Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
‘Would you?’
‘Of course. I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with Archie.’ I collect my keys from the counter. ‘Where do you live?’ We walk out of the shop together, and I lock the door behind me.
‘If you head past the school, past the church and Mrs Hatt’s, and over the bridge, you’ll see a little cottage set back from the road. That’s mine.’ Molly surprises me with an impulsive hug. ‘Thank you so much, Hannah. We’ll have to have a drink together. My treat.’
‘That’d be lovely.’ I can’t remember a time when I went for drinks with girlfriends. I haven’t had any friends for years.
Molly breaks away and heads for her car, waving as she goes. Feeling happy and useful, I head for the shop to stock up on flour and salt, and spend the next hour mixing paint until I have a stack of tubs in various colours to cover all planets. I also have various-coloured smears of homemade paint all over my face. I look in the mirror and smile. Then I stack the containers carefully in a box, set it in the basket of my bicycle, and get on my way, leaving my cheeks sporting every colour of the rainbow. Because having to be perfect isn’t a problem anymore.
Chapter 3
RYAN
With my elbow resting out of the window, I turn the wheel with one hand as I weave through the familiar windy roads of the Peak District. The sun is low, the glare brutal, but it’s fucking glorious. I inhale the smell of nature and the great outdoors.
Home.
I reach forward and turn on the radio, and All Saints’ ‘Pure Shores’ joins me. I smile and relax back, tapping the steering wheel as I negotiate the snaking roads through the fields. Now, this is me. Nature. Clean air. Simple living. It’s good to be back.
As I breach the threshold of town, I take my foot off the accelerator and slow to a crawl, surprised to see something unfamiliar. ‘Bright Art?’ My truck slows to a stop as I take in the new shop where a florist used to be. I laugh sardonically. ‘Good luck with that around here.’
I put my foot down and carry on up the street, and as I drive over the bridge across the river, I spot Mrs Hatt trimming her hedges. I honk my horn, and she swings around with her garden shears, her face a picture of pleasure. ‘Ryan!’ she sings.
‘Hey, Mrs Hatt,’ I call as I slow to a crawl again. ‘Anything new to tell me?’
She chuckles, dipping and shooing away one of her cats. ‘Oh, you know Hampton. Nothing changes.’
Yeah, nothing changes. Which means Darcy Hampton is still the mega bitch from hell. Can’t wait to bump into her.
I honk my horn in goodbye and take the next right onto the dirt road that leads to my sanctuary, and I once again find myself breathing in the fresh country air, my eyes closing briefly in bliss as I let my contentment breeze out on a long exhale. ‘Fucking perfect.’
I open my eyes.
And jump out of my fucking skin.
‘Shit!’ I swerve to the left, feeling something catch the side of my truck. ‘What the fuck?’ I fight to gain control, yanking the steering wheel to the right as I hurtle toward a gigantic tree trunk. ‘Oh, you fucker.’
Bang.
The impact jolts me in my seat, the hood of my truck flying up, the air bag inflating with a boom. It takes a few seconds for me to grasp my bearings, my hands tussling with the balloon in my face. ‘Shit.’ What the hell was that?
Jumping out, I ignore the steam billowing from the engine and race around the back, scanning the area. Nothing. Was it a rabbit? No, too big. ‘A deer?’ I say out loud, just as the air is pierced with a high-pitched curse.
‘Fucking hell!’
I swing around and see the bushes across the road rustling, and then a woman staggers out. ‘You fucking wanker!’ she yells, falling to her arse and rubbing at her knee. ‘You should watch where you’re damn well going.’
Whoa! ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, a little warily, gingerly stepping closer.
She looks up at me, her hand pausing in its rubbing of her knee. Her face deadpans for a second as she takes me in from top to bottom, before her scowl returns. ‘No.’ She pulls the leg of her dungarees up and hisses at what she finds. A huge, bleeding scrape. ‘Ouch.’
I blink, a little taken aback, but now for other reasons. With her rainbow-streaked face, she’s just about the most adorable thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. From her dungarees to the cute scarf that she’s got knotted on her head, she’s stunningly pretty, even with twigs and leaves stuck all over her. Where did she come from?