The True Love Travels Series Box Set

by Poppy Pennington-Smith

  She was about to stand up when a tall man-shaped silhouette appeared in front of her. Her heart fluttered in her chest. But she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

  “Lottie? What are you doing here?” Sam’s voice was unmistakable, and it made her want to wrap her arms around him and run away all at the same time.

  Finally, she raised her head. “I was about to leave.” Her words came out small and quiet, and then she shivered because the sun was setting and the chill in the air was weaving its way underneath her skin.

  Sam reached out and rubbed her upper arms. “You look frozen. Let’s go inside.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t.” Lottie looked down at her mismatched boots, but Sam didn’t seem to notice.

  He chewed his lower lip and brushed his fingers through his hair. “There’s a Christmas Market down near London Bridge. They have mulled wine and fire pits.” He smiled, nudging her gently in the ribs.

  Lottie nodded. “Alright.”

  Thankfully, London Bridge wasn’t far and, being only late afternoon, there were plenty of warm spots available. Sam gestured for Lottie to take a seat near a small two-person fire pit and handed her a fluffy blanket. “Here, get cozy. I’ll be back with wine.”

  When he returned, Lottie smiled and tried to forget how awkward she suddenly felt.

  After a few sips of wine, Sam looked at her over his steaming hot mug and said, “Not that I’m unhappy to see you or anything but really, Lottie, why are you here? London doesn’t strike me as Duke’s kind of scene.” He tried to laugh, but she could tell he was nervous too because he looked down at his fingernails as he waited for her response.

  “I only found your letter this morning,” she said, quickly, because it sounded totally implausible that the envelope had been in her home all this time and she’d only just come across it.

  Sam cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat as if he was only just remembering it. “Ah. I see.”

  “You must have thought I was so awful… not calling you or anything.” Lottie almost reached out to touch his hand, but stopped herself. She couldn’t tell from his expression what he was thinking and she was still fighting the thud-thud-thud of anxiousness in her chest.

  Sam titled his head and gave a small self-deprecating laugh. “I thought you read it, decided I was some kind of creepy, weird stalker and vowed never to speak to me again, to be honest.”

  “Creepy? Why in the world would I think that?”

  Sam frowned a little and shook his head. “Well, because when someone confesses that they’ve been in love with you for ten years and haven’t ever said anything, I guess it could sound a little…” He allowed his eyes to finally meet hers.

  Lottie’s entire body was fizzing. She suddenly felt overwhelmingly warm, and shoved off the blanket that had been bundled into her lap. “Sam…”

  Sam put his mug down on the table and leaned forward, taking her hands between his own. “Lottie. Back then, I chickened out. I didn’t tell you how I felt. But I’m not going to make that mistake again.” He squeezed her hands and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I mean, I’m sure you got the message from my cringeworthy Dear Diary entry, but... back in Durham, when we were roommates…” Sam swallowed and breathed out slowly. “I was very much in love with you. That’s why I never really spoke to you. At first, I was too shy and then, when I finally started not to be, you became Richard’s girlfriend. And I was his best friend, so I kept my distance.”

  Lottie’s heart was thundering in her chest. Slowly, she traced her index finger across the top of Sam’s hand. His hands were large and smooth and perfect. “But when Richard and I broke up, you still didn’t say anything. The night you said you were going to tell me – the party – why didn’t you?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Sam sat back a little bit, but didn’t take his hands away.

  Lottie shook her head.

  “I set it all up, just like I’d planned. Candles, music, champagne that I didn’t like the taste of and couldn’t really afford. I went looking for you, so I could ask you to go with me for a chat and, you know, say my big speech. But I couldn’t find you. I looked everywhere. In the end I figured the candles had probably gone out, so I went back to relight them and–”

  Suddenly, Lottie remembered. It came flooding back as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Her hand involuntarily flew to her mouth. “And I was there with Richard.”

  Sam grimaced.

  “He told me he arranged it all. That’s why I got back together with him. He… he stole it from you.”

  Slowly, Sam reached out and stroked the side of her face. “I knew you didn’t feel anything for me back then. I guess I just hoped that, if I told you how I felt, you’d give me a chance… get to know me.”

  “Sam. I’m so sorry.”

  Sam shook his head. “Don’t say sorry. It was so long ago, and you loved Richard. You don’t have to apologise for that.”

  “But that’s just it.” Lottie shifted a little closer and keeping Sam’s gaze. “I never loved Richard. I was flattered by him and caught up with the idea of him. But I didn’t love him. Sam, the reason we broke up in the first place, at the end of our second year, was because he cheated on me.”

  Sam nodded. “I know.”

  “But did you know that after we got back together at the party and moved in to our apartment, the relationship only lasted three weeks? Three weeks, and I found him in bed with our neighbour. That’s why I left him and moved back home with my parents instead of staying in Durham.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe he did that to you twice.”

