Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop: Celebrate Christmas in Cornwall with this magical romance!. Jane Linfoot. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Jane Linfoot
Издательство: HarperCollins
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Современные любовные романы
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780008260651
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target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#litres_trial_promo">Chapter 11

      

       Chapter 12

      

       Chapter 13

      

       Chapter 14

      

       Chapter 15

      

       Chapter 16

      

       Chapter 17

      

       Chapter 18

      

       Chapter 19

      

       Chapter 20

      

       Chapter 21

      

       Chapter 22

      

       Chapter 23

      

       Chapter 24

      

       Chapter 25

      

       Chapter 26

      

       Chapter 27

      

       Chapter 28

      

       Chapter 29

      

       Chapter 30

      

       Chapter 31

      

       Chapter 32

      

       Chapter 33

      

       Chapter 34

      

       Chapter 35

      

       Chapter 36

      

       Chapter 37

      

       Chapter 38

      

       Chapter 39

      

       Chapter 40

      

       Chapter 41

      

       Chapter 42

       Keep Reading …

      

       Some Delicious Recipes from Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop …

      

       Favourite Cocktails from Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop

      

       Acknowledgements

      

       Also by Jane Linfoot

      

       About the Author

      

       About HarperImpulse

      

       About the Publisher

       Chapter 1

      Saturday, 2nd December

      At St Aidan station: Sparkle all the way

      ‘Could you possibly take me to Brides by the Sea?’

      The whiskers I’m staring up at are curly, white and, at a guess, a hundred per cent acrylic. And let’s be clear about this – hitching a ride on Santa’s horse and carriage definitely isn’t my first choice to get across town to the wedding shop, where I’m going to be staying for the next month.

      When I got on the train this morning at St Pancras there was a seventy-five-foot tree in the departure hall, enough spangley lights to illuminate the northern hemisphere and choirs clustered around pianos singing carols. Christmas in London was rolled out in November. I can’t tell you how blissful it was to leave it all behind and arrive in St Aidan to the sound of seagulls, and one wonky tree by the station exit that hadn’t got its decorations on yet. And I know my mum and dad have let our family house in nearby Rose Hill village and gone off to Spain on a wild winter sun-seeking adventure in a motor caravan. But when I smell the salty air and catch a glimpse of the jumble of white painted cottages and grey stone houses winding up the hill into the town here, even though my parents are away it still feels as if I’m coming home.

      The bad news is, by the time I’ve jostled my way through the mass of travellers in their North Face jackets, and dragged my rucksack and a suitcase the size of a garden shed onto the pavement outside the station, the last of the line of waiting taxis is a disappearing dot on the horizon. So when a pony and trap driven by Santa Claus himself jingles to a halt in front