Rachel Dove - The Chic Boutique On Baker Street

RACHEL DOVEis a wife and mother of two boys, living in Yorkshire. She is the proud winner of the 2015 Flirty Fiction Competition with Prima Magazine and Mills & Boon, with her entry, The Chic Boutique on Baker Street. When she is not writing, she can be found raising her boys or curled up under a blanket with a book.

Emily Bronte, the author of my favourite book, once wrote:

‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’

I married my soulmate, and my best friend.

Love you Peter.

To my boys, Jayden and Nathan – the two masterpieces of my life. Mummy loves you, now go tidy your room.

This book is a magical dream come true for me, and it wouldn’t have happened without help. First of all, can I thank the amazing judges and staff involved with Prima Magazine and the Flirty Fiction competition. I enjoyed every minute, so thank you. Also, huge thanks to Anna Baggaley, my lovely editor who has been with me for every word, turning the jumble in my head to a book I am proud of, and the lovely people at Mills & Boon for being fabulous in general.

The writing and book blogging community on Facebook and Twitter have been amazing too, and without their support, encouragement and general nuttiness, I would be in a corner somewhere dribbling, so thank you all.

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About the Author RACHEL DOVE is a wife and mother of two boys, living in Yorkshire. She is the proud winner of the 2015 Flirty Fiction Competition with Prima Magazine and Mills & Boon, with her entry, The Chic Boutique on Baker Street. When she is not writing, she can be found raising her boys or curled up under a blanket with a book.

Title Page

Dedication Emily Bronte, the author of my favourite book, once wrote: ‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’ I married my soulmate, and my best friend. Love you Peter. To my boys, Jayden and Nathan – the two masterpieces of my life. Mummy loves you, now go tidy your room.

Acknowledgements Acknowledgements Acknowledgements One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Endpages Copyright This book is a magical dream come true for me, and it wouldn’t have happened without help. First of all, can I thank the amazing judges and staff involved with Prima Magazine and the Flirty Fiction competition. I enjoyed every minute, so thank you. Also, huge thanks to Anna Baggaley, my lovely editor who has been with me for every word, turning the jumble in my head to a book I am proud of, and the lovely people at Mills & Boon for being fabulous in general. The writing and book blogging community on Facebook and Twitter have been amazing too, and without their support, encouragement and general nuttiness, I would be in a corner somewhere dribbling, so thank you all.

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Copyright

Amanda stared up at the dark wood beam, pondering whether a strip of pale yellow taffeta ribbon would be robust enough as a makeshift noose.

She shook her head, banishing the futile thoughts, and started to clear off the workspace of her new venture when she heard the shutter from next door’s shop go up. The metallic clang reminded her that next door had left their advertising board out the night before. She picked it up on her way to the shop front. New Lease of Life had only been open for a week or so, and her next-door neighbour, ‘Shampooched’, had not been the ideal business colleague. The twenty-something pink-haired rock enthusiast who worked there was not the friendliest person Amanda had ever encountered, but Amanda didn’t want to make waves, being new to town and living above the shop and all. She took a deep breath and walked backwards into the shop, clasping the heavy A-board, a blackboard detailing their opening times.

‘Hey, Tracy, you seem to have left this out … er again … so …’

Amanda was blocked from walking any further by a wall. Squeaking in surprise, she promptly dropped the A-board onto her own feet, this morning clad in soft green ballet pumps, of all things.

‘Owww, son of a b—’

She was tumbling towards the concrete tiled floor, and a bruised bum to boot, when the wall moved and caught her in its grasp. Her words caught in her throat as she gazed up into a pair of steely grey eyes. She found herself smiling despite her embarrassment.

‘I am so sorry, are you OK?’

The man was staring at her with a mixture of concern and amusement. Amanda’s eyes flitted from his chiselled jaw to his full bow lips, and travelled down to his tanned, muscular neck, and his chest, which was encased in a simple black T-shirt. She loved watching the lips move. The movements stopped and Amanda frowned, disappointed. It was then she realised that the lips were attached to an actual person, a person who was waiting for an answer to whatever question these lips had formed.

What is wrong with you?

A voice, soft and cracking with what Amanda thought might be suppressed laughter, broke through the awkward silence.

‘I said, did you hit your head?’ he asked.

Amanda shook her head. ‘Er … no, no, just banged it a little. Sorry!’

Looking down at her right shoe, she saw crimson staining the mint green canvas of her pump. He followed her gaze, frowning.

‘I’m Ben. Just stay sat there a sec, I’ll get a chair and the first aid kit.’

Amanda nodded mutely, feeling a little cheated that the moment had passed, and more than a little embarrassed of her own behaviour. Seriously, woman, you used to command the attention of courtrooms, a bloke in a shop trips you up, and you lose it!

Ben returned, bringing with him a black fold-up chair and large green first aid kit. Amanda kept her eyes on the floor, but could just make out his long lithe legs in his smart black jeans and brown Docker boots. He settled her onto the chair, offering himself as a prop to support her as she got up off the floor. Her cheeks flushed as she felt his arm muscles flex under his T-shirt, and her nostrils twitched with the scent of his heavenly cologne. She literally had to stop herself from burying her head into his neck there and then.

‘So,’ Ben started, as he kneeled before her, opening his kit. ‘You just opened next door, right?’

Amanda nodded, grateful for the small talk.

‘Er yes, that’s right, Amanda Perry. Do you work with Tracy?’

The mention of Tracy reminded Amanda that the goth girl was nowhere to be seen, and Amanda was acutely grateful for her absence. She figured this man couldn’t be a customer, as he had no dog in tow, and he seemed to know his way around.

Please don’t be her boyfriend, she thought to herself. Wait, what? You don’t care anyway, Amanda, new life, remember? Celibate new life. Men are out of bounds.

Ben was concentrating intently on Amanda’s injury, seemingly unaware of her question. Yep, definitely her boyfriend then. Before she knew it, the wound had been cleaned and bandaged up. Amanda was suddenly glad her last pedicure had not been too long ago, and thanked her lucky stars that she had bothered to shave her legs last night. Had this occurred a day earlier, Ben would have been patching up a limb resembling that of a Himalayan yeti.