left the room.

"That's because I'm not with a tour group," he said, as if it should be an obvious and well known fact. He paused for a moment, as if he was waiting for a reaction from me. Perhaps he expected I would scowl at his comment, or question him. After a moment he sighed, "It looks like I have no choice but to give you a tour myself."

"I don't want a tour from you," I told him as I wondered how far the tour group had gone. Would I be able to quickly find them?

"Too bad, Clark," he said, putting his hands in his pockets as he pretended to inspect one of the tapestries that hung on the walls, "My tours are very famous. Haven't you heard of the Will Traynor tour? Great Yelp reviews. Highly rated."

"Was that supposed to be funny?" I asked shortly. A small part of me recognized that he got rid of the Miss that usually accompanied my last name, but I pushed that thought away. I was slightly miffed yet at the same time slightly curious about him. I couldn't figure him out. He truly was a puzzle, the kind that you attempted to figure out but then give up on in the middle of the process.

He kept staring at the tapestry. I wondered what he found so captivating. I looked at the tapestry, trying to see whatever he saw in the woven artwork. He then responded, his eyes still focused on the art in front of him, "I don't know, Clark. Did you laugh?"

"No," I answered honestly.

His body shook ever so slightly, as if he was suppressing laughter. I wondered if I was imagining it. Maybe if I looked in his eyes I would be able to see if there was any humor in them. But he refused to meet my eyes. Instead he began walking away from me.

"Well, you should be honored you're even getting one," he retorted as he sauntered away into another room, not even glancing in my direction to see if I was following him.

I decided then that Will was a little bit pompous, a tad over confident, and an utter mystery.

Perhaps it was because he was an enigma and I was persistent that I followed him. Or perhaps it was because I found him irksome, and wanted to end our interaction on my own terms. Or maybe it was because I wanted to follow him that I did.

Whatever the reason, I hurried after his departing figure, not wanting to be left behind. He led the way, clearly sure that he knew where he was going, although I wasn't so sure. He guided me outdoors and onto a gravel pathway that had a steep incline. He must have sensed my uncertainty because he said, "I know where I'm going, Clark."

"Are you sure? I'm missing all of the inside," I puffed, a little bit out of breath since his strides were much longer than my own. I felt like I was on the track with Patrick all over again.

He shook his head, "You can read about the interiors of castles from a book, but you can't replicate the feeling of looking at a great view."

We continued in silence, the path twisting upwards around the edges of castle until it suddenly stopped. I huffed, out of breath but not as bad as before. I felt my heart pound against my own body, my heartrate increased from the level of activity I had experienced over just a few minutes. After a moment of catching my breath, I then realized we were at the top of the castle's hill. I drank in the sight of the small town that was laid out before my eyes. The sun was hidden behind clouds, but some rays escaped and made the trees and blades of grass glow. It was completely ethereal.

I remembered that I was not completely alone. He was there too. I snuck a glance at him, and noticed how the streaks of sunlight touched his own hair, giving it natural highlights which would only last until the sun disappeared. I felt smiled softly as he gazed at the view presented before him, the expression in his eyes resembling something foreign to me.

I turned my attention back to the beauty that was fading quickly as the sun lowered. I didn't want to break the spell. I was afraid of what would happen.

"What's got you so down, Clark?" he asked after a while, breaking the silence. I looked at him, ready to ask him what he meant, but then he shrugged, "It's the way you carry yourself. You look troubled."

"Oh," I said, at a loss of words. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I felt my posture deflate as I sat on a small boulder and stared into the sun, not caring if it hurt my eyes or not. For some reason, I wanted nothing more than to avoid his eyes. I sighed, hugging my knees to my chest, "It's really nothing." And even though I said that, I found myself telling him anyway. Maybe it was because I had kept my feelings to myself, not sharing with anyone. Suddenly I found myself blurting out, "I was let go from the Buttered Bun last night."

I mustered up enough courage to look at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but the shrill chime of my cellphone interrupted whatever he was about to say. I dug my bulky phone out of my pocket and saw that the text message notification was from Patrick inquiring where I was, and that everyone was at Kings Head waiting for me.

I sighed. As much as I didn't want to go and spend the evening with the Hailsbury Triathlon Terrors, I felt that I should still support Patrick. I knew this was important to him. I sent him a quick text message that I was on my way before slipping my phone back into my pocket.

I looked up, expecting to see Will's figure still standing near me, but instead I found him already making his way back down the gravel path.

Note: This is the first attempt in writing in Will's point of view. I struggled writing in his view, wanting to accurately portray him. How did I do? Thoughts on Will/Lou? Critiques? Was the tour what you expected it to be? Show me some love by leaving a review.

Much Thanks,

The Painted Green Door