About the Author

MAXINE MORREY has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten.

As time went by, she continued to write, but ‘normal’ work often got in the way. She has written articles on a variety of subjects, as well as a local history book on Brighton. However, novels are her first love.

In August 2015, she won HarperCollins/Carina UK’s ‘Write Christmas’ competition with her first romantic comedy, ‘Winter’s Fairytale’.

Maxine lives on the south coast of England, and when not wrangling with words loves to read, sew and listen to podcasts. Being a fan of tea and cake, she can (should!) also be found doing something vaguely physical at the gym.

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Website www.scribblermaxi.co.uk

Email scribblermaxi@outlook.com

Readers love Maxine Morrey!

‘I’ve fallen head over heels for Maxine’s writing style’

‘I’m a big fan of Maxine’s writing and I love how she is able to write lighthearted romantic comedies that have serious issues at their centre’

‘I love Maxine Morrey’s books’

‘Hand on heart, I could read a Maxine Morrey novel every day of the week without getting bored’

‘I’m a big fan of Morrey’s books’

‘Maxine has this way of captivating her readers with charismatic and memorable characters’

Also by Maxine Morrey

Winter’s Fairytale

The Christmas Project

The Best Little Christmas Shop

Around the World With My Ex

Second Chance at the Ranch

No Place Like Home

Coming Home to Wishington Bay
MAXINE MORREY

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Maxine Morrey 2019

Maxine Morrey asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008329129

E-book Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008329112

Version: 2019-04-16

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Readers love Maxine Morrey!

Also by Maxine Morrey

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For James

Chapter 1

It was strange waking to the sound of soft waves rather than angry car horns and emergency vehicle sirens. Especially as, for the last ten years, I had been attempting to create this very scenario with the help of a little machine from which I could pick a range of background noises, depending upon where I wished to be deposited in my mind’s eye. Most of the time I played it safe and kept away from the exotic-sounding Tropical Jungle or Wild Flowing River, opting instead for the simple and ever-reliant Waves. But today there was no need for a machine. Today I had the Real Thing, which was much, much better. And it didn’t even need batteries. Although, if I’m honest, ever since I found out that the man I’d been dating thought girlfriends qualified as a ‘two for the price of one’ deal, batteries were something I tended to keep a stock of. You know. Just in case.

I lay in the soft, comfy double bed a little longer, listening to the swoosh of the water and watching the barely there breeze kiss the light voile curtains I’d hung last night. Shutters closed out the light and gave me privacy but the drapes softened the look, making it more feminine and pretty. Not that I was too worried about privacy. The house – a 1930s Art Deco inspiration that had been split into two dwellings decades ago – was set right on the beach and was accessed down a private, winding lane that only went to this place. I was sure to hear my neighbour’s car and it was unlikely that anyone else would be just passing by. And, whilst I wasn’t generally the type to be wandering around naked in my home, I didn’t feel I should have to rule out the option entirely.

After a quick but invigorating shower, I pulled open the top drawer on the old dresser I’d hurriedly unpacked into last night and lifted out a matching set of ridiculously expensive underwear. I smiled as I put them on, at the complete indulgence of it all. Although beautiful, they were also incredibly overpriced. And frankly, this set wasn’t even that practical – but oh so pretty! Still. Everything else in my life was sensible. Ordered. This was my one outlet. Even if I was the only one who ever got to see them.

I grabbed hold of that particular thought and tossed it to the back of my mind where it belonged before slipping my arms into the silk kimono robe I’d bought on a holiday to Japan several years ago. Leaving it flowy and unbelted, I wandered into the bathroom. Picking up my toothbrush from the cut-glass holder on the side, I oozed some paste onto it, gave it a quick flash under the tap and started brushing. With my other hand, I reached over and pulled up the blind. And suddenly I was no longer the only one getting to see my posh undies – the bloke on the ladder at my window was currently also getting a complete eyeful!

My scream of fright was immediately followed by the clatter of my toothbrush as it bounced into the sink. His cry of surprise and swift disappearance was immediately followed by a louder clatter of the ladder hitting the ground. I quickly belted the gown and rushed down the stairs, grabbing my mobile on the way. I hadn’t got a good look at my potential burglar before he went tumbling earthbound but my mind had registered that there had been a sizeable bulk on the ladder – albeit briefly. Definitely more than I could realistically wrangle into a citizen’s arrest anyway. With a bit of luck he wouldn’t be hurt, just mildly unconscious, and would stay that way until the police arrived.

