Jules Wake - From Rome with Love - Escape the winter blues with the perfect feel-good romance!

Lisa bit back a smile at the irony of the words. Nan filled her days crocheting squares for blankets for Africa, tending her dahlias, doing the Daily Mirror crossword with almost religious fervour, and gossiping and drinking endless cups of tea with her best friend next door, Laura. A trip to Morrisons inevitably took twice as long as it should because she, oblivious to other shoppers trying to reach around her to pick things off the shelves, insisted on checking every price, tapping away on her calculator, to ensure that she was getting her money’s worth.

‘You can have any of those tablecloths if you want them, otherwise they can go down to the charity shop. You can drop them off for me. And there’s a box of biscuits I found you can have. Left over from one of Sir Robert’s Christmas hampers. God knows why he keeps turning up.’

Lisa suspected that with a house-bound wife, fading rapidly in recent months, he was probably rather lonely. He was always quick to accept a cup of tea on his annual visit.

Nan waved the pack of shortbread biscuits at her. ‘I can’t tell him I give half the stuff away. Too fancy by half.’

Nan didn’t do fancy when it came to food. Meat and two veg had been her and Lisa’s staple diet for ever.

‘Your mother’s been gone these past twenty years. Sir Robert’s been carrying paternalism too far, in my mind.’

Lisa had always thought the hampers were rather generous, although she was equally relieved that Nan didn’t expect either of them to eat some of the weird and wonderful contents.

‘Thanks. Are they in date?’ Lisa peered at the tiny ‘best before’ information. ‘Those chocolates you gave me last time were two years past their date.’

‘Nonsense. That doesn’t mean anything.’

Lisa gave an inward shudder. She regularly sorted through Nan’s fridge on the quiet. Eating here was a bit like playing ‘past-the-sell-by-date Russian roulette’.

She waited as Nan pulled on her outsized mohair coat, which made her look like a baby woolly mammoth and was probably from about the same period in history.

‘Don’t forget to put them boxes in your car.’

By the time they left, heading towards the superstore on the edge of town, Lisa’s car looked like a jumble sale on wheels and the envelope in her bag weighed heavily on her mind.

It had been a simple plan. Clean and effective. In and out. Finish work, drive to the pub, pick Siena up after her shift, not even have to go into the pub, then drive her home, girls’ night in, a few glasses of Prosecco and crash in the spare room.

Lisa kicked the flabby tyre of her loyal but flagging-a-bit-these-days Mini.

‘Ouch.’ Not so flabby after all.

Not wanting to abandon her car on one of the country lanes, it had limped the last quarter of the mile here. Now safe in the pub car park, she didn’t feel quite so helpless.

‘Need a hand?’ asked a languid voice from behind her.

Lisa closed her eyes and curled her fingers tight into her palms, registering the bite of her fingernails. He wasn’t supposed to be here at this time. On Tuesdays, he didn’t manage the pub until 7.30. She’d planned it so that she wouldn’t have to see him.

Quite how she resisted the overwhelming urge to gnash her teeth or growl out loud, she didn’t know. Ninety-nine point nine, nine per cent of her would have loved to tell him to get stuffed, but unfortunately there was a stupid niggly, and practical, nought point one per cent that admitted she probably did need help. While she was prepared to have a go at most things, and had got as far as taking out the flimsy-looking jack, which didn’t look as if it were capable of lifting a shoe box let alone a car, those slimy black bolts on the wheel looked completely beyond her.

She gave Will’s tall, slim frame a quick glance. Big mistake. It reminded her that his slender build belied a sinewy muscled strength and, under his clothes, the tautest, toned stomach she’d ever seen. The man had abs. Words died in her throat and she stood there, looking like a complete idiot.

‘Is that a, “Yes, gosh, Will, thanks that would be super”, I hear? Or a “Sod off, I’ve got this?”’ His fake falsetto reminded her exactly why she invested so much effort in avoiding him and his supersized ego and vastly inflated superiority complex.

He’d already approached the rear of her Mini. ‘Christ, how old is this thing? You still have a spare?’

With a determined grimace, she ignored him and dropped down by the wheel to manoeuvre the jack underneath the car, inserting the winding handle, as if she had the first clue what she was doing, saying with outward cheer, ‘No problem, I’ve got this. I can always call the AA if it’s too much trouble.’

As he hoisted the spare out, he muttered something under his breath which sounded distinctly like ‘you’re always too much trouble’.

Without saying anything else, he nudged her out of the way.

‘Thanks,’ she muttered as he set to work, kneeling on the tarmac, its surface wet from a recent shower, his head down as he started cranking up the car. It had been one of those days where the weather couldn’t make up its mind.

‘You here to see Siena?’

‘Yes,’ she answered shortly, glaring down at the stubby blonde ponytail brushing the back of his neck. Grown men shouldn’t have surfer-boy hair and it shouldn’t be sexy. He wasn’t sexy. Or even likeable. But a memory surfaced of that long hair brushing her skin when loose, bringing with it a quick flutter of awareness. The long hair helped create a casual look, when Will was anything but casual, except for his dealings with women.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot and pushed her hands into her pockets. The flutter turned into full-scale butterflies and she froze, praying that none of this was obvious. The butterflies could just sodding well back off and behave. She. Did. Not. Have. Feelings for Will.

With studied nonchalance, she looked around at the rolling green hills surrounding the village nestled in the valley, its line of houses following the ribbon of a stream that flowed down to the River Ouzel. She sighed, the sight soothing her. The pub, despite its ownership, was one of her favourite places. Perched on the edge of the wide green, the sturdy brick-and-timber construction had been in situ for several hundred years, standing guard over the inhabitants with imposing presence.

‘You can go in, if you like.’ Will had raised the car up. ‘Siena’s nearly finished her shift.’

Despite being here to see Siena, it didn’t seem right to abandon Will in the damp car park when he was doing her a favour, even though he was the last person on the planet that she wanted to spend any time with.

‘Do you need any help?’ she asked, with a barely concealed sigh. It was difficult to overcome a lifetime’s training of good manners.

He gave her an amused look.

Then again …

She turned her back on him and surveyed the quiet car park. In less than an hour, the pub would be buzzing. Whatever other faults he had, and there were a gazillion, Will certainly knew how to run a successful business. People came from miles around to eat here.

‘I hear you’re opening a new restaurant. That’ll be nice.’

With one raised eyebrow, he managed to make her regret opening her mouth.

‘I’m just making small talk. It feels a bit bad to abandon you when you’re being all chivalrous and fixing my car for me.’ She shivered, conscious of a light bite to the air. Summer was taking its time to arrive this year.

‘I’ve been waiting for the right location.’

‘Location, location, location,’ she said, not that she had any idea about suitable locations. The street where her tiny terraced house was located in the nearby town wasn’t about to make it onto any television programmes in the des res stakes.