I’ll never forget the drive to Whitby that crisp autumn afternoon – leaves swirling like confetti from the moors, and me, daft as ever, spilling my thermos of tea all over the passenger seat just as we hit the A171. “Brilliant start,” I muttered, mopping up with a service station napkin while Sarah stifled a laugh. It was mid-October, that golden shoulder season when the North Yorkshire coast feels like it’s keeping a secret just for you – crowds thinned out, but the sea still whispering promises of summer, now edged with a bracing chill.

By the time we trundled into Whitby, the sky was that perfect slate-grey, harbour lights flickering on early against the gathering dusk. Holly Lodge sat tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac off the Upgang area, just a short stroll from the cliffs – no more than a mile from the town centre, close enough to pop out for fish and chips without the car. Spotting its stone facade peeking through the turning sycamores, I felt that proper holiday buzz. The estate agent handed over the keys with a cheery “Mind the steps, love – they’re a bit steep after rain,” and sure enough, my welly-clad foot slipped on the wet slate, sending me into a comical stagger. Sarah caught me with a grin: “Graceful as ever, eh?”

Pushing open the door, we were hit by that cosy hug of a proper Yorkshire cottage. Exposed beams overhead, a wood-burning stove already stocked with kindling (thank heavens, with the October nip in the air), and a kitchen that screamed home comforts – Aga humming gently, stocked with local tea bags and a welcome note from the owners suggesting the best spot for crab sandwiches. The lounge windows framed the garden, where fallen leaves carpeted the lawn in fiery reds and golds, rustling in the wind like they were plotting a bonfire party. Upstairs, our bedroom overlooked the rooftops towards the distant glint of the North Sea; I flopped onto the king-sized bed, inhaling that faint, sea-salted air seeping through the cracks. It was snug as a bug, with fluffy towels warmed on the radiator – pure bliss after the drive.

First impressions? Holly Lodge felt like it was made for this time of year. No sweltering August heat to wilt you, just that invigorating autumn freshness that makes every cuppa taste better. We lit the stove straight away, its crackle warding off the evening chill, and cracked open a bottle of red while the windows steamed up from our laughter. Stepping out for a mooch, the seasonal magic really hit. Whitby’s streets were alive with that post-summer hush – Pannett Park’s trees ablaze in amber, the 199 Steps up to the abbey ruins shrouded in mist, daring you to climb them in the fading light. We didn’t; instead, we wandered the harbour, where fishing boats bobbed under strings of fairy lights, and the scent of smoked kippers mingled with woodsmoke from chimney pots. Grabbed cod and chips from a harbourside hut – crispy batter glistening, mushy peas steaming – eaten on a bench as the sun dipped, painting the abbey silhouette in peach and purple. The October wind tugged at our scarves, but it was exhilarating, not miserable.

Sitting back at the lodge that night, fire roaring, I had a quiet moment of reflection. Life back home’s been a whirlwind – deadlines, dashes – but here, wrapped in this unpretentious haven, I realised how much I needed this slowdown. Autumn’s got that way about it, doesn’t it? Stripping things bare, forcing you to savour the simple stuff: a flickering flame, a shared joke over tea stains, the sea’s endless rhythm just beyond. Holly Lodge wasn’t flashy, but in that gloaming hour, it felt like the cosiest nook in Yorkshire. If you’re chasing first-night magic without the hordes, book it for October – you won’t regret it.