The True Love Travels Series Box Set

by Poppy Pennington-Smith

“And it also proved to be the inspiration for your very last book in the Tom Ridley series.” Patrick consulted his notes then looked up, smiling. “And I believe you have a very special guest here with you tonight to help illustrate that story?”

  “I do, indeed.” Rachel smiled then stood up and spoke directly to the audience. “I’m sure those of you who’ve read Tom Ridley’s last book were thrilled to see him end up with a companion. After years of bad luck with women... really bad luck...” The audience laughed as Rachel widened her eyes. “He finally found a girl he could trust. And that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been inspired by someone very, very special.” Rachel looked to the side of the stage and nodded.

  The audience went quiet. And then there she was – Brandi. She trotted out as if she’d been on stage a million times, straight up to Rachel, then sat and wagged her tail. A series of awww’s and oooh’s rippled through the theatre. “You see,” Rachel stood up. “Brandi was instrumental in finding a missing child during my stay in the Highlands. And she made me realise just how incredible police dogs are...”

  A few hours later, Rachel, Max, and Brandi left the expensive London restaurant where they’d been having dinner and piled into a taxi. “Looking forward to getting back to the hotel?” Max asked, rubbing Rachel’s shoulder. “Not really.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “I know.” Max picked up her hand and kissed the top of it. “But we’ve got an early train in the morning. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be home.”

  Rachel smiled and leaned back into the leather seat as she thought of the cottage. Their cottage. The place where they’d fallen in love and their lives had changed forever. “It’s Hannah’s birthday on Saturday. I’m glad we’ll be back for it.”

  “Me too.”

  Max was looking at her strangely and Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it?”

  “I was just thinking how wonderful you were tonight. And how lucky I am.”

  “I’m the lucky one, Max. You persuaded the owners to sell the cottage. You helped me write the final book. You brought Brandi into my life...” Rachel smiled coyly and nudged him with her elbow. “And you’re pretty nice on the eye too.”

  Max flicked his collar with his index finger and grinned. “Miss French, that’s a very unprofessional comment to make.”

  “I’m terribly sorry. I apologise.”

  “Are you?”

  Max was watching her with his deep brown eyes and finally Rachel caved. She kissed him. “No,” she whispered. “I will never be sorry for finding you ridiculously handsome.”

  “Good.” Max wrapped his big, strong arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Because I’m not sorry either. You, Miss French, are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I’m going to love you forever.”

  THE END

  BLURB

  He’s already famous, she’s just starting out as a writer. Together, they’ll embark on an unforgettable journey across Canada.

  Beth Greenwood longs to be a successful travel writer like her father. But she’s stuck in sleepy Oxford. Every day is the same. Nothing ever changes. Until, completely out of the blue, she’s given the chance of a lifetime.

  Beth is sent to Canada to compete in an infamous travel writing competition. Winning would propel her to stardom and make all her dreams come true. It would change everything.

  There’s just one problem – she’s up against the tantalisingly handsome Blake O’Brien. And Blake is not the kind of guy who gives up without a fight.

  As finalists, fighting to win a year’s round-the-world trip and sponsorship for their blog, Beth and Blake are forced to travel together for three whole weeks. Their journey takes them through the Rocky Mountains and across Canada’s breathtaking landscape. And slowly, as Beth’s self-belief soars and Blake’s brash exterior softens, she begins to see him in a different light. Perhaps he’s not the privileged, sarcastic guy she thought he was? Perhaps he’s exactly what she needs…

  But as the competition comes to a head and loyalties are tested, will Beth and Blake admit their feelings for one another? Or will their rivalry, and their very different lives, get in the way?

  1

  Beth Greenwood shrugged herself into the too big sweater her grandmother knitted last Christmas, filled a mug with strong dark coffee, and took the large silver key from its hook in the hall. She didn’t bother to comb her hair and, despite the frost covering the ground outside, she remained barefoot.

  There were fifteen steps from her back door to the garden shed she used as a writing room. Each one made her toes tingle, but as soon as she was inside she wriggled them into her fleece-lined slipper socks and jigged up and down.

  Her father’s old chair was in the corner nearest the electric heater, but in the three years since he died she hadn’t dared to move it. So, she sat opposite and waited for the warmth to reach her.

  Her father had never used a desk, or a computer, to write. He’d sat in his bottle-green, high-backed chair with a tray and a typewriter on his lap. Beth had tried to do the same, but her lap was too small and the typewriter too big. So, now, it perched precariously on a small fold-out table that wobbled whenever she punched the letter ‘B’.

  She glanced at the clock. Six a.m. One hour’s writing time before the people of Oxford started to wake and she was expected at the office. She should probably be using the time to do yoga or curl her hair, but this time of the morning was her favourite part of the day.

  Her father had been a night-owl. He’d preferred to tuck himself away and write while the world drank wine in pubs or binge-watched Netflix. Her boyfriend Harry was the same – always texting at absurd times of the night when he was up late working. But Beth liked mornings. Even if she only managed a few words, it made her feel like she’d snatched some time that the rest of the world had been too busy sleeping to enjoy.

