Reach for the Stars: A feel good, uplifting romantic comedy

When she reached the top, grim-faced Nick grabbed ahold of her and clung on like a rather lovely limpet while she climbed back over the railings to safety. Since he was still steadying her with his arms even though she was out of danger, she hinted, ‘You can let go now.’

‘On one condition. Promise me you’ll not do that or anything like it again. He’s not worth breaking your neck over. Hearts heal.’

She glared at the padlock taking in how insignificant and tiny it looked, hardly noticeable to anyone but herself. ‘True.’ She met his eyes and realized he’d gone a funny colour. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m scared of heights. You have the agility of a primate and I wish I had your head for heights. Just watching you made me panic.’

‘But you’re the new Mr Hollywood-Action-Hero. You can’t be afraid of heights.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Yep. So I’ll have to swear you to secrecy – either that or shoot you.’

‘Crikey! That must be awkward.’

He nodded and abruptly fired a non sequitur at her. ‘So, about these photos. Why not ignore them?’

‘I couldn’t help it. I can’t stop looking at them.’

‘Because you enjoy self-torture?’

She managed to conjure up a hint of a responsive smile, but wrapped her arms across her body miserably. ‘Because I keep looking at her and asking myself, why her and not me?’

‘Let me guess. She looks a lot like you?’

She stared at him long and hard. ‘That’s spooky.’ Had he been stalking her friends on the internet? ‘Joe’s wife …’ Saying the word out loud practically made her gag ‘… and I do look alike. How did you know?’

He held his breath and then let it all go at once in exasperation. ‘A hunch. Most of the women my father was photographed with after my parents’ split resembled my mother. I remember asking myself why he’d destroyed a family to be with women who seemed like brand new versions of the one he’d left?’

‘I suppose there was more to it than that.’

‘Right.’

Ophelia had skedaddled ahead of them and was lying down in a muddy puddle.

Layla groaned. ‘This day really isn’t getting any better. And she’s having way too much fun.’

As if on cue Ophelia rolled onto her back completely coating herself in mud. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the mischievous little dog covered from head to paws. ‘She looks like she’s been dipped in chocolate. We’re going to need a pint of dog shampoo.’

‘At least.’ Convulsed by a sudden fit of giggles the warmth of Layla’s laughter broke over him like a wave.

Oddly reluctant to tear himself away he started to walk back in the direction of the little store he’d spotted down by the harbour. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. The clouds parted and the sun warmed the cobbles in the lane. ‘I’ve never been anywhere with such whimsical weather.’

‘That’s the Porthkara microclimate for you. It’s one of those if-you-don’t-like-the-weather-wait-fifteen-minutes days.’ She gazed at him wide-eyed. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To the store. I’ve had an idea. I’m going to see if they have pliers.’

‘This very minute?’

‘Right now.’

Fran had cut him to the core. The news about Beth hadn’t gotten out there – yet – but it was in his shattered heart. He couldn’t stop himself looking back into the past without the foggiest idea what to do about it. But if pliers to cut the padlock would free Layla from the memory of a relationship gone bad, then at least he could fix that.

‘I said I’d make myself useful, didn’t I?’

‘It can wait. Honestly.’

Nick pointed at the padlock. ‘Your past stops there. Exes! Who needs them?’ He wanted her to feel better but he was at a loss when it came to a broken heart.

‘For someone who doesn’t need exes, you’ve got enough of them. Allegedly!’

Despite the obvious humour in her tone, the remark stung. It hit a nerve. He didn’t usually care about the truth. But lately the blurriness of ten years’ worth of indeterminate relationship status had swum into sharp focus. He snorted. ‘So I should know, right? You go on home. I’ll see you back there.’

Intensely wound up, he marched down the lane like he was going into battle.

Chapter Five (#ulink_16d52329-4b19-5a1f-a2d0-1d78d461cb6f)

Layla arrived back at the cottages to discover that her dad had at last turned up to take a look at the broken immersion heater that supplied Maggie’s shower with hot water. He’d squeezed his white van into the parking space next to Nick’s flash sports car. Sporting a hi-vis orange vest over his white overalls, he leant against the van, arms folded across his chest.

‘Hi Dad.’

He threw a not unimpressed look at Nick’s hire car. ‘I gather you’ve got company. Don’t take any nonsense from him. Maggie got the nice brother, or so I hear. That one’s nothing but trouble. I’m telling you. Caps lock style, TROUBLE. You watch yourself there.’

Ignoring the embarrassing dad warning she looked him up and down. ‘Interesting look you’ve got going. Not unlike a giant traffic cone.’

‘Hey, less of the cheek, you.’ He performed a mock bow. ‘Mr Fix-It at your service. What kept you?’

An irritated shiver ran down her spine. Concerned father patter and stabs at humour apart, they both knew they were on eggshells still. ‘What kept me? Where in the name of Cornish pixies have you been dressed like that?’

‘I’ve been up a ladder.’ He opened the van and took out his toolbox. ‘Clearing some blocked guttering at one of the holiday lets. I wanted to make sure everybody could see me. Didn’t want some plonker walking under the ladder and sending me flying.’

‘Nobody walks under ladders Dad. It’s bad luck.’

‘Bad luck for the poor so-and-so on the ladder.’

‘I haven’t seen you for days.’ A wince of embarrassment lanced her realizing that she could have asked her dad for help with the padlock instead of getting Nick involved. ‘You’re like the invisible man.’

He pulled a face and she had to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement given his hi-vis get-up. ‘Well I’m here now.’ He threw a look at the bedraggled dog. ‘What’s she been playing at?’

‘Rolled in a puddle.’ She closed the gate to stop Ophelia from escaping and running off, and pulled a bunch of keys out of her pocket. Fidgeting more than necessary over fitting the right key in the lock she opened up. As she burst through the door, avoiding her father’s concerned look, she bent down and scooped up the handful of junk mail from the doormat.

‘I popped by earlier and things were rather quiet.’

‘I was at the kiosk,’ she said, finally meeting his eyes, ‘keeping things ticking over for Mum.’

‘It’s high time the three of us sit down and take a look at all this. You’re working too many hours. It can’t be good for you.’

Her parents had split their assets in the village fifty-fifty. They’d built up a portfolio of properties in the area running them as holiday lets. When her grandmother died they’d converted her lovely rambling old house into a boutique B&B. In the divorce settlement her dad got the cottages and her mum the house.

That left the Kandy Shack. The beachside kiosk was a popular landmark and her dad was excessively proud of it. He’d bought land from an elderly fisherman, demolished the run-down boathouse on the plot and built the Shack. Her mum was attached to it too and they hadn’t been able to agree on who should keep it. Although it had started life as his idea, her mum had taken charge of the business, made a success of it.