One Summer in Cornwall Karen King (positive books to read TXT) 📖

‘Hello! Hello!’ Buddy shouted as she walked through the door. She looked over, surprised and pleased to see the parrot hopping about on his perch. ‘Well, you’ve cheered up,’ she said with a smile. ‘Hello to you too.’

She guessed it was Marcus’s visit that morning that had cheered up the cheeky bird. It had cheered up her too, she thought, remembering how comfortable it had been to sit around the table with him, eating breakfast.

I hope he’s at the reception.

She made herself a coffee and sandwich, then sat down at the table and checked through the photos on her camera. She was pleased with them, and knew that by the time she’d downloaded them onto her laptop and edited them, they would look even better.

Then she glanced at the clock and saw that it was gone six. She’d better get ready for the reception.

She looked through the clothes in her wardrobe, wondering what to wear. She wasn’t a girly girl who wore clingy dresses or floaty skirts; she wore jeans, trousers and shorts, mainly. Something Adam had often complained about. She didn’t like dressing up, but she did want to make an effort tonight, just in case Marcus was there. So far, he had only seen her in shorts and her biker leathers – not very feminine – and naked, before you grabbed that tablecloth to wrap yourself in, she reminded herself. An incident she’d prefer to forget!

She frowned as she looked through the clothes, then her eyes rested on a burgundy-satin jumpsuit she’d bought for a Christmas party. With its thin straps, v-neck and slinky wide legs, it was sexy but sophisticated. Even Adam had approved. She took it out of the wardrobe and held it up. Matched with her silver clutch bag and silver strappy sandals, it should certainly attract Marcus’s attention.

She was so ridiculously excited about seeing him again, and in a situation where they could both relax and have a drink together. Maybe even a dance. The thought of Marcus’s arms around her waist, of dancing close to him, sent a shiver down her spine. She brushed it away. She wasn’t remotely interested in having a romantic relationship with him. They were neighbours, so it was only natural that she wanted them to get on.

Chapter Eighteen

Marcus scanned the crowded room, his eyes searching for the familiar short, white-blond shaggy bob, his ears listening for the sound of her voice with its endearing lilt. Was she here? He knew that Hattie had been invited to the evening reception, but wondered if she was too tired to attend after her day’s work, or if she felt a bit awkward – after all, she didn’t really know anyone here. He didn’t intend to stay long, it had been a hectic day, with him and Shanise both run off their feet in the kitchen, and he had been tempted to go home and chill in front of the TV with an ice-cold can of beer, but Sue had suggested he bring his clothes with him and use one of the spare hotel rooms to shower and change, so that’s what he’d done. He guessed that Hattie had gone home, though. Would she bother to come back out again?

Just as he thought she had decided not to attend, he heard a familiar laugh and turned his head. She was over in the corner, talking to a suave-looking dark-haired man. He could only see the back of her, but the way that classy jumpsuit clung to her bum made his pulse race. Then, as though she’d sensed him staring at her, she turned around and his pulse galloped when his eyes rested on the way the burgundy silk clung to her breasts and the deep V that led down to them. Hot? She was flaming!

She smiled at him and waved, and he wondered whether to join them but, feeling irrationally jealous that she was getting on so well with another man, he merely waved back and, using all the self-control he could muster, walked over to the bar to get a drink.

‘Good to see you again, Marcus.’

He turned in surprise, not expecting to see anyone he knew there. He recognised the man’s face as someone who had stayed at the hotel last summer and had complimented Marcus on the food, but struggled to remember his name. ‘Hello again. Are you enjoying the wedding?’

‘I certainly am, and as usual, the food was delicious. In fact, my wife –’ he looked over his shoulder as though seeking his wife, then shrugged and turned back – ‘We were wondering if you could do the catering for our silver wedding anniversary. We’d pay the travel expenses and put you up for the weekend, of course. We live in Exeter,’ he added.

This wasn’t the first time Marcus had been approached by one of the hotel guests to provide the food for an event for them, but whilst he enjoyed his job, he didn’t want to spend his spare time cooking as well; he was an artist, not a chef, by heart. ‘Thanks so much, it’s an honour to be asked, but my spare time is pretty well tied up with my painting commissions,’ he said.

The man nodded. ‘I forgot you were an artist too. Shame. You could make a real career out of being a chef, I reckon. Have your own restaurant in no time.’

He didn’t want his own restaurant; he wanted his own art exhibition. Dream on, Marcus. His family certainly thought he was a dreamer, as he was sure did most of his friends, and this man obviously thought that Marcus would be better off spending his time cooking rather than painting, but at least he had a dream. He’d worked hard, built up his reputation over the years, and hopefully the painting he’d just finished for Lady Felicity Thomwell would bring more work his way.

‘It’s kind of you to say so, but that’s not my ambition,’