Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm. Jaimie AdmansЧитать онлайн книгу.
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JAIMIE ADMANS is a 32-year-old English-sounding Welsh girl with an awkward-to-spell name. She lives in South Wales and enjoys writing, gardening, watching horror movies and drinking tea, although she’s seriously considering marrying her coffee machine. She loves autumn and winter, and singing songs from musicals despite the fact she’s got the voice of a dying hyena. She hates spiders, hot weather and cheese & onion crisps. She spends far too much time on Twitter and owns too many pairs of boots. She will never have time to read all the books she wants to read.
Jaimie loves to hear from readers, you can visit her website at www.jaimieadmans.com or connect on Twitter @be_the_spark.
The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters
The Little Wedding Island
It’s a Wonderful Night
The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
JAIMIE ADMANS
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Jaimie Admans 2019
Jaimie Admans asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © 2019 ISBN: 9780008331214
Version: 2019-08-28
Table of Contents
About the Author
Also by Jaimie Admans
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Acknowledgements
A Letter from the Author
About the Publisher
For my Little Bruiser Dog.
Thank you for making me smile every day for fifteen years.
I will miss you every day for the rest of my life.
I am never drinking again.
Please tell me that pounding, throbbing sound is not coming from inside my own head. I peel one eye open and severely consider not bothering to open the other one.
I’m slumped on the living room floor and propped upright by the coffee table, with my face smooshed against the keyboard of my open laptop. My movement jogs the mouse and the dark screen comes back to life, and my eyes hurt at the sudden brightness. I wince and push myself away, instantly regretting it when my stomach rolls at the movement.
When I can bring myself to peer blearily at the screen, there are loads of new emails in my inbox – and most of the subject lines say ‘congratulations’. More spam, no doubt. ‘Congratulations, you’re the sole benefactor of a millionaire Nigerian prince, give us your bank details and we’ll pop a million dollars straight into your account. Totally legit, honest.’
There are three empty bottles of Prosecco beside me, and my phone is worryingly nearby. Why do I remember squealing ‘thank you, luffly robot voice, we’re moving to Scotland!’ into the phone at some unmentionable hour of the night? While sitting on the living room floor? With my computer? And my phone? I glance at the empty bottles again.
Oh god, Steve. On the desk in his office. With Lucia from accounting. That’s why I’d broken out the emergency Prosecco. And then the emergency emergency Prosecco. That bare bum thrusting in amongst the spreadsheets was enough to drive anyone to drink. I’d never seen it from that angle before. There in all its spotty, hairy glory. And all that grunting. Did he ever grunt like that with me? I’d always thought it was sexy, but when you walk into your boss’s office and find him humping your colleague on the desk, it sounds more along the lines of ‘stuck pig’. Which, conveniently, is exactly the way I described Steve yesterday, with a few choice swear words thrown in for good measure, as I clambered onto a filing cabinet and announced to the whole office what had been going on, quit my job, and stormed out with a satisfying door slam. I’d then sat in the fire escape stairwell and let the tears fall, hurt and annoyed at myself for trusting him. I hadn’t, at first. I knew he flirted with everyone and didn’t really believe he liked me, but he was so charming, so believable, and I’d let myself be taken in. Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to get into a relationship