Mandy Baggot is an international bestselling and award-winning romance writer.
The winner of the Innovation in Romantic Fiction award at the UK’s Festival of Romance, her novel, One Wish in Manhattan, was also shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romantic Comedy Novel of the Year award in 2016. In 2024, Mandy’s novel, Desperately Seeking Summer became a Hallmark Original Movie entitled A Greek Recipe for Romance.
Mandy loves the Greek island of Corfu where she has a home. She also loves wine, cheese, Netflix, handbags and horse racing. Also a singer, she has taken part in ITV’s Who Dares, Sings! and The X Factor.
Mandy is a member of the Society of Authors and splits her time between living in Wiltshire, UK and Corfu, Greece.
Find out more about Mandy on her website www.mandybaggot.com
Also by Mandy Baggot
Single for the Summer
Desperately Seeking Summer
One New York Christmas
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One Beaumont Square, Notting Hill, London
BANG! CRASH! RATTLE!
Isla Winters’ eyes snapped open and she fought to push the sheaves of auburn bed-hair off her face. It was still dark, no light at all coming from behind the curtains . . . and there were noises coming from downstairs. Shuffling and draweropening and . . . was that the fridge door being thumped shut? What time was it? What day was it? She opened her eyes wider, hoping it would somehow help her hear better. Pieces of glitter fell from her hair and on to her face, then the pillow, then the sheets . . . those do-it-yourself Christmas cards had a lot to answer for.
Swinging her legs out of bed, she then groped about on the chair beside her dressing table for the long cherry-red jumper she had taken off last night. It was freezing and she shivered, pulling the wool item over her chemise-clad body. She liked winter, she needed to remind herself of that. It was the season to be jolly, it snowed (well, sometimes), the shops were stacked with festive chocs and novelty present suggestions that should never have been invented. It was party season! Life sparkled! But she did prefer it when the central heating had kicked in and she was wrapped up and two macchiatos down.
2 • Mandy Baggot
She caught sight of the alarm clock on her nightstand: 5 a.m.
Hannah was never up at 5 a.m.
Drawers were definitely being opened downstairs. But she wasn’t going to panic. It had to be Hannah, didn’t it? Although she hadn’t heard her disabled sister’s stairlift. She always heard the stairlift. Sometimes she even woke because she thought she’d heard the stairlift. No one had told her subconscious to stop being overprotective.
Creeping out on to the landing, Isla tip-toed as ballet-dancer elegant and mouse-like quiet as she could manage on the chilly wood floor towards Hannah’s room and gently pushed the door. It opened a crack, but not enough to confirm an occupant in the bed. Isla pushed a little more forcefully, and the hinges let out the kind of noise you would expect to emanate from a hyena trapped in the mouth of a lion.
‘What’s happened? Isla?’
Hannah tried to sit bolt upright. It took her three or four moves, arms hitting the string of fairy lights and Christmasthemed bunting she had tied above her bed. By the time she’d managed to make it to a sitting position Isla was inside the room, her fingers to her lips.
‘Sshh.’
Hannah smiled, sleep-coated eyes blinking, short crop of light brown hair looking the same as when she had gone to bed. ‘Is it Christmas yet? Is Father Christmas here?’ The joke had been started around mid-November.
‘No,’ Isla replied. ‘But someone is.’
‘What?’ Hannah asked, more responsive now. ‘Someone’s downstairs? What time is it?’
‘Five o’clock,’ Isla reached for the phone on her sister’s bedside table, knocking off a pile of loom bands and baubles in her haste. ‘I’m calling the police.’
‘Wait,’ Hannah said, hand reaching out and catching Isla’s. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Hannah! Someone is in our kitchen!’
‘I know,’ Hannah said. ‘But Mrs Edwards hasn’t been sleeping lately and she’ll be awake and that means she’ll see the police coming and the last time the police came they were here for Mr Edwards . . . you know . . . when they thought he’d died in suspicious circumstances.’ Hannah raised her eyes. ‘With the pestle and mortar.’
‘Hannah, right now, Mrs Edwards’ disposition isn’t at the forefront of my mind. Didn’t you hear me? There’s someone in our kitchen!’
‘Okay,’ Hannah said, breathing deeply. ‘Give me a second to get in the chair . . . or help me down on to the floor and I’ll crawl to the stairlift. Crawling will take less time and be much quieter.’ She sniffed. ‘We should have hung those really loud jangly old Christmas bells of Mum and Dad’s over all the doors. They’re perfect burglar alarms, you know.’
Isla raised her eyes. ‘The bells wake us up every year if there’s even a draught. And you know I absolutely hate you crawling.’
‘Pah!’ Hannah said, waving a hand in front of her face. ‘It’s the twenty-first century, get over the feeling-sorry-for-peoplewho-can’t-walk vibe, already.’ She grinned. ‘Actually, crawling is surprisingly liberating. You get to feel a deep empathy for snails and, last time, I found a little black top under my bed I thought I’d left at Creepy Neil’s.’
A crash from downstairs had them both refocusing. Now was the time to panic. What was immediately to hand that she could wallop an intruder with? Isla swapped the phone she held for a pottery Hugh Grant that one of Hannah’s regular customers at the florists had thrown for
4 • Mandy Baggot
her. It was twelve inches tall, solid as a brick and Hugh’s nose could definitely be used to gouge out an eye if necessary.
‘What are you doing with Hugh?’ Hannah exclaimed.
‘I thought it might scare away whoever’s downstairs.’
‘It’s actually a very good likeness, and don’t be so mean about Valerie’s artistic skills. She’s still waiting for her carpal tunnel operation, you know.’ Hannah shifted closer to the edge of the bed and put on a pathetic-looking face. ‘Help me get down and crawl.’
‘No,’ Isla said, turning towards the door. ‘You stay in bed and . . . if I don’t say I’m okay within five minutes, you call the police, whether it’s going to upset Mrs Edwards or not. Got it?’
Hannah nodded. ‘Got it.’ She sniffed. ‘Isla . . .’
‘Yes.’
‘Be careful. I don’t know what I’d do without . . . Hugh.’ She stifled a laugh against her bird-print bedspread.
Isla shook her head and made for the landing. Sometimes she wondered if Hannah’s spine wasn’t the only thing that had been injured in the accident. She seemed to be completely blasé about the possibility of an intruder in their home. Okay, so whoever it was was not being very ninja in their style and, to her, that ruled out serial killer. But she was worried that by the time she got downstairs the would-be thief could be gone with her MacBook . . . or, if it was a surprise makeover team, the whole kitchen could be painted the colour of liver.
Holding her breath, Isla slid each bare foot down on to the oriental-patterned carpet runner that tracked up the centre of the stairs. Avoiding the creaky seventh step from the top, Isla strained to listen to where the noises were coming from. Crockery chinked, cutlery rattled. Was that the coffee machine? Who broke into someone’s home and made an espresso?
