An American in Cornwall

By Laura Briggs

Taking a break in North Cornwall to soak up the summer sun, Julianne is spending her holiday with her best friend Aimee from Seattle — who's taking a holiday herself in Cornwall as a 'shop sitter' in a small village. Eager to introduce Julianne to her new friends and show off the quirky secondhand shop she's minding for the next few months, Aimee sweeps her off to quaint St. Petroc, only a few miles from the sea.

Just when everything looks perfect for a week of historical haunts and lazy afternoons in the sun, a scheming local businessman makes a disastrous announcement that changes everything — and Julianne rallies to help Aimee not only defend the future of the shop in her care, but all the rest of the village's high street as well.

From an oily businessmen to a chatty bookshop owner, to a kindhearted solicitor and a crazy hen night planner, Julianne's latest adventure in Book Eleven is as impossible, impulsive, and charming as any she's experienced before.

One of only two books left in the best-selling A Wedding in Cornwall series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Briggs
• Release date: Jun 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463570265

Laura Briggs

Laura Briggs is the author of several feel-good romance reads, including the UK best-seller 'A Wedding in Cornwall'. She has a fondness for vintage style dresses (especially ones with polka dots), and reads everything from Jane Austen to modern day mysteries. When she's not writing, she enjoys spending time with family and friends, caring for her pets, gardening, and seeing the occasional movie or play.

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An American in Cornwall

By Laura Briggs

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 Laura Briggs

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Image: Cornish Village. Original art, Lighthouse.jpg by Marrishuanna, Yachts and equipment by Denis Dubrovin, and Country House by Marrishuanna. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/

Dear Reader,

Ah, summer holidays. Most of us have taken at least one ... and dreamed a little about adventures during them, which is why we take along 'beach reads' like this one to let our minds escape. The usual tropes in them — new meetings, adventurous situations, secret love connections — usually fail to find us in real life when we temporarily leave the places we belong.

But that's not the case for Julianne, of course. Her summer holiday finds her in a fictional spot near the shores of Newquay to join her beloved best friend Aimee, who has engaged in an unusual 'shop swap' with an online friend and currently minds a Cornish gift boutique. With dreams of shore walks and seeing the unique historical landmarks of a sleepy little village reminiscent of Bodmin, Julianne arrives just ahead of a crisis — one which threatens the future of every business on High Street, including the shop currently under Aimee's wing. Suddenly, her summer holiday becomes an adventure for two friends trying to save a village's future ... one in which quirky friends, dastardly foes, and even a 'secret romance' plays a guest role.

A new side of Julianne emerges in her week with Aimee — that of a long-time best friend who finishes sentences, giggles over silly stories from the past, and keeps only her most private secrets. And, just as time changes all relationships, we see how their longtime friendship is altered by distance and Julianne's marriage, as Julianne learns that not every part of Aimee's Cornish experience was a subject for sharing.

From its quaint fictional village to the brief journey by train to the beautiful countryside around Penzance, I hope you enjoy Julianne's holiday, and a look back at the summer before she and Matt begin their final adventure in the series. And as we prepare to bid farewell to Julianne, Matt, and their many friends, I hope that you’ll join other readers in learning about A LITTLE HOTEL IN CORNWALL, my all-new Cornish romance series. For an insider’s look at the characters, cover art, and much more from the up-coming books in the series, visit its new website and sign up to receive special email notifications HERE!

An American in Cornwall

by

Laura Briggs

As Matt tossed another log on our fire, I snuggled deeper against the sofa, a cozy quilt spread across my lap and a cup of hot chocolate between my hands. It's your move, love, I said, as I took a sip.

Are we allowing Latin terms? he asked, picking through his remaining Scrabble tiles.

Are we allowing contractions? I asked in return.

Touché, said Matt, with a grin. He took a sip of his own cocoa. I suppose I owe you an apology for vetoing your selection earlier. He studied his tiles. I'm afraid that might mean forfeiting this game to you.

Let's find something else to do with our long winter evening, I answered, drawing the quilt more firmly over my stomach. Where, snuggled beneath my flannel nightshirt and this patchwork cotton, lay the small, as-yet-invisible being in progress, which Matt and I had created only a few weeks earlier.

I, Julianne Rose, had begun my transition from open-ended future to eventual motherhood — and from event planner to holiday planner for the Christmas season. Already I had begun decorating the small tree on our parlor table with paper snowflakes (my paper folding skills have improved) and with the tiny collection of ornaments which Matt and I had collected during our time together, and from the years before we knew each other. Early planning never hurts, even though Michelle and her husband weren't due to visit us for weeks.

The doctor's announcement, however, was first and foremost in my thoughts; hence, our recent purchase of a baby names' book for a little light reading on evenings when our Scrabble skills finally failed us.

Are you still excited? I asked Matt, as I felt his hand come to rest against the approximate zone where our baby probably rested inside me. You and me becoming three, I mean?

I am, said Matt, softly. A little surprised, yes. It came out of the blue, the announcement that you were pregnant. We had talked about it ... we had made a few plans about what we would do if it happened, of course ... but we hadn't exactly been trying to have a baby, had we? He offered me a grin, which was sheepish with this confession. Quite frankly, it was the last news I expected you to share with me.

