The Bed and Breakfast on the Beach: A gorgeous feel-good read from the bestselling author of One Day in December

‘One day maybe,’ Jesse relented, and Winnie realised that he’d probably misread her silence as having taken offence at his refusal to show her his studio.

‘No, it’s OK, really.’ Casting her eye around the kitchen, she wondered if he actually cooked in here. It didn’t look used. She was about to ask when something brushed against her legs, making her jump and glance under the table.

‘You have a cat,’ she said, laughing as the big black and white moggy bumped her hand when she reached down to fuss it.

‘Bandit,’ Jesse said, and the animal jumped up on his knees. ‘He isn’t mine, exactly. He lives a couple of farms across officially, but he spends most his time here.’ The cat scrubbed his head against Jesse’s five o’clock shadow, purring like a small generator. ‘He’s no looker, is he?’

Winnie considered the cat; he was missing a chunk of one of his ears and his fur in places seemed to have worn a little threadbare. He looked like he lived up to his name.

‘He’s characterful,’ she said in the end.

Jesse set the cat down. ‘I don’t mind him. He’s thorny and can be cantankerous, but he’s a hunter so he gets to stay.’

Winnie didn’t ask what Bandit hunted in case she didn’t like the answer.

‘It sounds to me as if you make a habit of collecting your neighbours’ animals.’

‘Come on now.’ He frowned. ‘I literally saved your ass. I can see that you’re struggling to say thank you.’ He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Take your time.’

In truth, Winnie could see that he had sort of saved their donkey, but she still hadn’t completely forgiven him for his earlier rudeness. ‘Who calls a donkey The Fonz, anyhow?’

‘Ah, now that’s a story.’

‘Another one?’

He looked at her. ‘For a different day maybe. You better come back again tomorrow and try to woo him.’

‘Do you think he’ll come around to the idea?’

Jesse shrugged. ‘I imagine he’ll come to tolerate you in short bursts.’

Winnie curled her lip, unsure if they were even still talking about the donkey. She pushed herself up onto her feet and dusted her hands down her skirt to smooth it.

‘I should go, before they send out a search party.’ She slid her hairband out and gripped it between her teeth while she finger-combed her ponytail back into place. ‘You didn’t make the best first impression.’

‘Can’t think why,’ he said, standing up and putting their empty glasses into the sink.

Winnie headed to the door. ‘Is there anything I can bring to encourage him to like me more?’

‘I think he likes bikinis and girls who can cook a good steak.’

Winnie shot him a sarcastic look over her shoulder, and he just shrugged and half laughed.

Pausing by the donkeys to give them both a quick fuss of the ears, she looked back towards the house. He hadn’t followed her out; she’d have been more surprised if he had.

One way or another, Jesse was going to be trouble.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ue42192f8-6a9b-5d8e-80f7-f8810caecec0)

‘What, no donkey?’

Stella and Frankie looked up from behind the reception desk when Winnie walked back into the B&B and flopped down onto an armchair by a low coffee table cluttered with excursion leaflets.

‘He needs to be wooed, apparently.’

‘The donkey, or his irritable owner?’ Stella asked.

‘Jesse.’

Frankie lifted her eyebrows towards Stella. ‘It’s Jesse now,’ she said knowingly.

‘You’re planning to woo Jesse?’ Stella grinned. ‘You go, girl. I thought I sensed a spark.’

‘Behave, both of you. You know full well I mean the donkey.’ Winnie puffed stray hairs out of her eyes. ‘He’s stubborn.’

‘Who knew?’ Frankie murmured, earning herself a sarcastic smirk.

‘I’ll go back tomorrow and try again.’

Stella nodded. ‘You should definitely do that.’

‘Take him a sugar lump?’ Frankie suggested.

‘Or a beer,’ Stella added, nudging Frankie in the ribs.

Winnie scowled. ‘I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.’

The other two looked as innocent as schoolgirls. ‘No idea what you mean,’ Frankie said, shaking her head as Stella shrugged helplessly.

‘Me either.’

Winnie stood up, changing the subject. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and check ourselves into our rooms.’

‘This place badly needs a lift,’ Stella said, as they practically collapsed on the top-floor landing after hauling their suitcases up three floors. Winnie had fresh appreciation for the way Ajax had sprinted up and down the B&B stairs like a mountain goat; it had all seemed much easier with someone else to carry their bags.

‘Maybe we should employ a bellboy?’ she said, dragging her case to the door of the Bohemian Suite. They’d instinctively picked up the keys to the same rooms they’d occupied on their previous visit, subconsciously needing something familiar when everything else around them was alien, perhaps.

‘Can he be eighteen with a fit bum?’ Stella slid her key into the Seaview Suite. ‘I’ll do the interviews.’

Frankie was the least ruffled by the climb; her twice-weekly yoga classes at the local centre for the last few years had obviously paid off. Back home, those few hours a week had been a necessary respite from the grind of daily life; they were the only time Frankie could find relief from the crushing weight of being the one who held everything together for everyone else’s life to run smoothly. On the mat she was free and totally present in the moment; more than just the responsible adult whom everyone depended on to ensure that there was loo roll in the bathroom and dinner on the table and clean socks in the drawer. Much as she loved her boys, being finally freed from the routines that had shaped her entire adult life felt as if someone had opened the door of her cage and liberated her from captivity.

‘I might do some yoga on the beach in the morning,’ she said as she opened her door and pushed her case in ahead of her.

‘Really?’ Winnie glanced across from her own threshold.

Frankie nodded, suddenly determined. Back in England yoga had been her escape; here it was one of the few overhangs from her old life that she was happy to bring with her. There wasn’t much else on the keeper list; her mobile to stay in touch with Joshua and Elliott, the small photograph album at the bottom of her suitcase holding a dozen or so of her favourite pictures, and the letter Marcia had left with her solicitor. Her fingers absently touched her wedding ring, suspended on a gold trace chain around her neck. Much as the decision to end their marriage had ultimately been hers, untangling herself mentally from Gav was still a work in progress. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t fond of him; unlike Winnie’s husband he’d never have dreamt of having a torrid affair or intentionally hurting her. It was more that the passing of the years had turned them into friends rather than lovers, and it hurt her romantic heart to not be held at night or made love to as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The divorce had hurt them both deeply, and she wasn’t quite ready yet to let go of her ring completely. It had seemed wrong to keep it on her finger afterwards, so moving it to around her neck was sort of an interim step. Maybe she’d go all dramatic and throw it into the depths of the sea like that woman in Titanic. More likely she’d take it off because it reacted with some sun cream or else snap the chain whilst changing one of the beds, but for now she was content to keep it close by.

‘I’m going to go for a swim in my bathtub for half an hour,’ she said. ‘See you downstairs in a while?’