Feeling slightly less afraid of a robber with a taste for her Krups, the weighty Hugh Grant gripped in her left hand, Isla moved softly down the hall towards the kitchen at the back of the house.
She paused at the door and looked into the dark. The blue illuminated ring on top of the coffee machine provided the only light. Someone was there. Someone her height, wearing what looked like a cap and a thick coat. What to do? Speak? Let Hugh Grant do the talking? She could put on the lights. If she quietly stuck out her right hand she could reach the switch on the wall just inside the kitchen door. She inched forward, the clay model raised, other hand snaking across the wall and then, she hit the button . . .
BAM! The spotlights in the ceiling flooded the room with brightness and, adrenalin pumping, Isla lunged with Hugh Grant like she was holding a sabre.
Heart racing like Mo Farah on the home straight, Isla stopped, staring into the face – well, the hands across the face – of twenty-something Raj, their postman. He nudged the kitchen cupboard door with his elbow and two Christmas cards Isla had stuck on last night fell to the worktop.
‘Raj!’ Isla exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’ She slid Hugh Grant on to the kitchen worktop, a hand clutching her chest, determined to keep her heart where it should be.
‘Just making coffee . . . just coffee,’ he stammered, blowing out terrified breaths. ‘Hannah, she said it would be all right. She gave me a key, innit.’
Isla leant her body against the countertop. Her sister had given their postman a key to their house . . . and not said a word. She shook her head then stopped. That was typical of Hannah.
6 • Mandy Baggot
‘She didn’t tell you,’ Raj guessed, holding his hands up. ‘I’m sorry. I was just moaning ’bout the coffee at the sorting office last week and how I’s got to start even earlier now it’s December, you know – cards, parcels, all that stuff Yodel can’t do for Amazon – and Hannah said, if I had time . . . if I was this way, I could, like, come in your crib and make a coffee before I start my round.’
Total Hannah. Despite being the one that everyone wanted to protect, her sister had a penchant for taking people under her wing. Sometimes it was endearing, other times it was annoying, like now, when their postman had trodden dirty slush from the last snowfall over the kitchen tiles and woken them up.
‘I’ll go,’ Raj said, taking a step towards the back door, hands pulling his cap further down over his head. ‘I’ll get coffee from that new café. It’s Moroccan, innit, infused with orange blossom . . . and that’s no bad shit, man.’
‘Raj . . .’ Isla began, now feeling a little mean.
‘It’s okay, we’re sweet, bro,’ Raj said, backing away, eyes on the pottery statue, hands held up in surrender.
‘Raj! Don’t you go anywhere!’ It was Hannah’s voice at full volume. ‘I’m coming down!’
‘I should go,’ Raj said, directing the statement to Isla.
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’ And she would never hear the end of it from Hannah if she let him leave now. She could hear the whirr of the stairlift which meant her sister had crawled to the top of the stairs, dragged herself into the seat and was on her way down.
‘Let’s put some more water in the coffee machine, shall we?’ Isla suggested.
Two
‘I don’t think they is gonna last.’
‘No? But they’ve only been here about a month. I haven’t even had a chance to invite them over for dinner yet.’
‘I wouldn’t waste your pasta, Hannah. Always going at it, innit.’
‘Going at it? Like arguing?’
‘You is feeling me.’
While Isla put on her shoes in the lounge she watched Raj and her sister sitting in the cushioned area of the bay window that looked out over Beaumont Square, their little piece of Notting Hill. The soft plum chenille fabric seating with pearlcoloured fluffy cushions was the only place Hannah insisted on getting out of her wheelchair to relax on. It was her outside from the inside, an opportunity not to miss a thing that went on. Currently, the pair were scrutinising number eleven, whose new residents – a couple in their thirties – had only just moved into the street. So much for Raj starting his rounds early. It was almost seven thirty now and he had had three cups of coffee.
‘What does he do for a job do you think?’ Hannah asked, sipping from her mug.
‘Insurance, innit,’ came Raj’s reply.
‘How do you know that?’ Hannah asked, with a giggle.
‘It’s the three-piece whistle.’
‘I know what that means!’ Hannah exclaimed in delight. ‘Whistle and flute – suit.’
8 • Mandy Baggot
‘You is bangin’ it now, girl.’
‘I is gettin’ your East End vibe.’
‘Hannah,’ Isla said. ‘Don’t you have to get ready for work?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hannah responded. ‘In a bit.’
Isla checked her watch again. Seven thirty-four. She needed to leave soon to avoid the everyday Tube mayhem and get to the Breekers’ offices on time. Plus, there was a little shop on her walk to the station that had the most gorgeous white, feather and diamante Christmas tree in the window display. They had barely started on Christmas in the house, hadn’t got a Christmas tree yet and, even though this one was artificial, she loved it . . . and she knew Hannah was going to love it too. She would look at it again this morning, then maybe put a deposit down tonight and pick it up at the weekend. As clichéd as it might sound, the Winters Sisters did love this season!
‘Han, it’s just I have to go in a minute,’ Isla began. ‘I’ve got a client coming in at nine and then I’m spending all day trying to keep on top of the organisation of the big party.’
Now Hannah paid attention, her head snapping away from the window. ‘Can you tell me the theme yet?’
Isla smiled. ‘I can’t. It’s top secret, like always, until a week before, you know that.’
Hannah did in fact know that, but that didn’t stop her asking for insider information about Breekers Construction London’s Christmas party every single year.
‘James Bond?’ Hannah guessed.
‘We did that two years ago.’
‘Titanic?’
‘No.’ But that wasn’t a bad idea for next time. They could easily make a function room into a mock-up of the deck of the stricken vessel. Isla could already envisage a huge ice-coated wheelhouse for photo opportunities and vintage dress.
Definitely one for the ideas mood board she’d created on Pinterest.
Hannah turned back to Raj. ‘Ooo, West Side Story with an East End twist . . . what’s the name of that gang you told me about the other day?’
‘FX Crew? Or the Needle Boys?’
Isla closed her eyes. Now it was like the lounge had just turned into the clubhouse in Sons of Anarchy. Any second now Raj was going to be talking about ‘packing a piece’ or ‘icing’ someone . . . and she knew enough ‘street’ to know that that kind of icing had nothing to do with Titanic.
‘Han . . . if you need some help then—’
‘I don’t need help,’ Hannah stated flippantly.
‘But, you need to get ready for work and—’
‘Ronnie Kray is right here.’ Hannah punched out a fist and hit the wheelchair’s arm.
‘Is that what you call that thing, though?’ Raj asked, smiling widely. ‘Wicked.’
