Ever since I adopted the handle Cottagecore Princess, I've had to explain on numerous occasions why I think cottagecore can be sexy. Which I get, the aesthetic is presented and marketed in a predominantly asexual way, a nod to slow living of yesteryear. But equally, I am not blind and see the wonderful cleavage that a pair of stays gives and adore the image of simply lifting a big skirt and... You get the idea. So as a farewell nod to this year's summer, enjoy take one on making cottagecore sexy as hell.
*~*~*~*
The air smelled of salt. Which was odd this far away from the coast and yet Alastair was entirely sure of it as he tasted it on his lips.
Long walks were his way of clearing his head, but usually he kept his wits about him. This was the first time that Alastair got thoroughly lost. Wandering through woods whilst wrapped in his own thoughts apparently wasn't the right thing to do when setting off on a new path.
There was no signal this far into the woods, so with a resigned shrug Alastair decided that the only sensible thing to do was to press onwards. He didn't even know how much he might've meandered to trust that going back would've been quicker. The good thing about this country was that woodland areas were never particularly large and sooner or later he was bound to find a way out. Or a spot with enough signal to reorient himself.
The former turned out to have happened sooner. First the trees grew more sparse and then he began to see the light between them, until finally Alastair stepped outside. The moment he did, the midday August sun attacked him relentlessly; it wasn't as noticeable in the shade.
Checking his phone confirmed that his signal was still non-existent, but a little way down from where he stood Alastair spotted a cottage. In bright sunshine the thing practically glowed like a lighthouse, especially against the backdrop of cloudless skies and fields rolling gently with whatever bit of breeze came through. Even from this distance the garden around the cottage looked too neat for the place to have been abandoned, so Alastair took a deep breath and headed downwards to get some help, cursing his wandering mind with each step.
It wouldn't have happened if he wasn't so stuck on his ex. On a logical plane he knew that they were better off separate, that her leaving was a good thing for him. While he was ready to drop on one knee and spend his whole life with her, Carmen's ideas included undermining him behind his back to anybody who would listen and hiding him from everyone in her life - including her actual fiancé. It didn't hurt any less and didn't make the thoughts of the good times any less painful. With how fresh the wounds were after a month apart, it was a surprise that Alastair hadn't gotten himself more hopelessly lost in those woods.
"
I did it again
," he mused when he found himself in front of the cottage in what seemed like a blink filled with images of his past with Carmen. With a shake of his head to clear it from the intrusive thoughts, he committed to being present in the moment and to getting himself back to his car, then straight home.
Although the property was surrounded by a low fence, the whole place had an inviting feel about it. Whitewashed walls sunk into the ground as if weighed down by time and the windows had actual shutters with heart-shaped cutouts in the middle. On the other side of the fence that barely reached his thigh Alastair saw flowerbeds so plush and colourful that the image awoke his tiredness and invited him to rest on these luscious pillows. The gate was open and when he stood on the porch, he suddenly felt like a giant in front of the clearly historic doors.
When neither knocking nor a loud "Hello" had brought anyone to welcome him, he decided to try going round to the back. Whoever resided here was his only hope of getting back, so he couldn't give up just yet. Following along the stony footpath around the corner, he admired even more neatly trimmed bushes and cheerful flowerbeds housing the fattest bumblebees he'd ever seen.
The sun shone right in his eyes when he came round the back and Alastair regretted not bringing sunglasses. Shielding his eyes, he still had to squint until they adjusted a little.
When they did, they opened wide in awe.
In the middle of the vegetable garden, armed with a pair of pruners in one hand and an overflowing basket in another, stood a woman whom he could only describe as Briar Rose. The long dress the colour of clotted cream bore stains where she must've been kneeling on the ground, though otherwise looked clean as it billowed around her. Locks of brown wavy hair peeked from under the wide brim of a straw hat, a few strands curling over her shoulders. She was wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, just above where the gardening gloves ended, and Alastair saw cheeks as red as the tomatoes in her basket. It looked as if she'd been hard at work all morning, except that the sheen of sweat made her face glow and she looked ready to eat when she drew in a deep breath, making her chest swell over the low-cut neckline of the dress.
Alastair only realised that he'd forgotten the tongue in his mouth when Briar Rose smiled at him and had to repeat herself, voice ringing with amusement.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes... Yes, of course, I'm so sorry!" He wanted to slap himself for gawking at her like that and embarrassment burned through his cheeks hotter than the August sun above. "I'm so sorry to trouble you. I've been out on a walk and... well, this is awkward, but I got myself lost and there's no signal anywhere around here and... I suppose I was wondering whether I could use your WiFi? Or telephone?" He added, suddenly unsure whether this country goddess would have any modern life comfort in her isolated cottage.
Her lips curved in a smile, then almost immediately straightened back, clearly trying to avoid hurting his feelings with her amusement. Alastair couldn't blame her, he must've seemed like a right bumbling idiot, stumbling into her garden and then struggling to string together a coherent sentence. At the same time, a little want tugged at the bottom of his T-shirt, saying how nice it'd be if he managed to make her laugh with him rather than at him.
"You can use the WiFi," she said, putting the pruners into the basket. "Come inside."
"Thank you."
Following her at a respectful distance of two steps granted him a wonderful view of the sway of her hips. With each step the skirt swung from side to side like a church bell and for the briefest of microseconds he could even make out an outline of her body under the fabric. He told himself that it was the heat that suddenly made him feel thirsty, then focused on not knocking his head on the frame of the slightly rusted door she led him through at the back of the cottage.
"Make yourself comfortable." Her hand waved towards the chairs at the small table tucked into the corner of the kitchen. "I'll be right back."
Alastair's eyes never left the woman as she was putting the basket away, taking her hat off, and freeing her hands of the gloves before she disappeared into what he presumed was the living room. Too scared to actually sit down, he took a slow breath before taking in the kitchen around him.
By the look of the cottage from the outside, he would've presumed the inside to be quite compact in that cosy way that cottages had about them, yet it was surprisingly spacious. Dated by modern standards, though it suited the picture of the hostess that he'd gotten so far. A butcher's block sat in the middle, scarred with a lattice of knife cuts made over the years. The rest of the cabinets around it, all wooden, with only the doors painted, were cluttered with all manner of items, from crockery to jars with herbs and condiments; each at least gave the impression of being handmade rather than decanted for aesthetic purposes. Whatever draught came in through the open windows made the lace curtains dance over the countertops.
"Here you go."
The woman returned, startling Alastair into moving away from the table, much to her amusement. He took the slip of paper with the WiFi password and tried to connect in silence, all too aware of his fingers shaking. She stood close enough that wafts of light perfume evaporating off her skin wrapped their fingers around him; he blinked away the desire to breathe it deeply in.
As if realising the awkwardness of the situation, despite seeming comfortable with the silence, she shifted half a step away.
"May I offer you something to drink?"
Alastair's eyes shot up to her like lightning, then he breathed quietly with relief at the sight of her smiling warmly at him; he worried that this was some veiled way of trying to get rid of him.
"Could I get some tap water, please?"
