‘Back up a minute,’ I said. ‘You mentioned Clare…?’
Stevie wrinkled his nose. ‘I wasn’t meant to say anything. Please don’t be mad at her. All she did was give me a little hope at the wedding that you might feel the same way as me. When I got your text on Christmas Eve, I dared to believe that maybe she was right. Then she called me and pretty much ordered me to grow some and jump you. I decided to go for the gentler approach.’
I laughed. ‘She is right. I love you too, Stevie. So much that it hurts. I really do want to move in and I really do want to be with you. Now can we stop talking because there’s something I’ve been dying to do?’
‘What’s that?’
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms round his neck. ‘This.’
For the third time, our lips met and this time neither of us needed to pull away. I closed my eyes as I melted into the most amazing kiss of my lifetime. Soft, sensuous, and absolutely perfect. Last year had been about getting over Gary and finding myself. With my re-found interest in writing, standing up to Gary’s mother and standing up to mine too, I’d finally achieved that. This year was about starting over with Stevie and I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather be or anyone I’d rather be with. Happy New Year? Yes, and Happy New Life too.
Acknowledgments
Thank you so very much for reading Finding Hope at Lighthouse Cove. I hope you enjoyed Elise’s journey through quite a turbulent time in her life.
This is the third book in the ‘Welcome to Whitsborough Bay’ series and was originally released under the title: Getting Over Gary. When I received my amazing publishing deal from Boldwood Books, I was thrilled that they wanted to take on several titles from my back catalogue including this series. It’s been a joy to work with my editor, Nia, on tightening the manuscript for re-release under the gorgeous new title. And thanks to Dushi and Sue for their valuable copy editing and proofreading skills.
In my dedication, I thanked my mum, Joyce Williams. As well as proofreading and providing feedback on every book I’ve written, my mum is an invaluable one-woman marketing tool. I don’t think anyone in the village where she lives has been spared from her polite… shall we say encouragement… to buy her daughter’s books. And she always has a ready supply of my business cards to distribute when she’s away in the caravan. What a superstar. I love that she keeps a track of my reviews and chart positions, sending me excited texts when there’s good news. Thank you so much for believing in me and supporting me. It means a lot and I love you very much xx
Mum was one of my beta readers on the original version of this story, along with my sisters-in-law, Clare and Sue, and friends Liz and Nicola so a huge thank you goes to you all for that. My super-talented writing friends, Sharon Booth and Jo Bartlett were also beta readers and I must particularly thank Jo who read the original story several times as it went through quite a few major changes before becoming the story you’ve just read.
Thank you to my writing family, The Write Romantics, for your continuous support and encouragement and, again, to Sharon for tea, cake and friendship.
A huge hug goes to my husband, Mark, and our daughter Ashleigh. Ashleigh was nine when Getting Over Gary was released and is thirteen now. Throughout those years, she’s shown signs of following in my footsteps, constantly coming up with new stories and eagerly typing away. She doesn’t tend to get beyond the first few chapters before she gets bored or starts thinking of a different idea, but I’m sure she’ll find the perfect story one day that fully captures her imagination and keeps her going. As for Mark, he’s been pivotal in my journey to becoming a writer and never begrudges me time with my imaginary friends.
This past year as part of the Boldwood Books team has been, for me, a writing dream come true. The passion, enthusiasm and dedication of the team makes me smile every day and I constantly thank my lucky stars that I found my home with such a supportive, forward-thinking publisher.
Finally, thank you to you the reader. You have also made my dreams come true and I can’t thank you enough for taking a journey into the world of Whitsborough Bay. If you’ve enjoyed your trip, please do tell your family and friends and consider leaving a short review online as it really does make an author’s day to hear from readers.
Big hugs
Jessica xx
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You can buy Coming Home To Seashell Cottage, the final instalment in the Welcome To Whitsborough Bay series, by clicking on the image below. Or read on for an exclusive extract…
Chapter 1
* * *
Late September
* * *
‘What the hell is that in the fruit bowl?’ I cautiously leaned forward on Ben’s sofa to get a closer look, hoping it wasn’t an enormous spider about to scuttle over me.
‘Apples, pears, kiwis and bananas,’ Ben said. ‘Don’t tell me that you’ve reached the grand old age of thirty-three and you still can’t identify your basic fruits.’
I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘Ha ha! You’re hilarious. You should be on stage, so you should.’ I reached my hand out towards the object.
‘Argh!’ yelled Ben as I was about to touch it.
I snatched back my hand, screaming.
‘Sorry. Couldn’t resist.’ He rolled around on the sofa, laughing hysterically.
‘You eejit!’ I whacked him with a cushion. ‘You scared the life out of me! Is this what it’s going to be like living with you? Because if it is, I can check into a hotel for the next few months instead. Are you ready to say goodbye to that new kitchen?’