‘I know,’ Isla began. ‘But—’
‘Raj can help me into Ronnie. Raj can help me into the stairlift. I can crawl the rest.’
‘Han, what about getting dressed?’
‘Don’t!’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘I’ll manage! I can manage! I don’t need you watching over me all the time.’
Isla swallowed, hearing the desperation in her sister’s voice.
‘Listen, I’d better go, yeah?’ Raj said, standing up and looking around for somewhere to place his coffee mug. ‘These letters and Christmas stuff ain’t gonna deliver themselves.’
‘You don’t have to go yet,’ Hannah said through wounded pride.
‘I will see yous later, sweets,’ Raj said, grinning at Hannah. ‘I might even drop into the flower place.’
‘Bye, Raj,’ Isla said as the postman made a move for the door. ‘Sorry about . . . the misunderstanding . . . and Hugh Grant.’
‘We’re cool,’ he replied, doffing the peak of his cap. ‘It’s all good, innit.’
There was utter silence as Raj left the room until the front door slammed shut. Isla was well aware what was coming next.
‘Why do you do that?’ Hannah yelled. ‘You always sodding do that!’
‘Sorry,’ Isla began. ‘I just . . . have to get to work but I wanted you to know that I had time to help . . . if you needed help.’
‘If I want help I will ask for it,’ Hannah retorted. ‘My voice didn’t get severed in the accident.’
Isla swallowed. Even after five years, it didn’t get any easier. Losing their parents in the car crash was one thing, but to have Hannah left permanently unable to walk was almost worse. Isla had been twenty, looking to leave home and start her own life adventure and then everything had been turned on its head. She was suddenly a guardian in charge of a fifteenyear-old trying to cope with being paralysed. Yet, somehow, through it all, her fun-loving sister was still able to be her fun-loving sister, just minus the ability to dance on her toes or rollerblade.
‘Well, we need to discuss who you give keys to the house to,’ Isla said, almost changing the subject.
‘Raj is my friend.’
‘Friends don’t automatically get keys to our front door.’
‘It was the back door, actually.’
Isla shook her head and sighed.
‘What?’ Hannah asked, cocking her head to the left a little. ‘Still surprised how irritating I can be without full use of limbs?’
‘Don’t, Han,’ Isla begged. ‘I’m just trying to . . . do the right thing here.’
Hannah sniffed hard and turned her head to face the glass again, a sure sign there was emotion flowing. Isla was caught between staying where she was, picking up her work bag and beating a hasty retreat or going to her sister and trying to resolve this now.
‘Hannah—’
Hannah interrupted. ‘What do you think of the couple at number eleven?’
‘I don’t know,’ Isla replied, moving towards Hannah, standing close, but not too close and looking out on to the still-winter-dark street. ‘I’ve said one hello, I think.’
‘They have a cat,’ Hannah continued. ‘Well, they did have. It arrived the day they moved in, in a basket like the big hampers Fortnum and Mason do, and it had a pink and diamante collar. Haven’t seen it since then.’
‘Maybe it’s an indoor person,’ Isla suggested.
‘Like me, you mean?’
Isla smiled at her sister, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Hannah Winters, no one could ever call you an indoor person. You’re out more than I am!’
‘Always with a chaperone in case I fall out of Ronnie into traffic . . . or wheel myself into traffic and become the reason for delay in the Capital FM travel news.’
This was a disagreement they had quite often. Isla just didn’t feel comfortable with Hannah going out completely alone. She knew her sister craved her independence, needed it, but she was so vulnerable. A young woman on her own in the city was bad enough before the sun came up or after it had gone down, but a young woman on her own, in a wheelchair, unable to defend herself against, well, anything that might happen . . .
She patted Hannah’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get you upstairs and ready for when Poppy gets here.’
‘I do wonder what your job really is at Breekers,’ Hannah remarked, shifting in her seat as Isla got ready to aid her into Ronnie. ‘Because the conversation avoidance techniques you’ve got going on are so on point.’
‘On point? Not bangin’ bro?’ Isla asked, thickening her tone with all of Raj’s would-be gangster.
‘Don’t ever speak like that again,’ Hannah said, looking as if she was doing her very best not to laugh. ‘You sound like Keith Lemon attempting Snoop Dogg.’
‘Ready?’ Isla asked, positioning herself to lift her sister.
‘If I must be,’ Hannah said, sighing.
‘Wicked, though,’ Isla said, grinning.
‘Arrggh! Stop, I said!’
Three
The Royale, Hyde Park, London
Chase Bryan stepped out of the black cab and immediately felt the need to blow into his hands. God, it was cold. It was actually New York cold, despite The Weather Channel’s promise that London temperatures would be above freezing on their arrival. He ran a hand through his crop of tawny hair and took in his surroundings. Here they were. London. Hyde Park.
In some ways, Hyde Park was like Central Park in New York – a wide expanse of snow-coated greenery in the midst of the grey of the city. But it was also completely different, completely British . It was prettier in its design. Thick, sweeping pathways and tree-lined avenues, benches alongside the banks of the Serpentine. The last time he had been here there had been boats on the river, people enjoying the sunshine, lazing on the grass or in striped deckchairs with picnics, horses trotting past. It was no less awesome now, just covered in a dusting of white, joggers and commuters alike buzzing past the lion and unicorn on the Queen Elizabeth Gate.
Chase looked back to the hotel he was standing outside, lights bright against the dawn sky. The fascia of this building was either authentic nineteenth century or just downright tired. A bit like him – the tired reference. He
14 • Mandy Baggot
was blaming the red-eye flight over from JFK as the reason he was feeling ill-humoured and the fact it was so goddamn cold wasn’t helping.
‘I’m dying . . . Daddy . . . I’m dying!’
Chase turned back to the taxi and quickly held a hand out to his younger daughter, nine-year-old Maddie. Her fingers felt like ice as he helped pull her down from the cab to join him on the pavement.
‘London taxis are cold,’ Maddie stated through juddering lips. ‘England is cold.’
He smiled, brushing a stray strand of tawny-coloured hair off her face, the rest of it carefully pinned into place and topped with a JoJo Siwa rainbow bow. ‘Hey, where’s my New York girl? We have colder winters than this at home.’
Maddie wrinkled her nose. ‘Am I still a New Yorker?’ she queried.
‘Who told you different?’ Chase asked.
‘Well, how about the fact that we don’t live in New York any more?’
The interjection came from his eldest daughter. Thirteenyear-old Brooke stepped out of the taxi with teenage nonchalance and angst all wrapped up in one looking-wayolder-than-she-should package. Wavy dark brown hair sat on her shoulders, yesterday’s make-up just about having survived the flight, and a fresh slick of lip gloss on her mouth. She was the image of her mother.
