Spring Haze

By Elizabeth Pulford

When day-dreamer Isabella falls in love with a cottage she has no idea she is also about to fall for the owner, Trent, the son of an affluent family, both which lead her down a path of heartache.
Even though Trent is beguiled by Isabella, but his family, in particular his mother, has other plans for him. Plans which certainly don’t involve a stray girl like Isabella.
Is Trent willing to risk separation from his family and his privileged lifestyle for the sake of love?
Can Isabella and Trent fulfill their heart’s desires while still staying true to themselves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Pulford
• Release date: Jan 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463707203

Elizabeth Pulford

Before I became a writer I was a traveller, a typist, a cleaner and an ice-cream girl in a cinema.Now I live in New Zealand in a small southern seaside town with one extra nice husband who is a king of-all-trades.We have two children and two grandchildren.Every morning I go to my little writing room to make up stories. From this room I look out into a small garden, where I can hear the birds squabbling.Writing has long been a passion and sometimes even a curse!I have had over sixty children's books published from the very young to YA with regular publishers. Plus my adult short stories have been lucky enough to win many short story competitions.I love being creative, be it baking bread or chasing after new characters.Photograph by: Liz Cadogan - http://www.facebook.com/LizCadoganphotos

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Spring Daze

Elizabeth Pulford

Copyright © 2020 Elizabeth Pulford

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the copyright owner. Please respect the hard work of the author.

This is a work of fiction. No resemblance to any persons or situations is intended.

Cover © Shutterstock

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter One

Isabella walked down the tree-lined street, her heels clicking lightly on the pavement. Everywhere there were signs of spring. She sighed with contentment. To her it was the most magical time of the year. A time when anything could happen.

Above, the tree branches were heavy with buds. How perfect Mulberry Street would look once they were all out and flowering. As she walked she imagined the blossom. Bunches of pastel pink, rich blushing red and snowy white petals, fluttering in a delicate, warm breeze. She smiled to herself. Rosemary, her older sister, often said she lived too much inside her head. That she was too much of a daydreamer, and how she needed to live in the real world. To which Isabella always replied, ‘But, it’s where I can make everything perfect.’

The cottage, where she was headed, was tucked at the end of the street. It stood on its own with its back to a wide-open field. The nearer she got the more she slowed her steps. What was she afraid of? That it had disappeared overnight?

She knew she was being irrational, but she already thought of the place as her own. It was for this reason she hadn’t told a soul. Not even her best friend, Emma. She wanted to keep the cottage a secret. Keep it close to her heart.

By now she was standing outside the cottage’s picket gate. It was a faded blue, the colour of an old piece of chinaware. She wouldn’t change it for the world. If the cottage ever belonged to her, she would leave everything just the way it was.

‘Briar Rose Cottage,’ breathed Isabella, looking at the sign next to the gate.

It was simply the most perfect place she had ever encountered. It was everything she had ever dreamed in a home. She loved it all, from the tangle of roses around the doorway and the tiny windows, to the thatch on the roof and the overgrown, wild garden. How often had she pictured a place exactly like this in her head? Too often, her sister would have said, but Isabella knew it hadn’t been often enough.

Beyond the cottage she could see the tops of trees. Were they on the property? Or were they growing in the field? How she longed to open the gate, sneak in and take a look around. Since her discovery she had visited Briar Rose Cottage twice. Each time she’d had the same thought. Where would be the harm in her having a little look around? It was obvious the cottage was uninhabited. So far, she hadn’t seen a single movement, either inside the dwelling or in the garden, except for the birds fluttering around.

Isabella drew in a breath of courage, leaned forward and was about to open the gate when she heard the sudden revving of a car. She leapt backwards, as if she were a criminal. She needed to leave. It wouldn’t do if she was seen lurking; the neighbours might decide she was casing the place. A giggle rose in her throat as she turned to see the offending car disappearing down the street.

She glanced at her phone, and realising how late it was, knew if she didn’t get a move on she would be late for work. She gave the cottage one last look before leaving.

‘Bye, Briar Rose,’ she whispered, and then drifted back down Mulberry Street as if in a dream. She thought about how she had first stumbled across the cottage. It was purely by chance, for which she had to thank her sister.

It was because Rosemary had insisted on getting married in a small, beautiful old stone church, in a village called Sweetwood. Isabella had never heard of the place. Her life and haunts were in the nearby town of Billison. To think such a village had been barely half an hour away by bus and she hadn’t known about it.

And, Isabella supposed rather grudgingly, she also had to thank Mason Winters. If it hadn’t been for him bothering her, having drunk way too much champagne and trying to chat her up, Isabella would never have snuck away from the wedding celebrations when he’d dashed off to the bathroom.

She grinned to herself at the memory. She had taken off at such a speed it was a wonder she hadn’t broken those ridiculous high heels Rosemary had insisted she and the other bridesmaid wear. It hadn’t been long before she had taken them off and found herself running in her stockinged feet, her frothy, pink silk frock flowing like a bride’s veil. When she had paused to catch her breath, she found herself in Mulberry Street.