  Today, she was supposed to be writing a blog post about backpacks. The best backpacks to take on a European city break. Soul-suckingly boring, but the kind of quick, easy-to-read content that people craved. A listicle they called it – a cross between an article and a list. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it; she knew she should be writing material that would generate traffic for her site – that getting visitor numbers up was the only way she’d start making money – but, mostly, whenever she tried to write to a template or a style that was popular, she ended up going off-piste and writing something entirely different.

  On the shelf behind her, wedged next to a well-thumbed copy of The Great Railway Bazaar, was the iPad Harry had bought her. Nearly every time he saw her, he tutted and said that it was utterly ridiculous of her to write her posts on the typewriter and then go through the ‘rigmarole’ of typing them up on her laptop. But Beth found it almost impossible to think without the clunk-clunk of the keys. And so, to prove him wrong, she’d successfully ignored the iPad for almost two whole months.

  Her father would never have used an iPad to write; he was a different kind of writer – a real travel writer. He’d written travel guides, magazine articles, and just before he died he’d started work on his seventh book.

  Beth sighed and sipped her coffee. Every inch of wall inside the shed was covered with postcards, newspaper clippings, and photographs celebrating her father’s illustrious career. And every time she looked at them, she felt disappointed in herself.

  He had always told her to follow her dreams. He’d told her that when she turned eighteen they would go on an incredible journey that would fill her head with wonder and inspiration, and then maybe they’d write a book together, persuade Mum to travel with them. His favourite place in the world was Canada – it was the first place he went when he started writing for magazines, and he’d always longed to take her mother to Niagara Falls.

  But then he’d gotten sick.

  Their magical trip never happened. And now Beth was twenty-nine years old and still working as a non-travelling travel agent with Cooper's – a small, independent firm that
specialised in exotic honeymoons but hadn’t managed to spread its wings much further than Oxfordshire.

  Cooper's was where she’d met Harry. Dependable, typewriter-hating Harry. Harry with his coordinated suits, perfect hair, and clear-cut path to upper management. Harry who had absolutely no desire to travel and every desire for Beth to settle down and accept that writing for fun was fine but writing in the hope of building a career would lead to nothing but disappointment.

  In the beginning, their differences hadn’t seemed to matter very much. Beth had been so wrapped up in her father’s illness and Harry had been charming and easy and so good at taking charge. He’d driven her to the hospital, distracted her with romantic home-cooked meals, stood by her side at the funeral, let her yell and cry and spend all day eating chocolate on the couch.

  But now the mist was clearing, she found him… irritating. And she knew that was awful of her.

  Every day, she began with the resolution to ‘snap out of it’ and start warming to him again. But every day, she went to bed with a niggling feeling deep in her stomach that told her things were not going well between them. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Harry had started dropping hints about them moving in together. So far, Beth had managed to avoid giving him a direct answer. But it wouldn’t be long before he asked her outright and she had to decide one way or the other.

  Glancing at the notes on her phone, she forced herself to stop thinking about her Harry-conundrum and start typing. And by the time her alarm sounded at six fifty-five, she’d managed five-hundred words of the backpack article.

  Leaving her empty cup on the desk, she locked the shed behind her and tip-toed back inside.

  “Morning love, coffee?”

  Beth glanced guiltily back at the shed. She’d developed a nasty habit of drinking two coffees before she even left the house and kept telling herself she’d switch to decaf. “Yes, thanks.” She kissed her mum on the cheek and leaned back on the kitchen table, fiddling absentmindedly with the pendant that hung around her neck. It was a birthstone that her father had given her and she barely ever took it off.

  “How’s it going?” Mum gestured to Beth’s article.

  Beth sighed. “Slowly.”

  “These things take time. Your father spent years earning barely a penny before he became successful.”

  “I know.”

  Mum handed her a plate of toast and squeezed her arm. “He’d be proud of you. You’ll get there.”

  Beth smiled, but it turned into more of a grimace.

  “What is it, Beth?”

  “It’s just… I’m not getting there, am I?”

  “Of course you are. You’re doing really well.”

  “But I’m not though.” She laughed, even though it wasn’t funny, and tossed her fly-away hair over her shoulder. “I’m a travel blogger working for a travel agency and I don’t have the time to actually travel! It’s kind of ridiculous. And until I do, everything I write will just be hollow. Dredged up. Soulless.”

  Mum rolled her eyes and tutted. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “No,” Beth replied defensively. She bit off a chunk of toast and shook her head. “The thing is, I look at what other people are doing and I just think there’s no way I’ll ever be able to compete.”

  “Other people?”

  “Other travel bloggers. Like...” Beth reached for her phone, navigated quickly to Instagram and waved it beneath her mother’s nose. “This guy. Blake O’Brien. He’s Canadian and he built his blog from nothing in under a year. He’s got an enormous following. He’s travelling all over the world. And he’s actually making money.”

  Mum squinted at the phone. “He’s very good looking.”

  “That’s not really the point–”

  “Well, listen honey, there’s no reason you can’t do exactly what he’s done. You’re very talented.”

  Beth ignored the compliment and put down her toast so she could wave her arms. “Blake publishes something every single day. He’s all over social media. The only way I’d be able to do that is if I quit working at Cooper's.”