‘Did Mom say you weren’t New Yorkers any more?’ Chase asked. He instantly regretted it. This wasn’t meant to be a fight any more. The divorce was done. They had promised to concentrate on being better parents to their children. Although, unlike him, Leanna didn’t have the billion-dollar business counting on him and taking up the majority of his time. But she did have
One Christmas Kiss in Notting Hill • 15
Colt and the new house in Montgomery. That . . . guy! Anger and bitterness fizzed up his spine before he could stop it.
‘It’s always Mom’s fault, isn’t it?’ Brooke said, hair flicking first left and then right, iPhone in her hand ready to take a selfie at a moment’s notice.
‘I don’t know if I want to be a Montgomery-er,’ Maddie continued. ‘It doesn’t sound the same.’
‘Because it’s not the same,’ Brooke replied.
‘I want things to be the same,’ Maddie snapped back.
‘Never. Gonna. Happen,’ Brooke said coolly.
‘Okay,’ Chase jumped in. ‘That’s enough.’
‘I don’t want to be in London,’ Brooke said. ‘Why did we have to come with you?’
The cab driver was putting their cases on the street now and the temperature seemed to be dropping even further. Traffic flowed past them, not quite like the yellow taxis and horn-blowing of Manhattan but there were plenty of vehicles including those London icons, the red double-decker buses. Christmas was here in earnest too. Whole fir trees hung from business premises, speckled with golden lights, signs flashing in multicoloured LEDs stating ‘Hark the Herald’ and ‘Merry Christmas’.
‘You know why,’ Chase said with a sigh. ‘For two reasons. Mom had to look after Mawmaw while she gets over her operation and—’
‘I don’t know why Pawpaw couldn’t do it.’ This came from Brooke.
‘Because Pawpaw isn’t that well either.’
‘He has a bad leg, Brooke,’ Maddie reminded her sister. ‘From the war.’
‘How could we forget about Vietnam?’ Brooke retorted. ‘It’s all he talks about.’ She snorted then and picked up her rucksack
16 • Mandy Baggot
with one hand and her suitcase with the other. ‘There’d better be a big suite . . . and they better have a great room service menu.’
‘Brooke, wait,’ Chase said as the teenager began to move towards the hotel entrance. The second reason they were here was because he wanted to have them with him. It had been so long since he had been able to spend quality time with the girls. This job had taken over his life lately and he had had to let it. This was his new start. Another one. He had had so many new starts he was starting to wonder how many reset buttons he was going to be allowed to press. He squeezed his nails into the palm of his hand. He was still here. He was okay. Life was good. He had his children for the holidays and as soon as he had got the ball rolling on this new project it was going to be all about them. In truth, everything he had ever done, every decision he had ever made had always been about protecting them.
‘Mom says it’s best to leave her when she’s like this,’ Maddie said, teeth chattering together.
‘When she’s like what?’ Chase asked. ‘How she is every day?’
Maddie shrugged. ‘Shall I carry my suitcase, Daddy?’
‘No, Pumpkin, it’s too heavy for you . . . but thank you.’ He put his fingers out to Maddie’s coat, drawing the two edges together and fastening the poppers. ‘You go inside with your sister and I’ll pay for the cab and bring in our bags.’
‘Okay, Daddy,’ Maddie replied, turning towards the hotel frontage.
He watched her go, then his eyes went across the street to another hotel. Unlike the Royale they were booked into, this one was modern, sleek, with a black frontage that was trying its best to shout ‘luxury’. But something about it wasn’t working for him. And it was small. It only made him even
Christmas Kiss in Notting Hill • 17
more certain that the vision he had sold to Breekers was the right one to take the company forward, to branch out into an exciting new territory. It was going to be a reset for the company and an imperative distraction for him. As soon as he had caught up on some much-needed sleep.
Four
Notting Hill, London
‘You see,’ Hannah began, hands working at the wheels of Ronnie Kray. ‘This is a classic example of someone with the use of two legs falling foul of London life.’
She was referring to Poppy from the Life Start Community Centre who hadn’t turned up to walk Hannah to work. Hannah went to the centre a couple of evenings a week to meet with friends who suffered from similar life challenges. It was a run-down building that still had original, dog-eared versions of Trivial Pursuit and Twister (which was ironic as most of the attendees were in wheelchairs) and a CD/cassette combi to provide the music. Hannah had hated it when she’d first gone there at fifteen, fuelled by hatred for the position she found herself in, but Gabby – a very loud but gorgeously hilarious girl with spina bifida – had asked in no uncertain terms if Hannah thought she was too good for the group, and somehow a friendship had been forged.
Isla paid Poppy to walk Hannah the few streets to her job at Portobello Flowers. However, this morning, on the phone, Poppy had cited a gas main rupture on her street, but as soon as she started elaborating about pipe work and smart meters, Isla suspected she was reading the information from the British Gas website and was instead tucked up under a thirteen tog with a Warburton’s Giant Crumpet.
‘You don’t have to walk me all the way there,’ Hannah continued.
‘It’s okay,’ Isla replied. ‘Most of it is on my way.’ She checked her watch. She was going to be hard pushed to make it to the offices before nine.
‘Stop!’ Hannah said, wheeling to a sit-still.
‘What is it?’ Isla asked, one foot skidding on slush.
‘There,’ Hannah said.
Hannah was pointing to one of the benches on this section of street, opposite the black railings of the park. Sitting on the bench were a couple who only had eyes for each other. Life was going on around them – cyclists navigating around static cars, joggers navigating around static postboxes, people on their phones, people carrying briefcases/tote bags/dogs – but they were completely oblivious. And then it happened. Isla couldn’t tell who had moved first, but smoothly, slowly, the couple had become one, lips locked together in a perfect movie scene-stealing kiss.
‘And that’s the first one of the season,’ Hannah said with a sigh. ‘Mark it on the advent calendar and eat the chocolate.’
‘Oh, Han,’ Isla said. ‘I think this has to stop.’
‘Really? Another thing to add to the list of things I can’t do?’ Hannah asked, pushing herself forward again. ‘I can’t help it if I’m surrounded by people having a much better love life than me . . . actually, make that any sort of love life at all.’ She sniffed. ‘Apart from you.’
‘It will happen, Han, when it’s supposed to.’
‘Speaks the woman who could have any man she wanted.’
‘Why would you say that?’ Isla exclaimed. She hadn’t had a date in a year. Her last date was someone Hannah had set her up with. His name was Ptolemy and it had been Hannah
20 • Mandy Baggot
who fancied him! Except because she was almost permanently in a sitting position, she thought that he wouldn’t be interested. And he wasn’t. Not because Hannah wasn’t amazing, but because he was obviously shallow and blind with no personality and therefore not worthy of her sister.
