That Special Something: A heartwarming, small town romance to fall in love with

Eight

Hope had slept fitfully, but it wasn’t due to nightmares. It was dreams of Tom Hardy that had kept her tossing and turning for several hours, and she woke up covered in sweat.

Whatever she and Tom had been doing in her dreams must have been … extremely energetic.

Despite being alone in her bedroom, she flushed as memories of some of it raced to the forefront of her mind and she tilted her head from side to side as if replaying scenes from the night. Was that position even possible? She grinned broadly and her heart thumped in her chest at the prospect of potentially finding out.

‘Hope!’ Pat yelled up the stairs. ‘Are you ever getting up this morning? Grace has been trying to call you. Griff has found a white horse.’

Hope sat bolt upright. ‘Damn it.’ She had forgotten to put her phone on charge last night. But it was great news about the horse. She would phone Tom and … no. She would wait. She still had the fairy grotto to sort out. And a venue to put it in. Plus she had told Tom several times how busy they were. If she called him every five minutes, he’d either think she was a liar, or that he was special.

‘Did you hear me, Hope?’

Hope threw off her duvet and jumped out of bed. ‘The whole of Betancourt Bay heard you, Mum. I’ll be down in ten minutes.’

She showered, dressed and was in the kitchen in nine, and she plonked herself down on a vacant chair and let out a sigh.

‘Remind me my phone is on charge in the hall. Please don’t let me leave without it.’

Pat raised an eyebrow as she poured Hope a cup of coffee. ‘Didn’t you say we should have our phones with us at all times, no matter what?’

Hope met Pat’s eye and without a word, leapt up and raced along the hall, retuning with her phone a moment later. She placed it on one of the many charging pads scattered throughout the house, this one being on the kitchen worktop next to the bread bin. She stood on guard beside it, leaning against the counter, a few feet away from her dad.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said, taking the cup of coffee Pat had poured for her. ‘And not just for the coffee.’ She grinned and took a long drink before adding, ‘So where’s this horse then?’

‘It’s under the apple tree in the garden,’ said Granny Joy who was seated in her usual chair alongside Lady E, who was sleeping in her basket by the Aga.

‘With the unicorn?’ Hope joked.

Granny Joy tutted loudly and frowned at her. ‘Don’t be silly, Hope. Unicorns don’t exist. You’re such a dreamer.’

‘It’s at a stable yard fifteen miles from here owned by a friend of Griff’s,’ said Pat. ‘Grace has forwarded a photo and it’s so beautiful you could almost believe it was a unicorn.’ She picked up her own phone and scrolled. ‘It’s an Andalusian mare and its name is Brilliant Day. Isn’t that simply perfect? Look.’

Hope took the phone and was mesmerised by the photo. This horse could have stepped out from the screen of a mythical movie. Her mane was long and glossy and fell across her forehead like a veil. Her tail was full, long, and lustrous and her coat shimmered in the sunlight as she stood with her head erect and her eyes bright.

She was nothing short of magnificent. And would no doubt cost a fortune to hire. But Tom had said that cost wasn’t an issue. Within reason.

‘She’s perfect,’ said Hope with a slight catch in her voice.

She almost envied Della being able to ride Brilliant Day. Assuming they could agree a price, sort out the insurance, transport the horse to wherever the proposal was going to take place, keep her safe throughout, and then transport her back to the stable yard unscathed and untroubled.

‘Now all we need is the fairy grotto, and that’s another one in the bag,’ said Simon, who was currently making toast.

‘In the bag?’ Pat laughed. ‘Ever the romantic, darling.’

He grinned and blew his wife a kiss.

Pat moved closer and gave him a playful shove with her hip.

He pulled her into his arms and twirled her around.

‘Get a room,’ said Hope.

But she couldn’t help smiling as they kissed each other briefly on the lips, and waltzed around the kitchen only stopping when the toaster pinged to announce the toast was done.