  Her mother leaned back against the worktop and softened her expression. “Beth, your father left you that money. If you need to stop work to make your dreams happen, he’d support that. You can use the money to–”

  “No. I’m not using it for that.”

  Mum bit her lip to disguise a sigh. She was speaking gently, as if Beth was still a teenager resisting good advice. “So, then take some time off. Take a vacation. Go somewhere exciting, get your mojo back, use the time to get a head start on writing some more material.”

  “I can’t. I took four days peak-season for Harry’s silly friends and their silly middle-of-nowhere wedding, so I daren’t take any more. Besides, you’d be on your own…”

  “I’m a grownup, Beth.”

  “But you haven’t been alone since Dad…” she trailed off and looked down at her fingernails.

  Accepting defeat, Mum glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed? Harry will be here soon.”

  She was right; Harry picked Beth up at seven forty every morning. For a moment, Beth wondered whether she could eat her toast on the way. But Harry hated crumbs. He’d have a fit if she got toast dust all over the passenger seat. So, she tucked her article into the kitchen drawer and scurried upstairs to get ready for yet another scintillating day being a sensible person with a sensible job.

  An hour later, stomach rumbling, Beth unbuckled her seatbelt as Harry manoeuvred his shiny new Audi into its usual parking space. Planting his hand firmly on her upper thigh, Harry leaned in and kissed her neck. “Why do you always smell so lovely?”

  “Because I shower,” Beth replied, shrugging out of his grasp and narrowing her eyes at her phone.

  “What are you so engrossed in?” Harry squeezed a little closer and peered over her shoulder.

  “I’m just...” Beth paused. Her stomach tightened.

  “What is it?”

  Beth’s lips stretched into a grin. She shook her head, then waved the phone at Harry. “Blake O’Brien just recommended one of my articles on his blog.”

  Harry’s brow crinkled. “Blake O’Who?”

  “I’ve got two-hundred new followers!”

  Harry patted Beth’s leg and smiled at her. “Is this guy a big deal?”

  “Just a bit!” Beth passed her phone to Harry. “Look. He has thousands of followers. He’s making a fortune with his blog. He’s pretty much an inspiration. I mean, he only started out a year ago and–”

  Harry glanced at the screen, then passed it quickly back. “Beth,” he said. “Obviously, this guy is doing great things. But we’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”

  “Hmm?” Beth was so engrossed in reading the comments Blake’s followers had left on her post that she was barely taking in what Harry was saying.

  “Some people are lucky. Or they have loads of experience in the tech-world, or in huge marketing positions. And that gives them a leg up.”

  Beth swallowed hard, her enthusiasm almost instantly dampened. “I know.”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe in you. You’re a great writer. You know that. But it doesn’t have to be your job. It’s okay for it to be a hobby. Not everyone can be making millions of dollars and living in luxury. Sometimes, you just have to start slow, work hard, and be content with–”

  “I know.” She’d heard this lecture before. Harry was, quite probably, the most risk-averse person she knew. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to do what she loved, it was that he didn’t want her to be disappointed if it didn’t work out. Steady, reliable, safe. That was Harry’s philosophy.

  “Listen,” she said, looking out of the window and slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Do I have time to run and get food?”

  “You didn’t eat breakfast?”

  She bit her lower lip guiltily; somehow Harry always managed to make her feel chronically disorganised.

 
Harry glanced at his watch. “You head inside. I’ll go across the road and get you a coffee. And one of those oatmeal pots you like.” He kissed her again, and this time she leaned in to it.

  “Thanks.”

  Harry smiled, patted the steering wheel, then nodded towards the office. “Chop-chop. I can get away with being late...”

  “But us lowly sales assistants can’t?”

  Harry laughed. “Sad, but true.”

  Watching him stride across the road, Beth inhaled slowly and told herself for the tenth time that morning that whatever doubts she was having about Harry would subside. It was just a phase.

  She was still watching him, bracing herself for the day ahead, when a voice jolted her back to reality.

  “Love’s young dream… he does look good in a suit, I’ll give him that.”

  “Morning, Jo.”

  “You coming inside? Or waiting for Prince Harry?” Beth’s closest friend, and biggest Harry-sceptic, Josephine York, sucked in her cheeks and waved her perfectly manicured fingers at the glass door behind them.

  “I’m coming. Harry’s just getting me breakfast.”

  “Because he wouldn’t let you eat in his posh-mobile?”

  “No… well, yes.” Before she could stop it, laughter bubbled up in her throat and she looped her leather-jacketed arm through Jo’s. “I wish you wouldn’t be so mean to him.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll work on being nicer.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “No. I won’t.”

  2

  Cooper’s Luxury Travel was located in a large, pretty from the outside but stagnant on the inside, building in the centre of town. The downstairs, where clients were welcomed with velvet couches and Nespresso coffee, was out of bounds to the telesales staff like Beth and Jo. They weren’t even really supposed to enter through the front, but if they arrived before Helen Cooper – the great-granddaughter of the original Bernard Cooper – they often braved it. Sometimes, Jo even swiped them a mug of Nespresso on the way.