‘Because it’s true.’
‘My last date was Ptolemy.’
‘It wasn’t.’
‘Han, it was.’
‘God! Was it really?’
‘Yes! And I only did that for you.’
‘And he was a right loser.’
‘Agreed.’
Hannah bumped herself down over the kerb and sped across the junction to the next pavement drop. ‘It shouldn’t be too much to ask though, should it? One perfect movie-moment kiss in Notting Hill. Just one. Just like when Julia Roberts kisses Hugh Grant for the first time.’ Hannah sighed, before her eyes opened wide. ‘Maybe I could pay someone to do it . . . like someone really, really, hot . . . like . . .’
‘Gerard Butler?’
‘Eww! Are you still going through your liking older actors stage?’
‘Danny Dyer then?’
‘I do like Danny Dyer . . . but even he’s forty. Come on, Isla, fit men in their twenties. Go!’
‘Taylor Lautner.’
‘Too teethy.’
‘Liam Hemsworth.’
‘Chris is hotter.’
‘I think someone is a little picky . . . and, by the way, that’s a good thing.’ Isla moved out of the way for a delivery man
One Christmas Kiss in Notting Hill • 21
carrying a large box. ‘You know as well as I do that if you pay for your kiss, or grab some random stranger for your kiss, that it won’t be a perfect kiss in Notting Hill, it will be an awkward kiss in Notting Hill and no one wants that.’ She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘What makes it perfect is the two special people who mean everything to each other and the amazing moment of connection.’ She swallowed. Just where was she getting this from? It wasn’t like she dreamed of a movie-moment kiss of her own . . .
‘I may as well give up now,’ Hannah said, grumpily. She shifted her chair to deliberately run over an empty McDonald’s coffee cup.
‘Han, what’s wrong?’ Isla asked. ‘It’s December. It’s our favourite month, our favourite season. Christmas is just around the corner and we’ve got so much going on. You’re busy at the florists, you’ve got the Life Start party, we’ve got the Breekers’ party, we’ve got the Beaumont Square Residents Wine and Cheese Night . . .’
‘I like Raj.’
Isla swallowed, shaking her head and half-hoping her sister’s words had been sucked in by the passing bin lorry, scrunched up by the claws and delivered back out in a different guise. Suddenly she was craving another caffeine hit . . . maybe even a triple shot.
‘And there’s the silence,’ Hannah said, pushing on harder.
‘No,’ Isla said quickly. ‘No, silence. Just . . .’ What was she ‘just’ doing? Processing? That sounded way too negative. ‘So, you like Raj.’ Repeating the statement. Wow.
‘What’s funny about that?’ Hannah asked.
‘Nothing. I didn’t realise I had . . . made it sound that way.’ Had she? ‘When did you . . . start to think that you might like him.’
22 • Mandy Baggot
Hannah shrugged. ‘He’s funny. He makes me laugh. He’s good-looking.’
Isla looked at her sister then, saw a blush pinking up her cheeks. Hannah really liked Raj. Really liked him. This hadn’t happened before. Well, if it had happened before, she definitely hadn’t told Isla about it.
‘Do you think he’s good-looking?’ Hannah queried, pulling her wheelchair to a halt.
‘Well . . . I . . .’ What to say? What to say? ‘He has nice eyes.’
‘I know,’ Hannah said, dreamily. ‘So dark and mysterious.’
In truth, Isla hadn’t looked at Raj’s eyes. She didn’t remember seeing much of his face at all as it was always half-hidden by a cap. He didn’t smell bad. Was that really all she could conjure up? There was no way she was saying that!
‘You can leave now,’ Hannah said, swinging Ronnie around and lining the wheelchair up with the ramp into Portobello Flowers.
Isla ignored the slight and instead breathed in the heady scent of the blooms in buckets on the pavement ready for a day of sales. White lilies sat next to plump yellow roses and deliciously fragrant red, pink and purple freesias spilled out of a large pewter urn. Subtle pastel carnations, bright gerberas and tiny pine cones were all wrapped up in Christmas-themed paper waiting to entice shoppers looking for something to festive-up their living space.
‘These are so lovely,’ Isla said, still sniffing. ‘Maybe I should get some for my office.’
‘You don’t have to buy flowers from here just because I work here,’ Hannah reminded her like she did every time Isla felt the urge to purchase. ‘Just get some cheap ones from Tesco.’
‘I like Claudia’s flowers,’ Isla protested. ‘And they last longer.’
Christmas Kiss in Notting Hill • 23
Hannah was already halfway up the ramp. Her sister was here, at work, safe. Now Isla had to sprint for the Tube and hope there were no delays. She would have to look at the feather Christmas tree later, on the route back.
‘See you tonight,’ Isla called. ‘I’m going to make lasagne.’
‘Maybe we can invite the couple at number eleven,’ Hannah called back. ‘If Raj is right about them arguing all the time, perhaps a dinner with new friends might help.’
Isla smiled. ‘We’ll go over there. Introduce ourselves.’
‘See you later,’ Hannah said as Claudia opened the front door for her.
‘Bye!’
Five
Breekers London, Canary Wharf
It was ten past nine. Ten past nine! Isla was late, and on the Tube she had been pressed up against multiple people she wouldn’t usually have got within a hundred metres of, given the option. Despite the wind-shear factor rivalling anything the Arctic could throw up, she was now sweaty, with chapped lips and hair that needed Toni and Guy. Whisking through the glass doors of Breekers London she steamed toward the lifts, mentally going through the fundamental points of the Ridgepoint Hospital project she had been supposed to be starting to talk about at nine. This project was big – as important as the very first client she had handled. That first success had helped forge her path to the top at Breekers, going from personal assistant to department manager in a few quick years. She had come so far and grown so much from that desperate, yet hopeful, twenty-year-old, fresh out of college and suddenly a carer to her sister. 9.13.
‘Morning, Isla.’
‘Good morning, Denise.’ She greeted her favourite receptionist, then took a much-needed breath. ‘I don’t suppose Robert Dunbar’s running late, is he? Apparently there’s a gas main causing all sorts of problems out there.’ She hadn’t believed Poppy for a minute but it was worth a shot.
‘Robert was in at eight,’ Denise answered, pushing her glasses up her nose.
‘Of course he was,’ Isla muttered under her breath. You could set Big Ben by Robert’s punctuality. She made to stride off, perhaps run up all the stairs and get fit while she tried to beat the lift. Oh, there was a Christmas tree now. When did that arrive? She slowed her pace a little. It was beautiful and real . She inhaled the pine, spruce scent and it seemed to immediately lower her heart rate and inject her with a calming antidote to the rush and tear of crossing the city . . .
‘So,’ Denise began. ‘He’s coming here.’ The last part of the sentence was whispered like a government secret was being passed over and it had something to do with the Pope.