That makes two of us surprised, I said, taking his hand beneath the blanket. If I had even suspected, I would have bought a home test. I was thinking the diabetes on my mom's side of the family had found its way into my genes. Or that maybe I really was too old to eat chocolate biscuits before bed.

You? Never. He kissed my cheek. I think person number three in our household agrees with me, too. He flipped open the new baby book, perusing the first few pages. Whatever he or she will be named in the future.

I rested my head against Matt's shoulder, watching the letters of the alphabet fly by. Stop when you get to the 'j's,' I said. I'm curious to see what my name actually means.

Gorgeous, but stubborn by nature, guessed Matt, teasingly.

Har har, I said. What does yours mean? 'Handsome but too self-assured?'

Excellent verbal parry, my love, he joked. I felt that one between my ribs.

You'll survive. I traced his jaw lightly with my knuckles, ending by giving his earlobe a gentle tweak to distract him from the long list of 'C' names before us.

He let the book fall closed. When do you suppose ... he began, with another sheepish smile. When do you think we — shared the magic moment between us?

When? I said, my lips tugging into a faint smile of amusement, enjoying watching Matt search for a delicate and romantic phrasing for his question. Are you asking exactly how our baby began?

A little. I only wondered. As we've been saying, it was a surprise. We are talking about a special experience, in its own way — I was hoping it would be a memorable one, he said. You said you are almost six weeks or a bit more along now .... and in the very recent past, we've both been so busy that our alone time had been rather scarce, so it must have been before the wedding and the wine tasting you planned during the first weeks of autumn. Before I began researching my last paper as well.

You want to know that badly? I asked. I put my arms around him. "I'll give you a hint. It was probably around the time of a very special holiday ... in which you were very supportive and helpful to me."

To you? echoed Matt, skeptically, in response to this suggestion.

In a roundabout way, I answered, hugging him close. Besides, you were very irresistible this past summer. Sexy, charming, and so sweet and understanding. Exactly when I needed you to be, too.

I think you're greatly exaggerating what happened this past summer, he said, shaking his head. We scarcely saw each other while you were away.

We saw each other enough, I answered, kissing him on the lips. Especially afterwards.

That I do remember, said Matt, softly. But you'll have to refresh my memory about the rest. He returned my kiss with a longer one, which tasted of peppermint, cocoa, and the sweetness of attraction itself.

________________

A Few Months Earlier ...

Which one says 'smart,' 'successful,' and 'completely in control as a mum'? Lady Amanda held up two handbag choices from the shop's display. I rather think this tasteful red leather one says it all. Don't you?

As opposed to the nappy bag printed with pink bunnies you carried in the past? Absolutely, I answered. I spun the rack of sunglasses, wondering which of these pair would be perfect for the beaches of Newquay.

Lady Amanda's lower lip poked itself out a trifle for my answer. That bag was simply a miscalculation on my part, she said. When little Edmund was little Charlotte or Violet or whatever else I chose. I blame it on too many of Dinah's cupcakes, my seeing everything in pink for those months... but I could hardly let a perfectly good baby satchel go to waste just because it wasn't blue, could I?

Lady A, my friend, employer, and current lunch companion, had lately begun trading her oversized 'mummy couture' accessories for sleeker ones, now that little Edmund spent more time with play dates than perambulators, for example. At the shop where I was selecting a few last-minute holiday supplies, she had been drawn like a magnet to the nearest fashion display, proof of how long it had been since Amanda's last visit to London for a shopping excursion.

Don't buy the red one, said Gemma. It would clash horribly with the new shoes you ordered last week, remember?

"I do remember. So true. With a sigh, Lady Amanda put back the red one. I suppose this brown one is very fetching, however. Do you think large silver buckles are me?" she asked.

Do you think that a lime green two-piece swimsuit is me? I countered, holding up the garment from the shop's bargain rack.

Mmm ... no.

Thought not. I hung it back in place. But the handbag buckles do look smashing.

Finally, breathed Lady Amanda. I'm growing rather tired of this old black one. But it's the only one left in my wardrobe that doesn't smell of baby sick.

Ew, said Gemma, making a face. That's a lovely thought before eating.

Lunch was going to be enjoyed at the Silver Perch, the swanky tea room being Lady Amanda's treat as soon as we were finished making our purchases, including my sunglasses and strappy new sandals, and Gemma's impulsive purchase of two new hair clips studded with iridescent stones.

Sing ho for a girl's day out, said Lady Amanda, as she eased the manor's car into reverse. William really has no idea — he thinks that planning tourist brochures and updating websites is a breeze compared to worrying about the manor's land and finances. I wonder how he would feel if he was attempting to hack down unwanted field brush or discuss a business agreement at his desk with a toddler clinging to his leg, begging for one more biscuit.

Edmund would love to help in the field, giggled Gemma. Of course, he'd probably smash both his dad's fingers and Geoff's with the toolbox's hammer ... and lose all their fencing supplies in two ticks of the clock.

Exactly, said Lady Amanda.

Little Edmund means well, I said. He just has more energy than resources on which to vent it. He was definitely a precocious child — maybe a little more so than I wanted to admit to his mother, even after I spent the better part of last