“Good,” Scarlett says into her mom’s shoulder. “Tiring. You know I can never sleep on planes.”
Mrs. St Julien turns to me. “And Bea, it’s so lovely to see you again. Did you manage to sleep at all?”
“No. Scarlett wouldn’t let me.” I smile and Mrs. St Julien laughs. She gives me a quick hug, too, her arms barely circling my shoulders before she lets go. Scarlett warned me I’m going to have to get used to St Julien family hugs and calling her parents by their first names. I assured her I’m up for the challenge, but I’m glad Mrs. St Julien isn’t pushing it.
“That sounds like my girl,” Mrs. St Julien says. She turns to the girl in the hoodie, who’s been watching our exchange. “Claire, this is Bea, Scarlett’s roommate from Atlanta. They were college roommates and now Bea is a math teacher. I thought I’d put you two together out in the cabin, since Bea’s going to be working in the house this summer, too.”
I almost ask, “What house?” before realizing Mrs. St Julien is talking about the castle. Claire smiles at me. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Me too,” I say. Instead of letting me sleep, Scarlett gave me the rundown of the summer staff at Castle Calder. Claire studies marketing at the University of Bath – pronounced Baaath – and has a crush on Will, a barman at the local pub, which, according to Scarlett, is sad and one sided. But Claire is also funny and handy with a wrench, so Will might come to his senses one of these days.
“Are you girls shattered?” Mrs. St Julien asks. “I made a lemon cake if you think you’re up for it?”
Scarlett claps her hands. “My mum’s lemon cake is to die for. You have to at least have a bite. Come on. I’ll give you a tour on the way to the kitchen.”
She walks and I follow, with Mrs. St Julien and Claire behind. We wind through hallways covered with more tapestries on the walls – but none of them are as impressive as William the Wannabe. Scarlett points out the library – full of books and a dark brown leather sofa -- and a game room – another dark brown leather sofa and a few wingback chairs -- in addition to a hallway she says I’ll need to remember to access the guest rooms. I’m sincerely hoping I won’t need to remember today, because wow, am I tired. Now that we’re here and the excitement of the flight and being in England has abated a little, I feel every one of the thirty-six hours since I last slept.
Of course, if I hadn’t left packing until the night before, I might not feel like death warmed over. The best way to finish an unpleasant task is to get started, you know. Ugh. Four thousand miles away and my mother’s pithy sayings still follow me, if only in my head.
Scarlett pushes a door open to her left and my thoughts of home, Mom, and Atlanta stop as I follow her into the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen. It’s at least five times the size of mine and Scarlett’s entire apartment. A silver countertop gleams along one side, but it’s the wall of stoves that’s most impressive. There are three huge ovens side by side and fifteen burners. Maybe more. A couple of them have pots simmering on top and there are more copper-bottomed pots stacked on the shelves than the whole kitchen department at Target.
Scarlett opens a cabinet and pulls out a stack of tea cups while Claire fills a kettle and places it on one of the stoves. It’s so seamless – the way they do it without even speaking – it’s clear they’ve done it a thousand times before.
“So, this is the kitchen,” Scarlett says, grinning. To Claire and her mom, she says, “Bea’s idea of cooking is chopping up tomatoes for her salad, so you may not want to let her in here unsupervised.”
Claire laughs, but Mrs. St Julien shakes her head. “We’re short in the kitchen this week because Emma’s daughter is poorly, so, Scarlett, you’ll have to fill in.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes. Unlike me, she’s a whiz in the kitchen, but that doesn’t stop her from hating it. She survives mostly on Cup Noodle and take-out from the cheap Mexican place down the street from our apartment, but on the days she does cook, I’ve learned to stay out of her way. Before she can speak, I hear myself say, “I can help. I’m not as hopeless as Scarlett would have you think.”
“You are, too! Remember the first time you thought you were going to make spaghetti sauce from scratch?” Scarlett says.
Mrs. St Julien holds up her hand. “Thank you, Bea. Emma helps with the prep, mostly, so if you can chop, that would be a big help.”
“Plus, it beats changing the bedding,” Claire says. “We have a big party coming on Friday night. Mr. Fisher’s ninetieth birthday.”
Between the way she says it and the way Scarlett and Mrs. St Julien’s mouths purse, I’m guessing Mr. Fisher is a return guest, and not a welcome one. I’m about to ask what he’s done when a deep male voice rings out behind me. “There you are. I thought I heard your voice.”