‘He?’ Isla asked, her interest piqued enough to turn away from the Christmas tree. ‘Santa? . . . Richard Branson again?’
‘More infamous than both of those,’ Denise said.
‘Batman?’
Denise leaned forward over her granite and sparkle reception desk. ‘Chase Bryan.’
Was she supposed to immediately know who that was? If it hadn’t been fifty-something Denise starting this conversation she might have thought it was one of the twenty-something hot actors Hannah was wanting to talk about. It still could be. Hadn’t Denise had a month-long obsession with Zac Efron last year?
‘Um . . . is he in La La Land?’ 9.17. ‘Almost,’ Denise breathed. ‘New York.’
Isla racked her brain for film titles. ‘Um . . . Miracle on the Hudson?’
‘He’s your boss. And my boss. And virtually the boss of the whole world.’
‘I thought that was Stephen Hawking.’
‘Chase Bryan is the new CEO of Breekers International.’
What? When did the company get a new CEO? Wasn’t it still ‘Big’ Bill Wartner? Big Bill with his thick, reassuring beard and pearly white smile, hair like salt and pepper candyfloss. He spoke like he had just stepped off the set of a Western and she had always imagined him in a leather waistcoat and chaps on a Dress Down Friday. Had he retired?
But instead of asking where Big Bill was Isla blurted out ‘When?’ and ‘Why?’ Was he going to be here for the Christmas party? What if he thought she had spent too much on the food this year? Was she going to have to switch lobster for crab at short notice? The caterers had gone suspiciously quiet lately. Perhaps she needed to drop them another email today . . .
‘I thought you would have known, being one of the top brass and all,’ Denise stated. ‘No one I’ve spoken to seems to know why. I didn’t know he was coming until this morning when Carrie heard something from Liz on the fourth floor . . . and then we got the email.’
Had Denise said ‘top brass’? Was she ‘top brass’? Ideally, Robert’s job would make her feel like she had really arrived but she knew the sort of hours he worked and she had Hannah.
‘So, they didn’t tell you then . . . before the email,’ Denise continued.
Isla looked at her watch again. ‘I’ve no idea about anything except that I’m very late and by the sound of it I need to check my emails,’ Isla said, turning away from the desk.
‘Oh,’ Denise said. ‘Strange.’
She stopped in her tracks. Something in Denise’s tone was off. Facing the receptionist again she asked, ‘Denise . . . what should I have needed to know before this email?’
‘Well, that’s why I’m surprised you didn’t know any of this.’
9.20.
‘Denise!’ Isla exclaimed. ‘What do I need to know?’
‘Well . . .’ Denise breathed. ‘You’re going to be Chase Bryan’s go-to girl.’
What? What had she just said? She swallowed. ‘His what?’ she asked out loud.
‘It said that any messages or calls or anything for the CEO had to be filtered via you while he’s over here.’
What?! She was going to be a secretary to someone she didn’t even know was in the company at all? How did that happen? Denise had just said she was ‘top brass’! Why couldn’t one of the actual personal assistants assist? And, surely you informed someone they were about to have a job role change before you announced it to the entire firm! She didn’t know what to say. And what exactly did being a ‘go-to’ girl entail? Going back to taking minutes and typing? Answering his mobile phone?
‘I need to go upstairs,’ Isla said, looking at her watch again. 9.22. She suddenly felt queasy and the lovely spruce aroma was somehow smelling a little too much like Olbas oil.
‘Do you know what time Chase Bryan gets here?’ Denise asked. ‘Because I might be able to squeeze in a hair appointment in my lunch break if it’s not until this afternoon.’
Isla closed her eyes as she headed to the elevator. Up until ten minutes ago she didn’t even know who the guy was. Now it seemed like he was about to take over her December.
Six
The Royale, Hyde Park
Chase felt like he’d been hit by a 4x4 driven by an angry business rival – or his ex-wife – that had then reversed back over him several times. And there was noise. A buzzing and a bleeping and something else that sounded like an Adam Levine high-note. He raised his head off the pillow . . . it felt like someone had swapped it out with a giant marshmallow.
‘Maddie, you’re not doing it right.’
‘I’m pressing as hard as I can.’
‘You’re not doing it right. Let me do it.’
‘That’s not fair. I wanna play.’
‘But you can’t play it right.’
‘Can so.’
‘Maddie, just give up already.’
‘No . . . gimme the controller back!’
The bickering was like a bucket of cold water to the face. Chase drew back the covers, grabbed his T-shirt, pulling it over his head before walking to the doors of their suite.
‘Give it back!’ Maddie screamed. ‘If you break it then we’re gonna get in trouble.’
‘If I break it I’ll say you did it,’ Brooke retorted.
‘Hey!’ Chase yelled, seeing enough. He stepped into the living area and looked at his daughters. Both of them had stopped at the sound of his voice. Brooke had an Xbox
One Christmas Kiss in Notting Hill • 29
controller in her right hand, her left hand over Maddie’s, trying to tear away the other. Maddie looked pale-faced, exhausted and ready to cry. The bleeping was from the TV where cars and what looked like Smurfs were bouncing around on the screen in a computer animation.
‘What’s going on here?’ he asked.
Neither of them spoke or moved.
He sighed. ‘I thought we were catching up on some sleep.’
Now Brooke dropped her hand from Maddie’s and settled for folding her arms across her chest and adopting a chinstuck-out obstinate stance.
‘It’s too light outside,’ Maddie replied. ‘And it’s the day.’
‘I know it’s the day and we’re all trying to work out our time zones, but we’re all dog-tired.’
‘I’m not tired,’ Brooke announced.
‘Me neither,’ Maddie said.
So, it was just him who felt like someone had removed all his internal organs on the flight over here and put them all back in in the wrong order.
‘Okay, so what do we do?’ he asked, moving towards the fulllength window that overlooked the street outside. It was busy, the streets buzzing with working-day life, yet there was also a laid-back vibe he never seemed to feel in the thick of Manhattan. God, there were people down there with steaming cups of takeout in their hands. He would just about kill for a caramel latte right now.
‘We could go to McDonald’s,’ Maddie suggested.
‘Are you kidding me?’ Chase asked, looking to her.
‘We’re not gonna come all the way across the pond to eat crap we can eat at home,’ he said. Apart from a one-minute
30 • Mandy Baggot
visit to Starbucks. But that was coffee. Coffee had a whole different set of rules.
‘Daddy!’ Maddie exclaimed. ‘You said the C-R-A-P word.’
Brooke sniggered. It was the closest thing he had seen to a smile since they’d left JFK.
‘Sorry, Maddie.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I just mean, if you wanna go eat, let’s go eat something British.’
