So Now You're Back

So Now You're Back
Heidi Rice

Halle Best, TV's Domestic Diva, is proud of everything she's achieved.Halle took her passion for baking and built her media empire alone after her ex Luke walked out on her sixteen years ago, leaving her a single mum to their two-year-old daughter Lizzie in a dingy flat in Hackney.Now a bona fide celebrity success, she only speaks to Luke via her lawyer. But as he is threatening to write a tell-all book exposing some of Halle's deepest secrets, keeping him at arm's length won't be so easy anymore.When Luke suggests a getaway to work through their past, Halle thinks he's crazy; if they can survive two weeks together it will be a miracle.Yet reconnecting with her past, could be the only way to start her future.

HEIDI RICE’s first romance novel was published in 2007, followed by several international award nominated titles. So Now You’re Back is her commercial fiction debut.

www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)

To Rob, my hero.

Acknowledgements (#ulink_d146d5f7-2a9f-53b2-a8a0-185f566b9e23)

Writing a book is supposed to be a solitary pursuit, until your publisher asks you to write the acknowledgements, and you suddenly realise how many other people got involved along the way. So here’s my chance to send big, shouty thank yous to just a few of those people … My husband Rob for his suggestion that I rip off Shakespeare when I couldn’t come up with a plot. My best mate Catri, who insisted we go to the Great Smokey Mountains for one of our US road trips. My best writing mate Abby Green, for telling me I so could write a longer book, over and over again until it stuck. My other great writing mates Fiona Harper, Iona Grey and Scarlet Wilson for consulting on everything from covers to sagging middles and dealing with my many, many anxiety attacks. To my editor Bryony Green for giving me revisions that made this story even better than I could make it on my own (the sulking was just for show, honest!). To the wonderful TonyB at Smokey Mountain Kayaking for his willingness to share his in-depth knowledge of kayaking and the Smokies. To culinary superstar Faenia Moore for her willingness to share her in-depth knowledge of baking and TV cookery shows. And finally to Anna Baggaley and everyone at Harlequin Mira for all your support on this, as it turns out, not at all lonely journey.

Table of Contents

Cover (#ub227337e-3af7-5b90-a1e5-b8b222490e19)

About the Author (#u32bb8769-dfec-50cb-971d-72881a269c55)

Title Page (#ue52abd20-3f3b-5959-9ebd-de64ee1aa717)

Dedication (#u6d02e066-9a4d-5ff2-943f-00c6082f64a7)

Acknowledgements (#ud65067ab-b224-52be-a804-420fb95d91c0)

Chapter 1 (#ufac3426c-fed0-564d-9136-886562e21f22)

Chapter 2 (#ub8cdc383-40e4-573d-bea2-dbffeb99d294)

Chapter 3 (#ue1d1e37a-a56f-523e-a29c-3f74faac3f91)

Chapter 4 (#u81442e67-e888-54b2-8dd8-dcc07e80d2fd)

Chapter 5 (#u7f47063e-7cb0-5e27-a1d0-41b4492dfc55)

Chapter 6 (#ua077663e-42f1-542b-b2db-6f5759f7813f)

Chapter 7 (#u0672150c-2bda-5835-875c-e0e50bb93525)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#ulink_65d656e9-d52c-5f27-8e37-c8ee89218200)

Where ru Mum? Your late. AGAIN!!!

‘Bugger.’ Halle Best clicked furiously on the iPhone’s keypad as she shot out of the car park at St Pancras Station and crossed the loading bay.

There in 2 secs. Honest.

Magnifico-Multitask Mum strikes again, she thought triumphantly as she shoved the phone back in her bag. She kept her head down as the service tunnel at the back of the station led onto the strip of shops and cafés lining the route to the main concourse. Avoiding eye contact with members of the British public had become a habit in the past two years, because she’d discovered they only ever seemed to recognise her and want to waylay her for an autograph—or a chat about their latest baking disaster—when she was in a rush, chronically late or on a collision course with her daughter Lizzie’s prodigious temper. As all three defcon positions were currently in countdown mode, she absolutely could not risk it.

Darting past the YO! Sushi on her left and the ticket office on her right, she narrowly avoided a young mum with a pushchair while circumnavigating a group of backpack-toting foreign students going at a pace that would make a geriatric snail look like Usain Bolt.

She sucked in a couple of extra breaths, feeling winded as she hit the main thoroughfare.

Note to self: Get that bloody cross-trainer in the basement out of mothballs.