  “I know. And I felt like a complete idiot for taking him back, so I never told anyone. That’s why I was determined, last weekend, to show him that I was over it. Because I didn’t want him to think that he could still treat me like that… make me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t good enough.” Lottie looped her arm through Sam’s and took hold of his hand. “But, you know what? By the end of the weekend, I’d completely forgotten the way he made me feel. All I could think about was… you.”

  Lottie cleared her throat and stood up. She felt ridiculous. Like she was about to give a speech. But she didn’t care. “Sam, I don’t know how you feel about me now. I don’t know if you like me or if you’re just telling me all of this stuff so you can get it out of your system and move on. But I like you. I like you more than I’ve liked anyone else, well, pretty much ever. And, actually, I might even love you, I think. But you should know that this…” She waved at herself with both hands. “The wonky boots, and the frizzy hair, and the no makeup – this is me. I love being an artist, I love my home, I love my dog, and I have no desire to live in London or to be rich. I don’t give a hoot about money, or fancy restaurants, or flash cars. So, if you like me like this, great. But if you don’t–”

  Lottie stopped speaking because Sam was standing up and putting his arms around her waist and pulling her gently towards him. “Lottie?”

  A tiny mmm sound escaped her lips as she looked up at him.

  “I thought I was over you. But I’m not. I’m so, so, so in love with you.” He leaned down and gently swept the hair from her face, lacing his fingers at the back of her neck and moving so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I know exactly who you are. And you are incredible."

  Lottie slipped her hands around Sam’s waist and pressed her palms into the small of his back. “Sam?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Will you kiss me now please?”

  Sam’s mouth twitched into a smile. His cheek dimpled, and his hair flopped over his forehead. But he didn’t say yes. He simply pressed his lips to hers and kissed her, and then he kept on kissing her until the Christmas Market and the Bridge and all the lights in London faded, and it was just the two of them. Lottie and Sam. Finally.

  Epilogue

  TWO YEARS LATER

  Lottie looped her arms around her husband’s waist and reached up on tip-toe
s to kiss him. “The cottage looks amazing. Thank you.”

  Sam stood back and looked around the room, then smiled at her. “It does look pretty good, doesn’t it?”

  Since they’d moved in together after the wedding, Sam had spent almost twelve hours a day helping to renovate.

  “If I’d known you were this good at DIY, I wouldn’t have waited an entire year to become Mrs Burrows,” Lottie had joked when they’d first started the work. But Sam really was good at it; he’d single-handedly given the entire cottage a face lift. And it was now ready to become The Burrow - A Writers & Artists Retreat situated deep in the Cambridgeshire countryside.

  Lottie flopped down onto the couch and patted the space beside her. Sam sat, and balanced her legs across his lap so that he could rub her feet.

  “Do you think Soph will like it?”

  “Does it matter?” Sam chuckled. “Sophie’s not really our target customer, is she?”

  Lottie smiled. “No. She definitely isn’t.”

  “What time are they arriving?”

  Lottie glanced at the clock and grimaced. “Any minute now.”

  “You could have told her not to bring him, you know.”

  “I know. But they’re engaged, Sam. I couldn’t very well leave him out, could I?”

  Sam tweaked his eyebrows upwards, as if she could have if she’d wanted to. “Do you really think it’ll last?”

  “Between her and Dale?” Lottie cast her mind back to Dale’s smooth American upper-class lilt. “Yes,” she said, smiling. “I do.”

  Sam grinned and leaned forward, nuzzling playfully into her neck. “I love it when you say that…”

  “I do?”

  “Mmm hmm.” Sam was kissing her collarbone, tickling his lips across her skin. “Do you take this man to be your beloved husband…?” he whispered.

  “I do,” she said. “I really, really do.”

  THE END

  Thank you!

  Thank you so much for reading the True Love Travels Box Set. It’s hard for me to say just how much I appreciate my readers. Especially those who get in touch. Please always feel free to email me at poppy@poppypennington.com.

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  About Poppy

  Poppy Pennington-Smith writes sweet, wholesome romance novels featuring tenacious women and the gorgeous guys who fall for them.

  Poppy has always been a romantic at heart. A sucker for a happy ending, she loves writing books that give you a warm, fuzzy feeling.

  When she's not running around after Mr. P and Mini P, Poppy can be found drinking coffee from a Frida Kahlo mug, cuddled up in a mustard yellow blanket, and watching the garden from her writing shed.

  Poppy's dream-come-true is talking to readers who enjoy her books. So, please do let her know what you think of them.

  You can email poppy@poppypennington.com or join the PoppyPennReaders group on Facebook to get in touch.

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