‘What sort of thing do they eat?’ Maddie asked.
‘I know they drink a lot of tea,’ Brooke informed. ‘Tyler has a cousin who lives somewhere called Leighton Buzzard.’
‘Sweet tea? Like Mawmaw makes?’ Maddie queried.
‘No, it’s not sweet and you add milk,’ Chase told them.
‘Can we try it?’
‘Sure,’ Chase agreed, as his mind still served him images of froth and Arabica beans. ‘Listen, I’ll go get dressed and we’ll take in the town and drink tea.’
‘Cool,’ Maddie said excitedly.
‘Can we go somewhere with WiFi?’ Brooke asked with a sigh.
‘Sure,’ Chase answered. ‘I’ll be a minute.’
The controllers for the game station were dropped to the chaise and Maddie went scuttling off to her bedroom while Brooke sunk down on to the sofa with another pout. Chase turned back towards his room and once inside, closed the doors behind him. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his entire weight on the oak doorframe and shut his eyes. This wasn’t just fatigue or jetlag he was feeling, this was fear. He needed this job to work more than he had ever needed anything before, but maybe he wasn’t up to it. How did you come out and be the man with a vision and all the business answers when really you were running on empty? And there was no way he could go back to that dark place, not again. The current solution was
One Christmas Kiss in Notting Hill • 31
to try and do what he had been doing since the day Leanna had told him she was leaving him . . . dig deep, dig deeper and pretend. The trouble was he had been doing a lot of pretending for so long . . .
‘This is a golden opportunity,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Don’t mess it up.’ He opened his eyes and blinked at his reflection in the mirror on the wall above the bed. ‘There is no such thing as a bad decision,’ he repeated. ‘A decision is only bad because you let success escape you.’ He breathed out. ‘O-Y-F.’ He focused his inner self. ‘Own your future.’
Seven
Breekers London, Canary Wharf
‘So, picture the scene.’
Isla’s colleague Aaron moved his hands in the air like he was painting the shape of a rainbow and edged closer to her desk.
‘Somehow, I end up at a country music night at this club in Soho. Don’t ask. And . . . Sugar. Honey. Ice Tea. There’s this hotter than hell guy I’ve been eye-flirting with at the bar all night . . . and he’s wearing the tightest pair of jeans – and I mean the tightest pair of jeans – and I think to myself, as I’ve drunk more bottles of Sol than Mexico produces in a month, that I am the luckiest guy right now and then . . .’ He performed a dramatic pause. ‘Guess what happens?’
Aaron still smelt of those bottles of Sol and nothing like the sweet fragrance of the sugar, honey or ice tea words he always said super-fast when he didn’t want to say shit. Isla sat back in her chair to both look at him and inch further away from his breath.
‘I don’t know what happens,’ she replied. ‘But I’m hoping those tight jeans stayed on, at least until you were out of the club and in a hotel room.’
‘He kisses a girl!’ Aaron exclaimed like Mr Tight Jeans had committed mass murder.
‘Oh,’ Isla stated.
‘Oh?’ Aaron said, sliding his bum on to her desk and looking shocked. ‘The guy is gay! He’s gayer than gay. Gayer than Ian McKellen gay . . . and obviously hotter, a bit Matt Bomer if I had to pin him down to something, and . . .’ He sighed. ‘I really thought I was going to get to do that but—’
‘Aaron,’ Isla said. ‘Is there a point to this story or is it something we can pick up another time? Maybe at a bar when I’m not trying to work out why I don’t seem to have arranged enough blinis for the Christmas party or why the caterers aren’t responding to my emails?’ She was completely ignoring this dropping-to-secretary level thing. Ignoring it! She had more important things to manage . . . and blinis were important when it was already December!
Aaron stood up, his dark head nudging one of the glittery, supposedly Christmas, pompoms Ethel the cleaner had made and hung from the ceiling at random points around the office. He took a step back and fastened the button of his jacket. Now he looked a bit miffed and Isla felt instantly guilty for not listening properly. The girl-kissing-alleged-gay-guy scenario was obviously more to Aaron than an anecdote they were going to share for years to come.
‘I get it,’ Aaron said. ‘You’re the “Go-To Girl” now. Superimportant. Uber-busy.’
The Go-To Girl. She was hating that phrase already.
‘It really isn’t my new job description,’ she said quickly. Although theoretically it was, as of this morning, when she had stumbled late, dazed and confused, into what was supposed to be a meeting about the new hospital development. Instead it had turned into a meeting about how she was going to be the contact point for all things Chase Bryan while he was in town. And either no one knew how long he was going to be in London or they were all remaining pretty tight-lipped about
it. She had quickly made a suggestion that one of the admin staff take on the role but Robert had looked at her a little like she had just offered up the services of a monkey who couldn’t even peel a banana. Isla had always found the typists and assistants very competent, but when she had opened her mouth to elaborate on this the conversation had been moved on and she knew she had no immediate choice. She was clinging to the word ‘immediate’. A cooling-off few hours, perhaps a day, and she was almost sure there would be some wiggle room on the role.
‘Well, I’ve heard he’s hot,’ Aaron remarked, his tone a little softer.
‘And gay?’ Isla asked.
‘Sadly not . . . well, if you can believe Denise’s third-hand gaydar. She hasn’t actually seen him yet, says it’s like a clairvoyance. He’s divorced, two children. Wanted to be an astronaut but ended up playing ice hockey, so I’m envisaging tight pants and buttocks like two of Harry Hill’s heads down his trousers.’ Aaron sighed like a thespian in Othello. ‘Then after hockey he relaunched himself as a business coach.’
Ugh! Business coach/life coach. She hated those sorts of people. In her opinion, they seemed to get paid an awful lot of money for boosting people’s egos and doling out plain old common sense. Believe in yourself. Make your own destiny. Anything is possible. Chase also didn’t sound like safe, head of industry, Big Bill at all. Where was his experience in construction or even just industry in the broadest sense? She needed to look up Chase Bryan’s photo on the website. She moved her fingers to the keyboard.
‘I looked him up on the website. No photo yet,’ Aaron stated. ‘One of those terrible grey “coming soon” images they really should get the tech guys on to.’
She would google him later. There must be some photos of him somewhere on the Internet. You didn’t get to be the CEO of a global firm without a history.
‘So, when does he get here?’ Aaron asked.
‘I have no idea.’ Isla was more concerned with the rapidly approaching Christmas party than this babysitting task that looked like it was going to take up all the time in her favourite month. She had hoped this December would be like all the others . . . full of celebration on what they had achieved in the year, back-to-back parties with all the clients she had helped, mince pies, prosecco and a little Michael Bublé on the sound system. Although she was still busy with her clients, December was special. It wasn’t about being anyone’s Go-To Girl. She felt tension creep into her shoulders. She would just have to keep ahead of the game. Take some of the party organisation home with her – maybe Hannah could help with things she didn’t need to know the theme for. Although Isla had never been good at delegating.