Hurrying through the door and out onto the patio, I came to an abrupt halt when I saw that the man was not unconscious as I’d hoped, but sitting up, inspecting a cut on his shin. He wore a loose T-shirt which looked like it had seen better days, well-washed cargo shorts and bare feet. The entire look was now accessorised with a liberal application of fresh, white paint. But the most exceptionally inconvenient thing was that, without doubt, he was the most good-looking man I’d ever met. His gaze shifted from his shin to me.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

He stared at me for a moment with a look that could freeze ice before glancing away again, ignoring my question.

Bristling, I crossed my arms. ‘You should know I’ve called the police!’

‘Great. That saves me doing it,’ he said calmly, a slight Australian accent coating his words.

‘Excuse me? Why would you call the police? Oh wait! I get it,’ I said, sticking my hands on my hips. ‘You’re one of these burglars who hurts themselves breaking into someone’s property and then sues the innocent owner! Well, good luck with that one. I’m friends with two of the top barristers in the country so if you think—’

‘Good for you,’ he cut across me. ‘I’m not a burglar.’

‘Of course you’re not,’ I replied, my words heavy with sarcasm.

‘How many burglars do you know who paint the properties they’re breaking in to?’ He got to his feet and bent to pick up a brush from the ground, holding it up to me in order to emphasise his point.

‘How do I know that’s not a prop?’

He gave me a look that made me think that it probably, most definitely, wasn’t a prop.

‘I suggest you get dressed unless you want the police to cart you away in your underwear.’

I glanced down at my attire, and realised the belt was slipping, giving him yet another glimpse. Yanking at it, I tied it tighter, wincing as it pinched me. Wiggling things a little looser, I tried again.

‘I am not being carted off anywhere, thank you very much. I have every right to be here. You, on the other hand, have none. Even if you’re weren’t trying to break in to my house, you still had a ladder up against the wall, peering in my window! That’s also illegal, in case you didn’t know!’

‘I had a ladder up against the wall because I was painting the window frames! The blinds and shutters were closed, same as they’ve been for months. I had no idea you were even here! Believe me, spying was not on the agenda. I’ve absolutely no wish to peer at you. I can think of better ways to spend my time – no offence.’

Oddly enough, I was a little offended, although I wasn’t entirely sure why. ‘Well! That’s a relief!’ I huffed out.

‘And, by the way, you don’t have a right to be here. I think you and your solicitor pals need to do some swotting up on your squatters’ rights. So, if you really have called the police on me, and don’t want to get arrested yourself, I’d get moving.’

‘I beg your pardon – my what? Do I look like a squatter?’ I asked, palms to the sky. ‘This is my house.’

‘Well, now I know you’re lying. This place belongs to Betty Gardner’s granddaughter, Holly.’

‘That’s me.’

‘She’s blonde. Gigi showed me a picture. Nice try, sweetheart.’

‘It’s called peroxide, sweetheart. I went back to my natural colour eighteen months ago!’

Why on earth was I stood on my patio, in my underwear, explaining myself to this man?

He took a couple of steps toward me, slowly, his brow wrinkling.

‘Holly?’

I stood up straighter, crossing my arms back over my chest. ‘I seem to be at a disadvantage.’

‘I’m …’ A fleeting frown crossed his brow. ‘I was Gigi’s neighbour, Gabe McKinley.’

He must have assumed I’d popped up from the cabbage patch if he thought I was going to buy that one. ‘Ha! I don’t think so,’ I said, laughing. ‘I mean, nice try, but I know for a fact that my grandmother’s neighbour was a respectable local doctor, not some surf-dude handyman. I don’t know what you want but I think it’s best if you leave now before I really do call the police.’

‘You mean you haven’t already?’

‘I was busy checking that you hadn’t killed yourself on my patio.’

‘Actually, the half I ended up on is mine.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, of course. And just why were you painting my window frames? Surely as a doctor you have plenty more important things to be getting on with.’ I made sure to emphasise the word ‘doctor’.

