A Seaside Escape Read online

  A SEASIDE ESCAPE

  Lisa Hobman

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About A Seaside Escape

  All work and no love can make for a dull life. But cupid's arrow has a habit of striking when you least expect it…

  Mallory Westerman is the successful proprietor of Le Petit Cadeau, a gift shop extraordinaire in thriving Leeds.

  Concentrating solely on her business, she has almost given up on finding someone to love. That is until she literally falls into the arms of a handsome, intriguing stranger who becomes her Knight in shining armour.

  The whirlwind romance that ensues changes her life-path irrevocably. However, the road to true love is never smooth and things don't always turn out how you expect…

  *Shortlisted for the RNA Contemporary Romantic Novel of the Year 2014*

  This book was previously published as A Bridge Over The Atlantic.

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About A Seaside Escape

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Lisa Hobman

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  For Rich.

  My love, my best friend and my handsome, bearded muse.

  Chapter One

  January 2015

  ‘You can NOT be serious?’ Mallory Westerman recoiled. She didn’t make a habit of quoting 1980s sports stars, so imagine her surprise as she heard John McEnroe’s words fall from her own lips.

  Thankfully, her fiancé – whilst obviously bemused at her reaction – didn’t appear to notice the similarities between her and the wiry-haired tennis supremo. He was far too busy stroking the printout on the table in front of him, as if ironing out the creases would make his proposal more viable.

  ‘But… honey, imagine the life we could have there right now,’ he pleaded. ‘The open spaces, the fresh air—’

  ‘The midge bites, the lack of internet connection, no other civilisation for miles,’ she rudely interrupted, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt when Sam’s eyes took on the appearance of a scolded puppy dog. She slid her arms around his neck, caressing the sides of his beautiful face. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t get me wrong, I love the place, but I just don’t see me… well, either of us, really, taking to a permanent life out in the middle of nowhere at this point in our lives, surrounded by sheep and wearing wellies and tweeds!’

  ‘Now you’re being totally stereotypical and insulting to all things countryside, Mallory,’ Sam chastised in his Canadian drawl. ‘And besides, I think you’d look great in wellies… just wellies that is, nothing else.’ He grabbed her playfully and squeezed her. His green eyes flashed with a mischievousness Mallory had come to adore.

  She giggled and gazed up into his emerald green eyes, lovingly recalling the first time she had found herself utterly mesmerised by him.

  *

  December 2012

  Mallory had lived in Yorkshire all the twenty-seven years of her life. After the death of her parents she had moved in with her dad’s sister – Aunt Sylvia – who didn’t believe in holidays abroad and so Yorkshire and its familiar landscape became her safe haven.

  After dropping out of her PR course at uni, Mallory endured a run of soulless jobs with nothing ever really pushing her buttons. That was until her guardian passed away and left her a large sum of money, giving her the opportunity to do the one thing she truly wanted to do but thought would never be possible.

  Her little gift emporium, Le Petit Cadeau, had been the brainchild of her aunt many years before. It had occurred when Mallory had taken to making her own Christmas gifts as unemployment had occurred on the brink of the festive season.

  At the will reading Mallory had sobbed when the solicitor informed her that her aunt had left strict instructions that the inheritance was intended for her to ‘get off her backside and do something fulfilling for once!’ She remembered almost laughing aloud at the point when the solicitor had uttered the quote directly as her aunt had written it. Even in death, feisty Sylvia knew how to draw a chuckle from her beloved niece.

  Now, years on from that fateful day, Le Petit Cadeau was thriving and she was thankful for her aunt’s insistence. It was a fairly quiet early December Wednesday in Leeds, and the city centre was the usual bustling metropolis. However, the Victoria Quarter – where Mallory’s shop was located – was being given a somewhat brief reprieve from the usual barrage of festive shoppers. Sitting in her usual place by the window, she huffed as she watched a swooning couple canoodling whilst browsing the display of lingerie in the boutique opposite.

  She slapped her hands on her thighs and turned to one of the stuffed bears on the shelf beside her. ‘Sod this for a game of soldiers, Mr Fluffs. I think I need a break.’ Obviously, the pensive-looking, handmade bear proffered no reply, yet she continued, ‘Yep. I reckon there’s a tall, caramel macchiato with my name on it somewhere.’

  Grabbing her oversized bag, she chalked Back in 20 mins on her door sign, dropped the latch and headed out into the sea of suited business people and Christmas shoppers.

  As she walked, she smiled to herself, noting the vast number of preschool children who were sporting cheap red Santa hats. Gifts lovingly procured for them, she guessed, by harassed parents as bribery for good behaviour.

  The paved precinct area was buzzing. Mallory loved Leeds City Centre with its designer boutiques and quirky shops. At this time of year, however, there was something transcendent about the atmosphere. Maybe it was the twinkling lights strung from building to building or the way that each and every shop was decked in sparkling silvers and gregarious golds. The myriad Christmas songs, being played in numerous outlets all out of synch with one another, were an assault on the senses. The stalls laid out, down the centre of the precinct, were vying for the attention of passers-by with their brightly coloured gifts and trinkets. A delicious aroma of roast chestnuts wafted through the chilled air and into Mallory’s nostrils making her tummy grumble.

