The last three months had been challenging in some ways, but they had also been wonderful. Unbelievably wonderful, full of discovery and fun and love—lots of love. Every day felt like an adventure, and after living life on the sidelines, voluntarily cast in a supporting role in everyone else’s lives, Olivia was glad to feel like the star of her own story. She’d gone after love and she’d found it…with Simon.
Now crocuses and daffodils dotted the wolds, and Olivia was starting on a spring promotion of Easter-themed cupcakes, complete with baby chick toppers, as well as several orders for wedding cakes. Business at Tea on the Lea wasn’t exactly booming, but it was doing well enough, and that was fine. She had more important things to think about, anyway.
In the last few months Olivia had joined the village’s bridge society, and had also started a baking club for kids Mallory’s age. So far she had eight girls coming in on a Wednesday afternoon. After living in Wychwood-on-Lea for over two years, Olivia was finally starting to feel a part of things…and so was Simon.
“Your bid, love,” he said with a smile and, with her heart full, Olivia spared one last glance for the new neighbour before rejoining them at the table.
“You’ll have to have her over for drinks,” she said as she picked up her cards.
“You mean we will,” Simon corrected. “I couldn’t do it without you.”
“And I couldn’t either,” Olivia agreed softly.
They shared a lingering, knowing look before Tina interjected briskly, “Now I bid four hearts. Let’s get in the game, everyone!”
The End
If you enjoyed this return to Willoughby Close,
look for three more stories about the new residents of Willoughby Close in 2019!
The Willoughby Close series
Discover the lives and loves of the residents of Willoughby Close
The four occupants of Willoughby Close are utterly different and about to become best friends, each in search of her own happy ending as they navigate the treacherous waters of modern womanhood in the quirky yet beautiful village of Shipstow, nestled in the English Cotswolds…
Book 1: A Cotswold Christmas
Buy now!
Book 2: Meet Me at Willoughby Close
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Book 3: Find me at Willoughby Close
Buy now!
Book 4: Kiss Me at Willoughby Close
Buy now!
Book 5: Marry Me at Willoughby Close
Buy now!
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt
A Cotswold Christmas
Kate Hewitt
Book 1 of the Willoughby Close series
Keep reading below or Buy now!
“I’m so sorry. I did send you an email…” Frances Heath’s forehead crinkled with concern as she trailed off apologetically.
Anna Vere tried for a valiant smile, the determinedly lifted chin. She felt like stamping her foot and shrieking. Or worse, bursting into tears. “It’s… fine.”
But was it fine? The bed & breakfast where she’d booked her Christmas holiday, in this picturesque chocolate-box-worthy village in the English Cotswolds, was flooded. Or rather, her bedroom on the ground floor was flooded. The carpet had squelched under their feet as Frances had shown her the dire state of the room, the smell of encroaching mildew in the air, pointing out the damp on the walls and the water pooling in the corners as if she was afraid Anna might think she was lying.
“I tried to find alternative accommodation for you,” Frances continued, her arthritic hands pleating together anxiously, “but it’s December twenty-second. Absolutely everything is booked, you know. People love coming to the Cotswolds for the holidays.”
“Of course,” Anna murmured.
She stood there staring, barely able to take in the disastrous turn her holiday had taken. She’d flown in from New York that morning, she hadn’t slept in eighteen hours, and now she no place to stay. Christmas was officially ruined, but it had pretty much been ruined already. A Travel Lodge on the M6 wasn’t really going to change all that much.
“Cup of tea?” Frances asked with hopeful brightness, and Anna murmured a thank-you. Why not? A cup of tea was a Brit’s answer to almost everything. Too bad it wasn’t big enough to sleep in.
She followed Frances back to the front room of the tumbledown cottage of golden Cotswold stone that she’d found on the Internet. It had looked perfect, chintzy and comfortable without being romantic. She definitely didn’t need romantic. Now a Christmas tree perched precariously in one corner and a manger scene took pride of place on the deep windowsill, its bowed glass overlooking the village green, dusk settling over it peacefully.
Frances led her to the kitchen in the back of the house, where a kettle was already hissing cheerfully on top of a bright red, Aga cooking range, along with a rack of freshly baked shortbread decorated with red and green sprinkles. A gray cat sat on the windowsill, its tail swishing back and forth, looking regal and suspicious as only cats could.
The simple comfort of the scene made jet lag sweep over Anna, causing her shoulders to slump and stupid tears to sting her eyes. Where on earth was she going to sleep tonight, never mind the rest of the two-week vacation she’d booked? She didn’t feel strong or stable enough to face this problem.
“So I wasn’t able to find similar bed and breakfast accommodation,” Frances said as she bustled about making tea, speaking in a brisk way as if this wasn’t the enormous problem it felt to Anna. “But then I had a sudden idea. My cousin is just finishing renovating some lovely cottages in the next village, Wychwood-on-Lea. Willoughby Close, they’re called. He renovated the stables of the big manor house there and they’re going to be let in the new year, but they’re empty now. So I thought, why not have you stay there?”
She handed Anna a cup of tea that she accepted with thanks, grateful for the
