Page 14 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“And she’d had what I suppose you’d call a good innings. She was well into her nineties.”
He nodded, slanting her a questioning look. “Are you still planning to sell the cottage?”
“Yes.” Her mouth quirked wryly. “I don’t really have much alternative. I’ll have quite a hefty inheritance-tax bill to pay. And anyway, I can’t really live in it myself. My job’s in London, and...”
“Your fiancé?”
“Yes.”
“He wouldn’t want to move down here?”
The very thought of that made her laugh.
“Well, if you’re still planning to fix it up, you’ll need a builder you can rely on.”
“Is there one you can recommend?”
“Yes. His name’s Dan — I’ll give you his number. He might be busy for a while though.”
“Thank you.” She glanced up at him. “You don’t mind now — about me selling it? Even if it ends up being a second home?”
crooked smile. “I’m being philosophical. There’s no point being fractious about it.” They had come to a roundabout. He turned left and a short distance further on pulled over onto the forecourt of a garage. “Here you are.”
She could see her little hatchback parked in the alley beside the service centre. She unfastened her seat belt and opened the passenger door, and turned to Tom. “Thanks for the lift.”
“No problem.” Again that heart-bumping smile. “See you around.”
* * *
Vicky stood at the open French windows, watching as the dusk settled quietly over the garden. The bees and the butterflies had gone, but the birds had discovered to their delight that their feeder had been replenished and were making the most of the feast.
A few stars were already twinkling as the sky deepened to a soft cobalt blue — with no streetlights to compete, they seemed so much brighter than in London.
When she was little she had always been sad to leave Aunt Molly’s cottage — she’d cry as the car had pulled away from the lane. She was going to feel the same now — even, she suspected, including the tears.
Telling herself to be sensible wasn’t going to help...
The ping of her phone intruded rudely on the moment. A text message. Jayde — her stepsister. Probably just to tell her about the fabulous night out she was having at the latest trendy nightclub, or possibly a new man.
Her mouth quirked into a wry smile as she clicked on the phone and read the message.
hows hunky neighbour(Punctuated with a wow emoji.)
She rolled her eyes. Typical Jayde. She typed in a reply:not hunky pain in butt(Angry emoji.)
The response came back at once:not hunky(Quiz emoji.)check this(Triple wow emojis.)
There was a link to a website. Vicky clicked on it warily. A news report, with a picture of Tom — in a dinner jacket, no less! It was some kind of awards ceremony — and he was winning an award for an organic feed company, Cullen Organic Mill.
He certainly scrubbed up well, she was forced to acknowledge. The dinner jacket was immaculately tailored over his wide shoulders but couldn’t quite disguise that aura of dynamic male power; the neat clip of his hair couldn’t quite control that tendency to curl.
not badshe acknowledged in her reply to Jayde.still a pain
coming 2 c 4 myself
That was all she needed! Quickly she typed,wouldnt like it place a mess(Zany emoji.)nothing to do
The prompt reply.1 check out hunk 2 work on tan
