Christmas
has arrived on the Cornish Isles of Scilly, bringing mistletoe, surprises and
more than a sprinkle of romance . . . Fans of Poldark and Carole
Matthews will love this brand-new festive read from the author of the
bestselling Cornish Café series.
For Maisie Samson,
this Christmas is going to be different. After years working in a busy Cornish
pub, she’s moved back to quiet Gull Island where she grew up, to help her
parents run the family inn.
But even though she can’t wait for the festive season to arrive, Maisie cannot
shake the memories of what happened to her last Christmas – the day she lost
everything. She keeps herself busy, setting up the tree and hanging mistletoe
ready for her first proper family Christmas in years.
Until a new arrival to the island walks into her bar and changes everything.
Australian backpacker Patrick is looking for a job for the low season. When
Maisie takes him on, she doesn’t expect him to last the week, but to her
surprise Patrick is the perfect fit. Charming and handsome, could Maisie allow
herself to hope that she and Patrick could be more than just colleagues?
As Christmas approaches, Maisie finds herself dreading the spring, when Patrick
is due to leave. With the help of a little Christmas magic, can Maisie get the
happily ever after she always dreamed of?
Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles is the perfect book to snuggle up with
this Christmas.
Extract Fourteen from
Chapter Eight, pp 52-53
‘The thing is, I met
Greg while I was at low point. One of the regulars at the Fingle was
a volunteer at one of the youth centres where I’d rocked up –
forced to by my probation officer. He saw something in me, God knows
what, and he told Greg about me. Greg and Judy took me on as a pot
washer in the bar. They gave me a chance.’ He smiled. ‘Many, many
chances until I finally realised how bloody lucky I was and got my
act together and decided to live a pure and sin-free life
henceforth.’
‘Pure and sin-free?
That sounds boring,’ Maisie joked.
Patrick laughed. ‘Not
as boring as staring at four walls for twenty hours a day, or waking
up in a pool of your own vomit.’
She winced, then it
clicked. ‘Ah. The Coke. You’re teetotal, aren’t you?’
‘I am. Does that put
you off taking me on as bar staff?’
‘On the contrary, I
consider it an asset.’
Maisie blew out a
breath, trying to take in the story she’d heard. Patrick was so
blasé about his terrible childhood and youth. Breezing through a
tragic tale as if he were talking about an exciting rugby match.
Maisie was certain that there was a lot more to discover about
Patrick McKinnon, but how much did she want to know? His smiling eyes
hid so much, she thought. As did her gobby, sassy façade.
‘Interesting way of trying to impress your new boss,’ she said.
‘“Shitty weather and whingeing moaners”, eh?’
Patrick gave a wry
smile. ‘With some exceptions, of course. Gull Island’s not too
shabby, when the sun’s out . . .
’
He left the sentence
hanging, tantalisingly. Left her waiting for the line about the
Driftwood and its owner: her.
But nothing.
‘You made a reference
to “my new boss”,’ he added instead of a compliment to Maisie.
She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved he hadn’t
tried to flatter her. She really had no idea how she felt about
taking on Patrick McKinnon. ‘So, does that mean you’re not put
off by my history?’
‘Well, there’s been
nothing I need to know about since your spell in prison, has there?’
‘So I’m hired?’
She had a feeling she
might be making the biggest mistake of her life . . . Maisie smiled
and held out her hand. Patrick grasped it firmly but without trying
to prove some point by mashing her bones. ‘Subject to your
references checking out, yes. Congratulations and welcome to the
Driftwood. Now, let me show you the staff accommodation.’