We left our house in a bit of a flap, only to realise halfway down the M4 that we’d forgotten the tin of teabags we’d bought especially for the trip. By the time we pulled into Tenby, the sun was already dipping behind the harbour, and the little lane leading up to Galwad Y Mor Lodge felt narrower than it had looked on the satnav. The cottage sat at the top of a gentle slope, its slate roof catching the last of the light, and the moment we stepped inside we were greeted by the smell of fresh linen and a faint hint of woodsmoke from the stove.

The kitchen was bigger than we expected, with a sturdy wooden table and a fridge already humming away, so we decided to pop straight back out for something to cook. The short walk down to the high street led us past a couple of pastel-painted houses and straight into the little Thursday market that spills across Upper Park Road. We picked up a crusty loaf from the baker’s stall, a wedge of local Caerphilly, and a punnet of early strawberries that were already leaking juice into the paper bag. Back at the lodge we unpacked, put the kettle on, and set about making a very basic cheese toastie that somehow tasted better simply because we were eating it with the windows open and the sound of gulls drifting in from the sea.

The next morning we woke to the sight of the tide far out across the bay, and after a lazy cup of tea we wandered down to the harbour for breakfast. The Cabin Café was already busy, so we joined the queue for bacon baps and strong coffee served in proper mugs. Sitting on the low wall outside, watching the fishing boats bob, we felt the first proper sense of holiday settling in. Later we strolled along the sand to the lifeboat station and back, working up just enough of an appetite to justify an early lunch at the Buccaneer Inn. Their Welsh rarebit arrived bubbling and golden, and we shared a side of thick-cut chips that were gone before we’d even salted them.

By the afternoon we were back at the cottage with a bag of mussels from the fishmonger on the quay. We’d never cooked shellfish in an unfamiliar kitchen before, and the moment we tipped them into the pan we both started second-guessing the timings. The lodge’s hob was responsive, though, and the simple white-wine-and-garlic broth came together without drama. We ate at the kitchen table with the door propped open, listening to the occasional car trundle past and feeling oddly proud of ourselves for managing something that looked properly restaurant-y.

That evening we tried the local pub, the Hope and Anchor, which sits just a five-minute walk downhill. The menu was short and reassuringly seasonal: cockles with laverbread, a hearty lamb stew, and a sticky toffee pudding that we ordered without even glancing at each other. The landlord kept the fire going even though it wasn’t particularly cold, and we lingered longer than planned, chatting about nothing much. Back at Galwad Y Mor we made a pot of tea and sat outside on the little bench until the sky turned that deep blue that only seems to happen by the coast.

On our final morning we took the short stroll to the covered market near the town walls. The smell of fresh bread and frying onions hit us before we even stepped inside. We bought a couple of Welsh cakes still warm from the griddle and a small pot of local honey, then carried everything back uphill for one last breakfast on the lodge’s patio. Sitting there with crumbs on our laps and the sea glittering below, it struck me how little we’d actually done and yet how full the days had felt. Sometimes the simplest meals in the simplest places are the ones that stay with you longest, and already I was wondering what we’d forget to pack on the way home.