Maxine Morrey - Coming Home to Wishington Bay

MAXINE MORREYhas 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.

Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi

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Website www.scribblermaxi.co.uk

Email scribblermaxi@outlook.com

‘I’ve fallen head over heelsfor Maxine’s writing style’

‘I’m a big fan of Maxine’s writingand I love how she is able to write lighthearted romantic comediesthat have serious issuesat their centre’

‘I loveMaxine Morrey’s books’

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

‘I’m a big fan of Morrey’s books’

‘Maxine has this way of captivating her readerswith charismatic and memorablecharacters’

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

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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

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.