  She rounded the corner heading for her favourite coffee shop when suddenly she involuntarily lurched forward. The stiletto heel of her inappropriate-for-winter shoe had become lodged in between two paving slabs, sending her and her belongings hurtling into the arms of a passing stranger.

  ‘Whoaaaa there!’ The startled man grabbed for Mallory, in a bid to stop her inevitable collision with the pavement. ‘We haven’t been formally introduced and yet here you are throwing yourself at me!’ He laughed. She noted his distinct American accent which she instantly found adorable.

  Rather dazed, heart pounding and feeling more than a little bit embarrassed, Mallory slowly lifted her gaze to look at the knight in shining armour, whose strong, muscular arms had come to her rescue. She was met with vivid green, laughing eyes and a very, very handsome countenance. Suddenly the weight of what had just happened hit her like a stack of tumbling gift boxes and she realised she was holding on for dear life and staring, just staring at this poor bewildered guy.

  She quickly came to her senses. ‘I-I’m
so sorry, how clumsy of me. My… my shoe got… erm… oh no, it’s still bloody stuck!’ she stammered, almost falling into the tall stranger a second time, as she fought with the shoe, which was determined to stay bloody well put, thank you very much. Perfect!

  ‘Here let me help you.’ The man aided Mallory into an upright position and then crouched in front of her. ‘Hold onto my shoulder and take your foot out of your shoe.’

  Mallory silently obeyed her strikingly handsome saviour. She felt the flushing of her face, which was surely glowing like a Belisha beacon. Passers-by smirked in her direction, further increasing the heat in her cheeks.

  Feeling utterly ridiculous, she began to giggle. ‘I think maybe wellies would have been a better choice. Silly me.’

  The man twisted at the shoe until the heel finally came free from the crevice holding it prisoner – Mallory couldn’t help but think it was rather like the legend of King Arthur freeing Excalibur. He looked up and offered her the return of her shoe, whilst still on bended knee and she sighed as she reached out for it. This time the fairy tale of Cinderella sprang to mind.

  Oh, if only I knew you and this was a diamond ring and I was in the midst of the most romantic proposal ever… She shook her head to dislodge the crazy, mental intrusion, snatched the shoe and shoved it back on her foot. Good grief, I’ve been single far too long!

  ‘Thank you so much for helping me, I feel like such a muppet.’

  He stood and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t mention it. It happens to us all. But only usually on a weekend for me.’ Then, with a fake and over-exaggerated glance around for earwiggers, he leaned in close to whisper. ‘My high heels are seriously frowned upon at work, and let’s not even mention the stockings.’ He chuckled, his emerald eyes sparkling.

  Smiling and really hoping that his last sentence was in no way a true reflection on his life, Mallory tilted her head at the stranger in an enquiring manner. ‘You’re not from here,’ she mumbled. Ugh way to state the obvious, idiot.

  A wide grin spread across his gorgeous face and he wagged his finger. ‘You know… I knew there must be a reason why people keep on looking at me funny when I speak.’ He paused and held out his hand. ‘I’m Sam, by the way. Samuel Buchanan, in case you wanted to know my full name. You know, for when you report my dashing act of valour to the Yorkshire Evening Post.’

  His emphasis on ‘shire’ made her smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Mallory Westerman.’ She shook his hand. ‘And we locals pronounce it Yorksher, as opposed to Yorkshyre.’

  ‘Well thank you very much for the insider info.’ He laughed. ‘So Miss Mallory Yorksherrr,’ he joked, rolling his ‘R’, ‘Mallory is quite an unusual name, huh?’

  ‘Hmm, that’s what you get for having quirky parents, I suppose.’ She rolled her eyes once she realised this comment needed further explanation. ‘My dad was an avid mountaineer in his youth and his hero was George Leigh Mallory.’ Sam look nonplussed and so she continued, ‘He was a famous mountaineer who was killed attempting to climb Everest in the 1920s.’

  He nodded. ‘Ah, I see. I guess your dad wouldn’t have been so impressed with your attempts to navigate Leeds city centre today, huh?’ He grinned, teasing her for her silly mistake. ‘So, where were you off to before throwing yourself into the arms of a complete Canadian stranger?’ He grinned.

  ‘Oh, Canadian, eh? I just thought you were from America.’

  Sam winced and shook his head in mock disgust. ‘Youch! Hold your tongue there, Miss Yorksher, a proud Canadian could get highly insulted, you know – next you’ll be saying we all sound alike.’

  She cringed. ‘Whoops. Sorry.’ Well, actually you do all sound alike to me. ‘I was on my way for coffee, just up there.’ She pointed up the paved precinct, towards her favourite coffee shop. ‘I’m taking a break whilst things are quiet in my shop.’

  ‘Oddly enough, I was going to go for coffee too.’ He paused, looking thoughtful, almost hesitant, as if he wondered whether he should say what he was thinking. ‘Soooo, how about you buy me a latte, by way of a thank you for saving your ass?’ He winked.

  Her jaw dropped in mock surprise at his forward manner, although secretly she quite liked it.