‘Someone’s at the door,’ Granny Joy declared. ‘And we all know it won’t be Bert.’

Bert was their postman and as he never appeared until at least eleven a.m. Granny Joy was right about that.

‘I’ll go,’ said Hope, hesitating to glance at her phone, and then the hall, and then her phone again. ‘Don’t let that out of your sight, Mum.’ She pointed to the phone before dashing to the front door.

It was a gloriously sunny morning and for a second, she was blinded by the rays as she opened the door, before being hit by the chilly air with added bite from a gusting wind.

‘Good morning, Hope.’

‘Laurence! Please don’t tell me you’ve thought of another way to murder me. You have got to stop doing this.’

‘Oh. Erm. No. I was on my way to The Royal Oak for a pint. Coffee not beer. And a hearty Full English breakfast. Writer”s block is grim. I need to eat, drink, and people watch to get some inspiration.’ He shook his head mournfully and let out a dramatic sigh. ‘Anyway, as I was passing your house I just thought I’d check that everything’s sorted for the book launch on Thursday.’

Hope frowned at him. ‘You know it is. I confirmed it all the other day. It’s hardly a major event and … Oh. I didn’t mean it wasn’t important. Or major in the publishing world. I meant in terms of what we needed to do to fulfil our brief. You’re the most important part, so as long as you’re there, it’ll be brilliant.’

‘Hmm. Nice try. Don’t worry. I know what you mean. Other than me, my books, my agent, a room full of chairs, and some tables for canapes and drinks, plus a couple of banners, there wasn’t that much to do.’ He grinned. ‘I hope your invoice reflects that.’

‘It will. But you forgot the window display, the A board outside, and the dramatic staging of the murderer’s cloak and the murder weapon in front of the beautifully painted backdrop. If I could’ve got the small lake you wanted, and a doll that didn’t make it look tacky, I would’ve done so. Do you want to come in?’ She silently prayed that he would say no.

Her prayer was answered. ‘Thanks, but I’m starving. I was up most of the night writing and then the last two hours – nothing. Not one word. And about that lake. I fully accept you were right. A child’s plastic paddling pool filled with water and a doll drowning would’ve just been wrong. Getting Hanna Shaw to paint that backdrop of the lake, the stately home, and the Lady in the Lake’s arm reaching out in vain as she sinks beneath the water was a master stroke of genius.’

‘Thank you. I’m delighted I’ve made you happy.’

‘You always make me happy, Hope. Erm. Would you like to join me for breakfast? My treat.’

‘That’s kind. But sadly I can’t. We’re so busy and I’ve got a jam-packed day ahead of me.’

‘Rain check?’

‘Absolutely. I hope the words come tumbling out after breakfast.’

‘I hope so too. I’ve got a deadline looming. No pun intended.’

‘Because you write cosy crime, you mean? Oh yes.’

‘Hope? May I ask you something?’

A slight shiver ran up her spine. But that might’ve been from the chilly wind, not a premonition.

‘Y-es.’ She eyed him warily nonetheless.

‘Would you read my manuscript when it’s completed? I want you to be the first, as you’re the heroine in my book.’

‘Blimey, Laurence. But I thought you bump me off?’

He shook his head. ‘So did I. But it seems I can’t. I realised that last night. I want you to live, Hope. And I want you to be in my next book too. The one after this. In fact, I think I want to make you into a series.’

‘Wow! I don’t know what to say. The thing is, I don’t get much time to read books.’ His face fell so she quickly added, ‘But if it’s important to you then I’ll certainly do my very best to find the time. It won’t be finished for a while, will it?’

He brightened suddenly. ‘Do you know what? I think it might. I’ve just had a flash of inspiration. I must dash off and get it on down before I lose my train of thought. You’re my inspiration, Hope. My muse. Have a wonderful day.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, as Laurence rushed next door to the pub, his laptop in one hand as he waved to her with the other.