‘I have the weekend off, and I’m painting them because I made a promise to Gigi that I’d look after the house for her for as long as it was necessary. She told me she’d left it to you but didn’t know if, or when, you’d use it. It’s been empty for months and the frames needed repainting. I did half last weekend and thought I’d get the rest done today.’ He paused and looked at me directly with eyes the colour of a Mediterranean summer sky. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. If I’d realised you were here, I’d have let you know. It’s just that it’s been so long, I really didn’t expect anyone. I just assumed you had no interest in—’

‘I do have an interest in it!’ I snapped, cutting him off.

But he was right, and it was that knowledge that was making me extra snappy. It had been too long. My grandmother had passed away early last summer, a little over a year ago now. We’d just spent a week together in London and had the most wonderful time. Two days later, I’d had a call from my brother to say that she’d passed away in her sleep. It was another three days before I stopped crying. For the first time in ten years, bar a couple of holidays, I’d taken a few days off work and sobbed practically the entire time.

My grandmother was the one person in the world I had felt totally understood me. And now she was gone. The reason I hadn’t come back to Wishington Bay before was not because it held little interest for me, but entirely the opposite – because it meant so very much. The walls themselves were infused with all the happy memories and laughter and love that being with Gigi, as I called my grandmother – she was far too glamorous to have ever settled for something as ordinary as “Gran” – created. It was beyond painful to know that she was gone and that no more of those memories would ever be made and if I was honest, I knew I still hadn’t come to terms with losing her. And this stranger – whoever he claimed to be – had the cheek to stand there and say that I had no interest! He knew absolutely nothing about me. Except what my underwear looked like, of course.

‘Look. I don’t know who you are, but I think it’s best you leave.’

‘I’ve told you who I am.’

I glanced over at him and rolled my eyes.

‘Oh. Yes. The doctor. Right.’

Honestly, he couldn’t have looked less like a doctor if he’d tried. His dark blond hair was streaked where the sun had kissed it, not to mention in need of a good cut. Glancing around at his side of the house, I could see a surfboard propped up and there had definitely not been a car in the driveway last night when I’d got here. I mean, what doctor didn’t have a car?

I blew out a sigh and looked up at him. He looked back at me with those intense eyes again. I met his gaze. For a moment my mind drifted as I considered that had this been a different situation I might well have agreed with anything he said. He could have told me the moon was made of cheese and I’d have happily handed him a cracker. I gave myself a mental shake. Looks weren’t everything. I was the last person who needed to be told that. The fact that he was so downright gorgeous was my first reason for not trusting him as far as I could throw him. And bearing in mind he had about a foot in height on me and looked to weigh about twice as much as I did, that wasn’t likely to be very far at all.

‘Right. Perhaps if you’d come down to visit Gigi occasionally, we might have been introduced.’

His voice had a tone to it that I didn’t appreciate.

‘I did visit her! I spent plenty of time with her, thank you. It just often worked better if it was in London, rather than down here.’

‘Worked better for whom?’

I glared at him, astounded by the absolute cheek of this man.

‘You think it was better for an elderly lady to get onto trains and travel up to the city than for you to get in your swanky car and drive a couple of hours?’

‘How dare you! Gigi loved coming up to town. And I didn’t want to put her out by coming here. And if you really had known her at all, you’d also know that describing her as an elderly lady would definitely not have been the path to her good books.’

He paused a beat. ‘OK, fair enough. I did actually say something along those lines once and she didn’t talk to me for two days, so I’ll give you that one.’

I made a sort of huffing noise that told him how grateful I was to have been bestowed such an honour.

‘But as for the rest? You can keep telling yourself that, but those journeys took it out of her. You never saw her when she got back.’ He shook his head and bent to pick up the empty can that had once held paint for the window frames. ‘I’ll finish the painting when you’ve gone.’

‘Don’t bother! I don’t want you anywhere near my house.’

He turned and walked back towards me. I stood my ground, returning his glare.

‘Look. I made a promise to someone I cared about and I’m not about to break it.’ With that, he turned and strode off. A minute later, I heard the door on that side of the house slam. Great! A perfect start to my summer in Wishington Bay.

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