  Smiling and rolling her eyes, she held out her hand as if to gesture ‘after you’ and he began walking in the direction she indicated.

  Sam and Mallory sat in the coffee shop for a lot longer than her door sign had denoted. They found lots to talk about in their hour and a half conversation. Mallory discovered that Sam was thirty-one and was over in England following his brother’s request for him to take the reins at the UK arm of his asset management business.

  ‘I’m renting an apartment in what I believe is some kind of converted warehouse,’ he told her with a bemused, questioning look. ‘Seems to be the in thing in Leeds.’

  ‘Yes, there are a lot of run-down old industrial buildings around here. I think someone saw a bit of a niche in the property market.’

  ‘Yeah, I think so… the rooms are very spacious.’ He smiled cheekily. ‘And I have a great view from my bedroom.’

  Mallory blushed and cleared her throat, ‘So, where in Canada are you from?’

  ‘A town called Kingston, in Ontario. I grew up on the outskirts of the town. My dad was in construction and he built the family home. His father was a builder too, so I think he just fell into the industry. He was good at it.’

  ‘Was good at it? Is he retired now?’ Mallory sipped her coffee.

  Sadness clouded his features. ‘Ahhh, no, sadly he passed away two years ago of a heart attack.’

  ‘Oh… gosh I’m so sorry… I-I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘No, no, please, it’s fine. My mom’s amazing. She won’t allow us to be sad. She says we should always remember the good stuff and so we do.’ He looked pensive, ‘I think she tries to protect us both. Even though we’re adults.’

  ‘Hmm, I lost my parents when I was a teenager so I totally understand.’

  Sam frowned sadly. ‘Wow that must’ve been hard on you. I’m so sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was. But my Aunt Sylvia was amazing. I moved in with her and she was wonderful to me. So, is your brother still in Canada?’

  ‘Yeah, he just got married and his wife wasn’t ready to move all the way out here… so… here I am.’

  ‘Mmm, here you are…’ Mallory said with a little gravel to her voice, making her blush again. He had a strange effect on her.

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at him from under her eyelashes. He smiled, knowingly, as he sipped his coffee.

  Mallory surveyed his well-groomed, clean-cut, suited appearance which was in total contrast with his unruly, windswept mop of shaggy, brown hair. A hazard of the Yorkshire winter weather, she mused. She could tell that he was quite toned and muscular, simply by the hang of his suit. She already knew from earlier that he had strong arms and as he talked she imagined those arms encircling her. She fought to hide the shiver that travelled through her as she began to picture him naked.

  ‘So, tell me about you.’ He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ she asked shyly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

  ‘Everything… where you grew up… where you live… your friends… the whole nine yards.’

  Mallory took a deep breath. ‘Well… I’m twenty-seven, I live a short drive away from Leeds in a little railway cottage. I have a little Patterdale terrier called Ruby… she usually comes to work with me, but Josie, that’s my best friend, has taken her today. She “borrows” her sometimes.’ She smiled at how silly that must have sounded. ‘I’ve always lived here in Yorkshire. I’ve never lived abroad or been to Canada. I’ve been to Spain a few times with my mum and dad…’ She trailed off, realising she was waffling a little.

  ‘So, what about your shop? What do you sell?’ Sam enquired.

  ‘Local crafts mainly. Gifts and cards, things like that. I make little hanging signs and se
ll those in the shop too. My Aunt Sylvia insisted I open it. She left me the money to set up when she died, bless her.’

  ‘Sounds like an amazing woman.’ Sam offered.

  ‘Hmm, she was. Very opinionated and sometimes irritating as hell but lovely all the same.’

  She continued to tell him enthusiastically about her shop and the different crafts people she had met and all the while his gaze remained fixed on her as she talked. Every so often, when she made eye contact with him, her heart fluttered with the excitement of what may lie ahead for her with this incredibly handsome, funny man.

  *

  Sam smiled and listened intently. He found her quite beautiful. Her long wavy hair fell in chocolate tendrils around her shoulders, where it had escaped the grasp of the claw pinning the rest of it in a loose pile atop her head.

  He discretely ran his eyes over her body. Her curves were accentuated by the fitted skirt and top she wore, giving her a timeless Marilyn Monroe-esque appearance. Every so often she would push her spectacles up her nose, even when there was no need to do so. He thought that was really cute. Her bright blue eyes sparkled and he couldn’t help but smile at the way she waved her arms around as she spoke; so expressive. She was clearly a nervous talker and he felt the urge to stop her mouth with his. Not because she was boring; no she was anything but boring. He just wanted to kiss her. It took all the will he had not to just do it.

  *

  At the end of their conversation they stood outside the window of the coffee shop in the chilled December early afternoon. Mallory felt sure she had bamboozled him with her non-stop jabbering and her life history. Good job, he’s way out of my league really, she thought to herself. At least I won’t see him again to remind him what a clumsy, chatterbox I am. Hmm, there was that low self-esteem rearing its ugly head again. She had always felt herself unattractive and had pretty much given up on the yo-yo dieting. After all, she was single and busy with Le Petit Cadeau, so it didn’t really matter that she had crept up three dress sizes since her youth.