Breakfast Under A Cornish Sun: The perfect romantic comedy for summer. Samantha TongeЧитать онлайн книгу.
walks, pasties and ice creams. Talking of bags, what on earth have you packed? I’ve brought one black Speedo swimsuit, compared to your three fluorescent bikinis. Plus a few pairs of pedal pushers and—’
‘No one calls them that any more!’
I chuckled. ‘OK, three-quarter length trousers, plus some T-shirts and a couple of dresses—how many have you brought?’
Her cheeks tinged pink. ‘Almost as many as my different pairs of sunglasses.’
We both laughed and I gazed around the resort. A girlie break in the sunny South-west? Bring it on … Cute lodges. Greenery. A spa signposted in the distance. So far this holiday park was living up to the brochure, except … I peered closer at one accommodation as we drove by. It could have done with a lick of paint. The decking at the front was worn and the surrounding grass needed a mow. Not that it bothered me—I was just grateful for the vacation—but it surprised me, seeing as White Rocks marketed itself as de luxe. And the cars parked outside each lodge weren’t the BMWs and Audis I’d been expecting, but old family saloons and budget hatchbacks.
We parked up outside reception and a group of parents and young screaming kids bustled past, carrying inflatables and towels.
‘I thought this place was for adults only?’ I said.
Izzy switched off the ignition and gave a big yawn. ‘I know. Weird. It was advertised as luxury online, although I did think the price was a bit low.’ She pulled the brochure out of the glove compartment, turned to the right page and squinted at some small print. ‘Ah.’
‘What is it?’
She shrugged. ‘Something about the possibility of the park being at the beginning of a rebranding period.’
‘Who cares—it’s a holiday, right?’
‘Absolutely! As long as we still have a hot tub.’
We jumped out of the car and both stretched as if we were about to compete in the Olympics. Izzy headed off to the reception to check in, whilst I decided to take a look around. She entered a huge white building, with the spa and pool signposted in its right-hand side wing. The left of it housed a restaurant called … I squinted at a sign: ‘Fisherman’s Delight’. Swatting away a fly, I headed up a path, with lodges either side, and eventually came to a nine-hole golf course—at least that’s what the sign said. It should have said rabbit sanctuary, as the sweetest fudge-coloured bunnies hopped around. You could hardly see the putting greens as the grass everywhere was so long it sashayed in the breeze. I gazed into the distance, at dipping and rising hills. A group of swallows swept across, near a flag, and I walked forward to get a closer look.
‘’Ey,’ said a loud voice. ‘That area is out of bounds, r-right.’
Ooh. A strong, sexy Cornish accent. Rolled ‘r’s made me break out in a sweat. And if the loud assistant at the petrol station was anything to go by, Cornish men thought most people were deaf.
I turned. Out of the bushes appeared a frowning man, around my age, wearing beige chinos and a tight red shirt. Gosh. I swallowed. For some reason his appearance made an impact. Was it the toned arms that held a pair of garden shears as he walked up to me? Perhaps he’d used them on his head, I thought, as his fawn brown hair was shaved shorter than the hair on my legs. Cheeks hot, I forced my arms to stay vertical, as I experienced a sudden desire to run a hand over his short hair and around the back of his neck. My eyes scoured his solid frame, which looked kind of reliable. Something about his stance, the line of his jaw, shouted that he’d be there for you, in an emergency. And those leaf-green eyes … once I met them I found it impossible to turn away.
We stared at each other, with intense eye contact. It wasn’t awkward nor embarrassing. And the oddest sensation washed over me. As if I knew this person. Or understood him. Or, somehow had a deep connection.
I know. Stupid. And, at the sight of me, his expressionless face didn’t look fazed.
‘Apologies,’ I said and smiled, finally managing to avert my gaze. I pointed to the sky. ‘I just wanted a closer look at the swallows.’
‘Not swallows,’ he said. ‘Try ’ouse martins. Their forked tails are shorter.’
‘Ah … and there’s me thinking you only found albatrosses and eagles on golf courses,’ I said, quite proud of my sporting pun and loving the way he dropped that ‘h’.
Still expressionless, he walked forward and pointed to a sign: ‘Golf course out-of-bounds due to ongoing renovation work’. ‘Those party shoes of yours would cause divets, or dents at least, in the turf. You’ll do better ’ere if you keep to sensible footwear.’
My cheeks flushed. Party wear? Um, no, these were just my favourite platform sandals of the moment to give my legs a bit of height. I gazed at him, in his soily slim-legged trousers and walkers’ boots, then down at my strappy shoes and baggy patterned harem pants. Our style couldn’t have been more different.
‘It just needs a good mow from what I can tell,’ I said, accidentally thinking out loud. I read his name badge: Tremain Maddock.
‘And you be an expert on all things ’orticultural?’
Oh. What a shame. His rudeness quickly overrode his curious wow factor.
‘I own indoor plants,’ I said airily. ‘And you don’t need a degree in biology to know how to keep a lawn short. Rabbits alone won’t do the job.’
‘Really? And there’s me coming over all Snow White, thinking that birds and critters would do my work.’
His mouth twitched and I couldn’t decide if that was sarcasm or a joke.
‘No. Above all you need time,’ he continued. ‘And that costs money when you’ve lodges to keep clean and entrance ways to keep smart.’ He pointed to a crisp packet on the ground. ‘That yours?’
‘Excuse me, I’m no litterbug,’ I said and folded my arms.
He raised an eyebrow.
‘And I resent you—’
‘Please. Don’t,’ he muttered, as if … he was already the most resented person in the world.
He broke eye contact and picked up the packet, before heading back in the direction of the reception building. I had to force myself to stay rooted to the spot, in order to fight an overwhelming urge to rush over and wrap my arms around those broad shoulders.
I shook myself. Well, I couldn’t see what damage it would do, just to have a tiny walk forwards and look at those sweeping, beautiful birds. Plus, I thought I saw one of the bunnies limping and my soft centre would allow me to leave until I’d checked that it was OK.
‘Oi!’ called that voice again, as I took a step in the forbidden direction. I turned around.
‘I told you. Keep off that grass.’
‘Look, I just want to check on one rabbit. It looked as if it had sprained its foot.’
‘And if it ’ad, what would you do? Catch it? Impossible. So scare the lot for the sake of a pointless mission? Plus, they’d all look the same once they scattered.’
‘Cold or what?’ I muttered under my breath.
He flinched. ‘No. Just practical. Sometimes you have to act for the good of the majority, even if that means sacrificing an individual.’
I should have felt like laughing at such a dramatic statement, but the way his top lip quivered made me stop. Within seconds, his deadpan face returned.
‘Anyway, what’s the big deal?’ My mouth upturned, more and more curious about him and therefore determined to get a reaction. ‘Management will never know.’
‘I am management,’ he muttered.
‘In that get-up?’ I gazed at his grass-stained top. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I couldn’t care