I worked for a company called Prime PR, managing public relations campaigns for large corporates. Having recently been promoted, I needed to relocate from London to Leeds. Ben – or Saint Ben, as I called him – was the brother of my best friend, Sarah, and he lived in Leeds so I’d adopted him as my meal buddy for the past few years every time I visited on business. Meeting up with a friend for some good craic was far more appealing than dining in a hotel restaurant surrounded by suits staring into space, eating meals for one. On my last trip, I’d moaned about the prospect of living in a hotel for a month or two while I found somewhere to rent and, being the saint he was, Ben immediately offered me his spare room. Grand idea. It meant I could pay Ben rent using my allowance for not staying in a hotel, giving him the funds to refit his prehistoric kitchen. Win-win. Of course, he refused to accept payment, but I wore him down eventually.
Ben put his hands up in surrender as I lifted the cushion to whack him again. ‘Sorry. But you’d have done the same if it had been the other way round. You know you would.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Definitely.’
I smiled. He was right. ‘So, what is it, then?’
Ben reached into the fruit bowl, then held out the black object in the palm of his hand.
‘It’s a chess piece,’ I said, looking at the black king. ‘Why’s there a chess piece in your fruit bowl?’
He shrugged. ‘I came home from work last Tuesday and, quite randomly, it was on the front doorstep.’
‘With a note?’
‘No note. Just the king on his own.’
‘And it’s yours?’
‘Nope. I don’t play chess.’
‘Oh. Very random. But do you know what’s even more random? Why the hell it’s in your fruit bowl instead of the bin.’
‘It seemed like a good place for it.’
‘But you don’t know where it’s been. It could have been peed on by a dog. Or worse.’
Ben looked at the king thoughtfully. ‘Good point. Just as well it was betw
een the bananas and kiwis, then, wasn’t it? They’ve got skins.’ He leaned forward and put it back.
‘Ben! Put it in the bin.’
‘No.’
‘Ben!’
I reached forward but he grabbed me and started tickling me, which he knew was a pet peeve of mine. I squealed, leapt to my feet and darted past him into his kitchen. Thankfully, I was saved from another attack by the arrival of our Indian takeaway.
‘Get your hands washed before you touch that food,’ I ordered Ben.
He winked at me. ‘I love it when you’re bossy.’
I dug out some plates and we busied ourselves dishing up the food.
‘Shall we watch a film while we eat?’ Ben asked. ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’s on TV and I’ve never seen it. My mate Pete said it’s really good.’
‘Is that the one with Jim Caviezel in it?’
‘I think so. And Guy Pearce.’
‘Ooh, two hotties. Grand. Count me in.’
* * *
‘Your friend Pete was right,’ I said, when the closing credits started rolling. ‘Cracking film. What did you think?’
‘I agree. The king thing was a spooky coincidence, don’t you think?’
In the film, best friends Edmond and Fernand exchange a chess king when one of them overcomes a challenge, to symbolise who is ‘king of the moment’.
I nodded towards the king nestled in his fruit bowl. ‘Did you plant it there knowing it was in the film?’
Ben shook his head. ‘Honestly, I’ve never seen the film or read the book so I didn’t know about the chess piece. I genuinely found that bad boy sitting on my doorstep, just like I told you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Have you ever known me to lie?’
He made a good point. He was one of the most honest people I knew, although, unlike me, he was tactful with his honesty. Generous to a fault, ridiculously considerate of others and gifted in spades with patience, Ben definitely deserved his nickname of ‘Saint Ben’. By contrast, I could be pretty blunt and to the point, not particularly patient and quite selfish. I was lucky he only called me ‘Irish’ because I probably deserved something a little less affectionate.
‘Tell you what we can do.’ He grinned at me, wrinkled his nose in a clear act of mischief, then lifted the king out of the fruit bowl. Picking up a chilli pepper discarded from his curry in his other hand he said, ‘If you eat the whole chilli, you win the king.’
I was about to refuse his stupid challenge, but then he added, ‘I bet you can’t do it.’
Defiantly, I picked up the chilli and shoved it in my mouth. Tears streamed down my face, my nose ran like a tap and my head felt as if it were about to explode. But that king was going to be mine. Nobody told me what I could and couldn’t do and I would come out on top whenever challenged. Always.
‘Oh my God! I can’t believe you just did that.’ Ben handed me a box of tissues. ‘Serious respect to you, Irish.’
I gasped for breath and rasped, ‘Wait till I tell your sister what a mean boy you are.’
He laughed. ‘You’re king of the moment, Irish. He’s all yours.’
And so it began.
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Chapter 2
Three Months Later
‘I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.’
Sarah radiated happiness as Nick gently kissed her before they turned to face the congregation. I put my fingers in my mouth and released a piercing whistle that echoed around the church. The vicar’s eyes widened and he looked as if he were about to protest at my crassness in a place of worship. Bollocks to that. I whistled again, then started a round of applause, which everyone joined in with. I gave the vicar a hard stare, challenging him to stop me, but he surprised me by smiling and joining in instead.
Sarah and Nick signed the register and posed for some photos.
‘Nice whistling,’ Ben whispered to me, as we shuffled out of the pew. He was an usher and I was a bridesmaid alongside Sarah’s bestie since primary school, Elise, and Nick’s sister, Callie. ‘I thought the vicar was going to tell you off, though.’
