When teacher Florence Ashton receives a surprise inheritance, she decides to make the life-changing decision to up sticks to the charming town of Willowbury in Somerset. With a new house and a new job, she’s too busy putting down roots to think about love.
Air Ambulance pilot Sam Ellis is definitely not looking for romance either, especially not on his doorstep. When Florence, his new neighbour, complains about his noisy housemate, he feels more cross than star-crossed.
But as the nights draw in and both find themselves thrown together in Willowbury’s seasonal drama production, will they overcome their differences and allow a little bit of winter magic to fall along with the snow? And what secrets will be revealed by the box of memories Florence finds in the attic at Bay Tree Terrace?
Let Fay Keenan transport you to the perfect country winter wonderland, with roaring fires, spectacular scenery, and unforgettable characters. Perfect for all fans of Cathy Bramley, Fern Britton and Katie Fforde.
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Author Bio –
Fay Keenan is the author of the bestselling Little Somerby series of novels. She has led writing workshops with Bristol University and has been a visiting speaker in schools. She is a full-time teacher and lives in Somerset.
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Blog / website URL: http://www.faykeenan.com
As Florence left the solicitor’s office and wandered out onto the busy Willowbury High Street, she glanced at the sky, which seemed thick with heavy, snowy clouds. Snow was unusual in this part of Somerset, but a small, childish part of her couldn’t help hoping for some of the white stuff this close to Christmas. She smiled as she saw the seasonal decorations in some shop windows, and the pagan and alternative colours and shapes of those who celebrated more ancient rituals. Willowbury was a haven for all kinds of spirituality; the centre of the town might have been the ruins of the old priory, destroyed during Henry VIII’s time but acquired by the National Trust to be preserved in perpetuity, but there were plenty of corners of the town where the ancient religions and customs found their home, too.
Sprigs of holly and fragrant cut pine branches graced nearly every shop doorway, with the odd sneakily placed frond of mistletoe tucked away in a few, as well. In the air was the heady scent of cinnamon from the festive versions of hot drinks in the cafe on the High Street, the invitingly named ‘Cosy Coffee Shop’. Florence decided she’d grab a cinnamon latte from there before heading over to Aunt Elsie’s house – there was a real chill in the air and she wasn’t sure how warm the terraced house would be.
Heading towards the cafe, she passed the brightly lit window of ComIncense, the health and well-being shop that specialised in herbal remedies and relaxation products. Even in Yorkshire, Florence, a keen follower of politics, had observed the media’s interest in the owner of the shop, Holly Renton. Holly had gone up against and then, in a plot twist worthy of a prime-time television drama, had married, the member of parliament for Willowbury and Stavenham, Charlie Thorpe, this summer past.
Glancing through the shop window as she walked by, she could see a tall, striking woman with tumbling red hair straightening the displays in the centre of the shop, and smiled back as the lady smiled Florence’s way. Not exactly your typical politician’s wife, Florence thought wryly, noting the ripped jeans and the flowing coloured tunic that Holly was wearing. But then Willowbury wasn’t exactly your typical Somerset town – it had a feel and an atmosphere all of its own, and people flocked from miles around to soak up its alternative atmosphere. And now she was deciding whether to come and live here. For her, it could go from just a nice holiday destination to a permanent place to live.
Florence wasn’t, by nature, a risk-taker, but at the age of twenty-nine she was due for a change. She’d taught at the same school in Yorkshire since she’d left university, and, as the daughter of a serving army officer, she was used to never staying anywhere for too long. The past nine years, happy and settled on the outskirts of the city of York, a place she’d come to love, had been wonderful, but literally being given the keys to a new life in a different, but comfortingly familiar, part of the world seemed like a great opportunity. She had a bit of money saved, and no house to sell as she’d been sharing a flat with another teacher since she’d moved out of the family home; she certainly had enough to live on if she couldn’t immediately find a job in Somerset. She had to give at least a term’s notice if she was going to leave her job, but, depending on the state of Aunt Elsie’s place, it might take that long to make it liveable.
All this she pondered as she stepped up the couple of stone steps and into The Cosy Coffee Shop. There was so much to think about, and she’d not even begun to take in the fact that Aunt Elsie had left her a house. But for the moment, a cinnamon- infused latte, and possibly another mince pie, were the foremost in her mind.
As she walked up to the counter and was greeted with a smile by the barista, a sandy-haired man in his late thirties, she determined that all other decisions would have to wait.
‘What can I get you?’ the barista, whose name was Jack, asked cheerily.
Florence took a deep breath of the coffee-scented air, and gave her order. It felt like the first step of her new life.
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