‘I don’t envy you,’ Aaron began. ‘That hospital project is enough of a hot potato without Mr U.S. of A. popping over the pond.’ He stretched his arms over his head, getting his watch caught in the string of a suspended pompom and struggling to get it out. ‘And . . . you have the Christmas party . . . no pressure . . . argh, help! Get me out of this thing!’
Aaron flapped his arm around like he was a large bird trying to take flight. Isla stood up, going to his aid and taking hold of the wool. Then she dropped her hands to her side and stamped her feet.
‘It’s no good. I’m so annoyed!’ She sounded like a child but she didn’t care. Only Aaron was listening and she needed to vent.
‘Why do I have to be the one looking after him? I am “top brass”, Denise even said so, and I have enough to do in
December.’ All the lovely, glittery, sparkly things she enjoyed so much. ‘Robert knows that.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t his decision,’ Aaron suggested, looking at her with concern.
‘Well, whose decision would it have been? And why didn’t I know he was coming until he was imminently coming?’
‘I thought that about one of my exes.’
Isla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn’t just about Chase Bryan. This was about Hannah . . . liking Raj. She knew she shouldn’t be worried. She knew she was totally overprotective of her perfectly capable sister but . . .
‘Perhaps,’ Aaron began, ‘he asked for the hottest Go-To Girl in the building.’ He pointed a finger as if he had just come up with an Einstein-worthy theory. ‘Maybe he perused your photo on the website . . . you still have the one that makes you look like Drew Barrymore during her auburn stage, don’t you?’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Isla said. ‘And I don’t have to do it, do I?’ She felt her shoulders relax a little at the thought of absolutely shirking this new responsibility. ‘I can just say I don’t have the time.’ She nodded. ‘I really don’t have the time . . . I’m going to The Matthews Corporation party on Friday and there’s the big meeting with Cleggs coming up . . . and the . . . blini situation.’ She was making the canapé issue sound like it was right up there with world poverty. But the workforce could get a little antsy if they were hangry.
‘Well . . . I would just be a little careful if I were you,’ Aaron said.
Isla caught the note of warning in his tone. What did that mean? ‘Careful?’
‘I’m just saying, you remember Karen Kinsey?’
Karen Kinsey had left last year. Isla remembered only that there had been talk of a relocation to another Breekers office.
‘We all thought she went to Breekers Frankfurt, yes?’
‘She didn’t?’ Isla queried with a swallow.
Aaron sniffed. ‘Nothing wrong with it but . . .’ He looked over his shoulder as if expecting to be hauled into an interrogation room. ‘You’ll find her in the M&S Simply Food at Waterloo.’
‘No!’ Isla exclaimed. Karen Kinsey had been far more experienced than her, had seemed destined to beat Isla to the role of Robert’s right-hand woman. ‘But . . . why would she have been sacked?’
‘Not sacked, darling, they’re far too clever for that. Let’s just call it a parting of ways.’ His eyes shifted sideways. ‘Rumour is . . . she was paid to leave.’
‘But why?’
‘Well, don’t take it as gospel but . . . I heard she passed on a client Robert wanted her to take on. Something to do with ethical reasons . . . maybe they wanted the bricks to be made out of the wrong type of shale . . . anyway, all I know is she made a stand and her stand got her . . .’ He looked over his shoulder again. ‘Relieved of her duties here to take up stacking sushi and wasabi peas for commuters.’
‘You think I should do it,’ Isla guessed. ‘Be this Go-To Girl.’
‘I don’t want to see you with your hands on all things raw day in and day out.’
‘It won’t be for long, will it?’ she asked. ‘A week tops, do you think?’
‘And he might be hot,’ Aaron added.
‘And he’s not a postman with mysterious eyes,’ Isla murmured.
‘What?’ Aaron queried. ‘Now that sounds intriguing. I do love a guy in shorts. They do still wear shorts whatever the weather, don’t they?’
38 • Mandy Baggot
‘Sorry, ignore me . . . just thinking out loud.’
Aaron shook his head. ‘You and Ed Sheeran, eh?’ He sucked in a breath, his torso stretching. ‘Now, there’s a guy I’d like to get to know better. Guitarists,’ he mused. ‘Always know exactly what to do with their fingers.’
Eight
Westbourne Grove, Notting Hill
This was it. Chase had his feet on the ground where change was going to happen. He looked around, taking in the houses, independent shops and parkland, and seeing buildings almost as dilapidated as he felt. If ever there was an area in desperate need of rejuvenation it was this one. He had never been one for history. One man’s prized antiques was another man’s wornout old crap. The plans weren’t final yet. This was one of the three proposed sites, but it was the one he was gunning for, the one that was getting him super-excited. And, when the builders moved in and Breekers’ first super-hotel and entertainment village in the UK was constructed, everyone was going to be talking about it . . . and wanting to stay in it.
He looked across the street at Sugar High, the mochapainted coffee shop he had left Maddie and Brooke in. It was cutesy, with two decorated fir trees in pots outside the door, strings of silver tinsel and gold baubles hung inside from the window frames. The girls had gone crazy over the cakes and were happy to be left with hot chocolates and two large cupcakes decorated in all manner of spun-sugar craziness he never understood the attraction of. They had eaten British pies with mashed potatoes, vegetables and gravy for lunch, washed down with tea – a rather un-fancy plain white coffee for him – and, finally,
Brooke’s ill-humour about being in London seemed to be breaking.
In the pocket of his jeans his phone rumbled. Another message and he could guess right away who it would be from. Leanna. He had had five messages since they had arrived in London. If it’s cold make sure Maddie wears a hat. You can try with Brooke but good luck with it. Followed by: Have you landed? Call me. Then: Why haven’t you called me? Don’t do this, Chase. We promised to be adult and I’m keeping my side of the bargain. And finally: I asked to talk to YOU. An emoji of the British flag from Brooke is not telling me anything!!!
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at the latest message. Colt says if you don’t communicate with me during this trip you will be in breach of the terms of the court arrangement.
Colt. His teeth were gritting together already. Colt was the whole fucking problem. He should have kicked his ass a long time ago. He had just about messed up his life and taken everything from him . . . except this one thing, this new opportunity at Breekers. The chance to put the new improved him to the test. He was going to show his children that a boy with a dream to walk on the moon could still reach it in a different way no matter what struggles there had been in the past. That sacrificing everything you always wanted wasn’t the end of dreaming big, it was just the beginning of a new path. He swallowed. After the way everything had turned out for him with his family? So many Square Ones. Did he believe that mantra? He had to. There was no other way.