‘So did I. But he didn’t scare me.’
‘I don’t imagine anyone or anything scares you, Irish.’
I laughed, but my stomach did a somersault. There were two people who still scared me. I wasn’t going to let them ruin my day, though. Time for a change of subject.
‘I’m liking the morning suit on you,’ I said, taking in the navy three-piece Ben was wearing. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.’
‘That’s probably because I don’t own one.’
‘It’s just as well Lemony isn’t here. She’d probably get ideas of dragging you up the aisle herself after seeing you dressed like this.’
He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘It’s Lebony, and you know it.’
‘Either way, it’s not a real name. So, what’s Lebony’s excuse for missing your sister’s wedding?’
Ben didn’t get to answer the question, as the photographer shuffled us towards opposite sides of the line-up. After several photos at the church, we moved onto the reception at Sherrington Hall. An ivy-covered Georgian manor house perched on a clifftop about twelve miles south of Sarah’s North Yorkshire coastal hometown of Whitsborough Bay, it was pretty impressive as a venue. It was four days before Christmas and Sarah, a florist, had certainly pulled out all the stops to decorate it beautifully and achieve a balance between Christmas and nuptials. Swathes of ivy, bunches of mistletoe, and church candles everywhere was pretty special. Champagne-coloured roses and teal flowers – no idea what type; not my specialist subject – matched the colours of our dresses and the men’s waistcoats.
As Sarah and Nick cut the cake and giggled together after the meal, I smiled and had what Sarah would describe as a ‘warm and fuzzy moment’. They were a good match. I liked Nick a lot. Despite my cynicism about relationships and marriage, it warmed my heart to see my best friend and her new husband looking so happy together.
Elise leaned towards me. ‘Are those tears in your eyes, Clare?’ she teased.
I cleared my throat. ‘Tears? You talk bollocks. As if I’d cry at a wedding. Unless it was in sympathy for the poor buggers for ruining their lives and blowing their savings on what’s effectively a big piss-up.’
‘You can deny it all you want, but I know that’s not how you really feel.’ She nudged me gently. ‘It’ll be you one day, you know.’
I turned round to face her, confident that any tell-tale tears had retreated. ‘Me? Married? Are you for real? Aside from the fact that I think marriage is a pile of shite, you have to be in a relationship to get married and, as you well know, I don’t do relationships.’
‘That’s because you’ve never met the right person. I reckon your Nick’s out there somewhere and you just have to open your heart up to finding him.’
I stared at her, wondering for a moment if she was just winding me up, but something told me she wholeheartedly believed what she was saying. ‘Do weddings turn you a bit loopy? Never met the right person? Open my heart and I’ll find him? Seriously?’
Elise smiled. ‘Yes. Seriously. We’re ten days from New Year and I reckon you should make a New Year’s resolution to actually let someone in, for once.’
I shook my head as I topped up my glass of wine and took a sip. ‘This sort of bollocks is one of the many reasons you and I haven’t always been friends.’
Elise twiddled one of the auburn ringlets dangling from her up-do. ‘Does that mean we’re friends now?’
I’d walked into that one. I had to admit that, despite battling with her for a decade or so, I now really enjoyed Elise’s company. It had taken a huge bust-up while planning Sarah’s hen do, where we’d both said some nasty things – particularly me – for us to get over it and start behaving like adults. We’d probably have plodded along tolerating each other if I hadn’t discovered Elise’s secret and been there to support her as she came to terms with it.
/> I grinned back at her, a feeling of genuine affection flowing through me. ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But I can easily scrub you off my very short and very exclusive friends list if you keep spouting bollocks like that. Anyway, why aren’t you jaded and cynical like me, after what you’ve been through this year?’
‘Because I still believe in love.’
‘More fool you.’ Elise had discovered that her husband, Gary, was gay when she walked in on him in the shower with our friend Stevie’s best mate, Rob. During twelve years of marriage, Gary had managed to kid himself that their friendship was enough to make their marriage work. Eejit. To help her get through her divorce, Elise started seeing Daniel who also turned out to be a liar and a cheat. Then she discovered she was pregnant. With her sister giving birth to twins and Sarah’s wedding approaching, Elise was adamant that she didn’t want to steal anyone’s thunder by announcing her own news so only a select few people knew and Sarah wasn’t one of them.
I really felt for Elise. She’d been desperate for a baby but having one as a result of a brief fling with a tosser like Daniel wasn’t quite the way she’d planned it. But when did life ever go to plan?
The meal was delicious and everyone on our table had a great craic. It was good to catch up with Ben who I hadn’t seen so regularly since moving into my rented apartment in Leeds city centre.
While we ate, I couldn’t fail to notice Elise and Stevie chatting animatedly. If ever there was another perfect match, it was those two, but neither of them was ever going to make a move. Just as well I’d never been one for pussyfooting around things. When Stevie excused himself, I turned to her and challenged her on making her move that evening but she indicated her stomach.
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