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

they have much scarier rides now. I used to go on the water ride with my parents; we’ve got a few photos of us all screaming as we got drenched with water.’

‘Happy times.’ He reached for his holdall, pulled out his towel and rubbed his hair dry.

‘I thought so. Turns out Mum and Dad weren’t so happy after all. At least Dad wasn’t.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. It was all a long time ago, and thankfully both her parents were happy now.

‘Still hurts, eh?’

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. ‘No, but I was mad at Dad for a long time. I felt like he’d abandoned us for a new life. We barely spoke for years. Until now, actually. I sometimes think that Uncle Albert left the cottage to both of us so that we’d have to talk to each other. He could have left it just to Dad.’

‘And has it worked?’ Marcus picked up his energy drink and took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘I guess so, although our conversations are very short and always about the cottage. That’s down to me, though,’ she admitted.

‘Still find it hard to forgive him?’

‘I forgive him. I’m an adult now, I can see how relationships can fall apart, but I’m his child, his only daughter. He should have made an effort, even if I was a bolshie teenager.’

‘You, bolshie?’ His grin was teasing.

She grinned back. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What about you? Have you always lived in Cornwall? Do your parents live here?’

‘My dad died when I was a teenager. My mum and sister, Beth, live in Wales,’ he told her. ‘They’ve got a lot of land, they’re into horses.’

‘I’m sorry about your dad. Do you ever visit your mum and sister?’ she asked.

‘I take a drive up there about once a year. It’s a bit of a trek and horses aren’t my thing. We keep in touch through WhatsApp, though.’

‘So the cottage isn’t your family home?’

‘It was my grandparents’. My mum grew up here. After my dad died, she remarried and went to live in Wales. I couldn’t settle though, I felt more at home in Cornwall so I came back down to live with my grandparents. When they died, they left the cottage to my mum, sister and me. I bought them out. I’ve lived here since I was sixteen – eighteen years - and it suits me.’

‘So you were left your cottage too . . .’

He looked at her, knowing where the conversation was going. ‘Yes, and I’m grateful, but it was already my home. I looked after my grandparents until they died, and bought my family out.’

‘Whereas I neglected Uncle Albert and don’t deserve Fisherman’s Rest?’

He placed his hand over hers, hazel eyes sincere. ‘I was being too judgey, I understand your circumstances better now.’

‘But you still don’t want me to sell?’

He rubbed her hand gently, his touch sparking desire within her. ‘I understand why you have to. Although, I’d prefer you not to sell the cottage to someone who will be using it as a holiday let.’

She bit her lip, her gaze drifting over to the sea. She’d prefer not to do that either. Actually, she was beginning to wish that she didn’t have to sell Fisherman’s Rest at all.

‘Look, this is obviously a touchy subject, so why don’t we declare it out of bounds? Come back to mine and I’ll cook us a meal, open a bottle of wine and we can have a chilled-out evening.’

That sounded good. Really good. ‘I’d love to,’ she replied.

‘Let’s head off then, shall we?’ He threw his towel and empty bottle in his holdall and stood up, then extended his arm to her.

She took his hand – his grip was strong but his skin was soft – and got to her feet, her own bag in her hand, and they set off up the hill, still hand in hand, an easy comfortableness between them. I really am looking forward to this evening, she thought. It would give them chance to talk in a relaxed setting. To get to know each other a little better.

As they reached the row of cottages, she saw a tall man with close-shaven brown hair and a small moustache sitting on the front garden wall of Fisherman’s Rest. What a cheek, why doesn’t he find a bench? She thought, annoyed. Then the man waved. She blinked and focused. There was something about him that seemed a bit familiar.

‘Hattie!’ The man waved again.

She felt Marcus stiffen beside her. ‘It looks like you have a visitor?’

‘I have no idea who he—’ Then suddenly it dawned on her, he was taller, older, had filled out a bit but yes it was definitely her stepbrother. ‘Nick!’

‘Didn’t Owen tell you I was coming? I’ve been in England on business and have a few days to spare. When Owen said you had lots to do to the cottage so you could sell it, I offered to come down and help you.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nick switched his gaze to Marcus. ‘I hope it’s okay that I’ve come. Owen said he was going to clear it with you. I know we haven’t seen each other for years, so if you prefer me not to stay with you I can get a B&B.’

Nick stay with her? That would be awkward. He’d been about fifteen last time she’d seen him and he hadn’t exactly been friendly then. But then neither had she, had she? It was a long time ago though, and they were both adults now. He said he’d come to help and she could do with an extra pair of hands. Besides, it was half her father’s cottage and Nick was his step-son so she should let him stay. She wished her father had warned her though. Why hadn’t he?

‘It’s no problem to me.’ She turned to Marcus who had released her hand and was now standing with his hands in his pockets.

‘Marcus,