A Karat of Patience

Chapter One

A/N: This is the concluding series in the trilogy following Solo lll (In Sausalito) and Down All Your Darkest Roads. If you haven't read those, I strongly suggest you do for context and background :) A huge thank you to Katy for being my Beta and coming up with the title for this fic, it's a combination of 24 Karat Gold by Stevie Nicks and Patience by Guns N' Roses.

Book cover credit: lightningstrikesmaybeonce on Tumblr

Enjoy!

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The doorbell resounded through Christine's house at exactly one o'clock. Her travelling companion was uncharacteristically on time. She dragged her two suitcases into the foyer and stopped to pick up her travel tote back resting on the foot of the staircase. She threw it over her shoulder and paused to gaze at the beautiful Steinway piano in her living room—an old friend willing to welcome her back into its arms when she was ready. And while Christine was not quite there yet, she began to feel stirrings of inspiration and creativity she thought were long gone.

Christine heard the doorbell again, jolting her from her reverie as she remembered she had somewhere important to be. She swiftly walked over to the door with her luggage and opened it, revealing the larger-than-life Mick Fleetwood on the other side.

"Mick, love, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, letting go of her suitcases to envelope her close friend in a generous hug.

"You too, my girl." Mick held her cheeks in his big hands and scanned her face happily. "How is it you still manage to maintain a permanent tan while hiding out in the grey depths of Kent?"

"I have a tanning bed in my house," Christine joked. "Do you think I could give the Californians a run for their money?"

"Oh, they'd be green. Are you ready to go?" Mick asked her while he took her things out the door.

"Yeah, let's get a move on."

She followed Mick down the long path to his awaiting hire car and watched in amusement as he easily lifted her heavy suitcases and tossed them into the boot.

Mick noticed her smirking. "What's the joke?"

"Sixty-five years old and still as fit as ever." Christine reached out to squeeze his bicep.

"Clearly all those years of drinking like a fish and doing miles of cocaine have paid off." Mick winked.

Mick drove Christine to the end of her driveway, where she got out of the car and opened the front gate. She looked back at her impressive home and took in the ivy-encrusted brick walls and the dainty French windows. The Quaives was both a sanctuary and a devil's playground that held too many memories to count. Christine wondered what new purpose it would serve when she returned. 

Thanks to Mick's maniac driving, they flew through the ramshackle cottages and pebbly by-lanes of Wickhambeaux in what seemed like seconds. But Christine wasn't too fazed. She had had plenty of time to say goodbye to her chocolate box village, and the promise of sunny skies and sparkling blue oceans were more exciting.

"Thanks for flying out with me today," she said to Mick.

Mick shrugged and didn't bother to check his blind spot as he merged onto the highway. "Don't mention it. I'm glad you're coming."

His tone was light, as if they were discussing a small favour he'd agreed to as opposed to a monumental event in Christine's life: her first plane trip in fifteen years since crippling aerophobia took ownership of her life. Christine appreciated his casual approach, and she remained calmly determined about the afternoon ahead.