Scarlett squeals and runs across the floor. My gaze follows her and lands on her target, and every thought of Mr. Fisher leaves my head as Scarlett throws her arms around the young, tall, dark-haired guy in the doorway. His sweater has a hole by the neck, his glasses are a bit askew on his face, and his chinos hang a little too loosely on his waist, but there’s no denying it -- Jasper St Julien still looks damn good.
His eyes find mine over Scarlett’s shoulder. They’re as cool, blue, and intense as I remember and even though the whole kitchen floor stands between us, my body flushes with heat like he’s standing right next to me. My stomach somersaults with the same anticipation. If Theo made me feel half of what I’m feeling right here in this suddenly too small kitchen, I’d be engaged. Happily. Willingly. But he didn’t and I’m not.
For the first time since the whole Theo debacle happened, I’m glad.
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★10 Resolutions. 2 Friends. 1 Shot At Love. ★
I’ll admit, having nine New Year's resolutions makes me twitchy. After all, I’m Allison Gottlieb; overthinker, overachiever, hot mess extraordinaire. I’ve spent my entire life trying to be the best but for some reason, I’ve always fallen short. When a near meltdown (and maybe too much champagne) lands me in front of an old friend, things finally start looking up.
If Mateo Ramirez, personal trainer, self-discipline junkie, and the Internet’s favorite smoothie-making underwear model, offers to help you, you say yes. We haven't seen each other in years but if anyone can help me turn my life around, it’s him. His smokin’ hot body is cold, hard proof of that.
Don’t judge me; I’m a lawyer. I like proof. A lot.
Mateo promises to test my limits and help me face my fears. He’s even feeding my neurosis by giving me that wonderfully even-numbered tenth resolution. But what I don’t know is that, in the midst of helping me check each item off my agenda, he has some resolutions of his own. And they all lead to one thing: becoming more than friends.
Eleven romantic comedy authors have teamed up to bring you HAPPY NEW YOU, a sexy, funny, heartwarming story about friendship, perseverance, and finding love in this crazy thing we call life. Oh, and the magic of onesie pajamas.
Acknowledgments
This was actually an entirely different book before it became Maid in England. Then I got stuck and went back to the beginning and had capital-I Ideas about a spin-off series as a companion to The Castle Calder series. I wasn’t stuck anymore and I LOVED writing Remi and Alastair’s second-chance romance.
I have so many people to thank, starting with Stina Lindenblatt who always reads my words and provides invaluable insight. Thank you, too, to my amazing beta readers. Marie Landry, Debby Hoyle and Ella Rynska. Your feedback was key in helping to make this book better.
I have to give a shout-out to my co-authors of HAPPY NEW YOU. Eleven of us wrote a book together and along the way you ladies have become such an important part of my tribe. Writing that book will go down as one of the best professional decisions EVER (if only for the onesie pajama scene) for the amazing friendships formed along the way.
Bev Kat
z Rosenblum has been my developmental editor through four books now and four books later I’m still in awe of how she helps improve my stories by leaps and bounds.
Brianna Lebrecht, I swear one day I’ll find a different crutch word. I’m not sure when that will be, but thank you for helping to make my book readable.
Frauke Spanuth of Croco Designs, thank you for making my cover amazing. It’s Remi and Alastair to a tee!
Thank you to all of the bloggers who’ve shared my cover and helped by giving an advance review. Reviews are so important and I appreciate you choosing my book.
Thank you to my husband for your support, and for providing coffee, chocolate Doritos and/or wine as necessary. And to my son who can be pretty teenager-y, but still asks me how my writing day went.
And thank you to all of my readers. Whether you’ve read all of my books or this is your first, I appreciate you taking a chance on me and my words. I hope you’ve enjoyed Alastair and Remi’s story and I can’t wait to share Maid in New York with you later this spring!
About the Author
Brenda is a displaced New Yorker living in the English countryside. She’s lived in the UK long enough to gain dual citizenship, but still doesn’t understand Celsius. However, she has learned the appropriate use of the word “pants”. And how to order a proper bacon bap/barm/buttie. Because, well, bacon.
Brenda writes contemporary romance to make you giggle and swoon. When she’s not writing, she enjoys hiking, running and reading. In theory, she also enjoys cooking, but it’s more that she enjoys eating and, try as she might, she can’t live on Doritos alone.
I’d love for you to subscribe to my newsletter. Or if you fancy, I share lots of fun stuff in my reader Facebook group, Brenda’s Book Babes.
I’d love to hear from you! Find me online here:
brendastjohnbrown.com
Maid in England (The I Do Crew Book 1) Page 24