Even without the two glasses of champagne she would have recognised what a lovely street it was. Then, when she had arrived at the cottage, her breath was taken away.

Hard to believe it had only been two weeks ago.

‘Lovely day.’

Isabella jolted out of her memories to find a pleasant looking guy approaching.

She smiled and nodded.

‘Wearing your shoes this time, I see.’

‘What?’

He stood before her, a subtle smile of his lips. ‘It’s just that last time you were carrying them.’

He had seen her running away from the wedding party?

‘It looked like you were being pursued by a monster,’ he said with a wide grin. He was dressed in an open-necked blue shirt, a pair of old jeans, and sneakers. His dark hair fell over his forehead in such a manner that Isabella felt she wanted to run her hand through it. He had twinkling dark eyes, and his tanned face was strong looking. Isabella guessed he worked outside, not in an office.

She returned his smile. ‘It was something like that.’

‘You have friends here in the street?’

‘One dear friend,’ she said, thinking quickly. It wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t a person. It was Briar Rose Cottage.

There was a small silence. If he wanted Isabella to elaborate then he was out of luck. He would think her slightly deranged if he knew she considered a cottage as a dear friend.

‘Okay, then,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘Have a good day.’

‘You too.’ Isabella was happy to be on the move before she embarrassed herself.

She was almost at the end of Mulberry Street when she felt it was safe enough to turn, to see where the guy was headed. Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise as she watched him open the pale blue gate to the cottage. Did that mean he lived there? That it was his place? No – it couldn’t be. It was hers. She knew this with every fibre of her being. She watched as he went up to the front door. Perhaps he was delivering something. If he was, then it meant someone lived there. Her heart sank. She had been sure it was abandoned and by some crazy miracle it had been waiting for her.

Isabella turned away, tears stinging her eyes.

Her dream was ruined.

She would never visit Briar Rose Cottage again.

Chapter Two

Café 73 stood on the corner of High and Brown Streets. It was a popular café in a busy part of the town. Since its opening eighteen months ago it hadn’t been closed a single day. Its reputation for serving up award-winning sweet pastry delights and savoury snacks had skyrocketed in the last six months. Hours were from eight in the morning until six in the evening.

This week Isabella had been rostered on the afternoon shift, from one to six. When she arrived, there was a long queue. The tables were full outside and in. The place smelled delicious; of chocolate, coffee, cinnamon, a hint of nutmeg and rosemary.

‘You’re late,’ said Tinka, her boss.

‘Sorry,’ said Isabella, edging herself between the crowd. ‘Won’t happen again.’

‘You told me that twice in the last week.’

Tinka O’Brien had renamed herself when she reached the age of twenty-one. She was slightly strange, but Isabella liked her. In fact, she wished she could be more like her. Tinka wasn’t afraid to be herself. She wasn’t afraid to say and do exactly what she felt was right for her. Plus, she was a brilliant businesswoman. She was middle-aged, but looked as if she was a fabulous thirty-something, with her short-streaked hair, bright clothes and exotic earrings. The pastries were made by Tinka’s partner, Bruno Terris, a Spanish chef, who was every bit as crazy as Tinka, but also as loveable.

As soon as Carla, the other waitress saw Isabella, she narrowed her eyes and muttered, ‘About time.’ Isabella took no notice. She hurried into the tiny change room out the back.

Carla Farin wasn’t the most efficient of workers and many a time Isabella had covered for her when she had gotten orders wrong. She was used to Carla’s offhand manner, so she wasn’t bothered by her comment.

Isabella pulled on a frilly cap, making sure her dark hair was tucked beneath the elastic. Next, she took the café’s white apron, the hem fringed with lace, and tied it around her slim waist, and then slipped her feet into a pair of flats. At first she had baulked at the outfit, but she had grown to like it. It was feminine and pretty. When she was ready she stepped out into the ravenous wolves’ arena, as she had come to think of it.

As soon as she reappeared in the café, Carla disappeared.

‘Excuse me,’ called out a young woman, beckoning to Isabella from the far corner, as if Isabella was her private waitress. One glance told her the woman was used to getting her own way.

‘I ordered at least ten minutes ago. It’s not good enough.’ Her red lips twitched. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and sported several gold bangles, long dangling gold earrings, and several rings. She wore a blouse which looked like silk. A smart pair of black trousers. Her handbag, looped over the chair shrieked Prada, or some other equally expensive brand.

Isabella had been about to give her usual spiel about being stretched for staff, but felt this particular woman would find something else to complain about. It would be easier to fill her order instead of arguing. On the way, she fielded two more complaints about the wait. Isabella knew it was partly her fault for being late. But she also knew Carla had something to do with it. Carla was lazy and if she could get out of doing something she would. If she hadn’t been a relation of Bruno’s, Isabella often wondered if she would still have a job at the café.

Billy, the barista, grinned at her. ‘Boyfriend hold you up?’ It was said with a wink. Billy was always full of good humour. A student of life, he had told Isabella when they had first been introduced. Later she found out he had been studying medicine, but had chucked it in, owing to the fact he found out he was actually required to study. Isabella had laughed when he had told her. Since working full time at