The Little Village Bakery: A feel good romantic comedy with plenty of cake (Honeybourne Book 1) Read Free Page A

to the rental van she was still using, sensing the man’s eyes on her back as she went.
    Men . Millie had had quite enough emotional trauma with men to last her a lifetime. Attractive though Mr White Cottage was (and there was no denying that his floppy sandy hair, soft hazel eyes and athletic physique were all very desirable attributes), it was best to steer well clear. Some said that she had brought the misfortune upon herself, but a great deal of heartsease had been employed in mending her last broken heart, and she still wasn’t sure it was fixed completely. That wasn’t a place she wanted to go again.

2
    ‘ D ylan phoned , by the way, when you were in the bath last night.’ Rich popped his head around the doorway of the workshop the following morning. The day promised to be as hot as the previous one, and already, just after nine, the sun blazed in through the tiny windows of the outhouse.
    ‘Did he say what he wanted?’ Jasmine asked, looking up from the delicate metal rose she was shaping.
    ‘Not really. I told him you’d phone him back.’
    ‘Honestly, he lives three yards away,’ Jasmine muttered as she bent back to her work. ‘He could just come round.’
    Rich grinned. ‘That would consume far too much energy.’
    ‘I know. If that boy took life at a slower pace, he’d be going backwards.’
    ‘You love him really.’
    ‘To bits. It’s just that he’s infuriating.’
    ‘You’d better call him though.’ Rich’s voice trailed off as he went back into the main house. ‘I don’t want him thinking I didn’t tell you. And you’d better have a word about the thing as well…’
    ‘What thing?’ Jasmine called back. She knew what thing, of course, but she was inexplicably irritated by the fact that Rich had brought it up. They’d had a whole hour of discussion over the thing only the night before. Her family wasn’t perfect, but there was no need for him to keep rubbing it in. His wasn’t so bloody perfect either. She knew she had to and she fully intended to speak to Dylan about the thing in her own time, without being nagged. Not that it would do any good.
    When Rich failed to reply, she picked up a tiny pair of pliers, twisting a sliver of metal on her rose with a practised and precise motion. Leaning back, she examined it from a distance for a moment before bending her head back to twist at a second section. She worked for a few moments more, delicately moving bits of the sculpture here and there, until she was satisfied with the way it looked.
    ‘Right, Mr Lazy Bum,’ she said, putting the piece to one side and checking her watch, ‘let’s go and see what you want this time.’

    J asmine knocked at the door of the tiny cottage. The sun burned the back of her bare neck as she waited in the doorway, the lazy drone of bees and the perfume of the honeysuckle reaching her from the sprawling climber that wound up the side of the house. If someone wanted an image of the perfect British summer’s day, Jasmine was pretty sure it would look like this. It seemed like a good day to be out visiting, despite all the work that was piling up in her outhouse at home. Perhaps it would be better to tackle it later anyway, when the kids had gone to bed and it was cooler; there had to be some perks to being your own boss.
    When she had waited for a few minutes and nobody answered the door, Jasmine knocked again, more forcefully this time. Knowing Dylan, he’d been on some all-night gaming bender and was still in bed, or worse, he might have a random girl in there. It was none of her business, of course, but the idea of that irked her. What gave him the right to live like that? Why couldn’t he grow up and take some responsibility for his life, like the rest of the population had to, instead of behaving like a lazy adolescent? He was her brother, and she loved him dearly, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t angry with him from time to time. She had to be honest, though, and wonder whether it was