The Cottage Swap

By Danielle Thorne

She wants a quiet escape to find the peace she needs to decide her future.

He needs to repair and sell an old cottage so he can leave it behind forever…

 

Grace Meriweather is ready to embrace her story as a single empty nester and career woman until a vacation to a quaint Irish village turns her plans upside down. When she arrives, she meets a widowed handyman who threatens to steal her heart and a herd of wild goats who challenge her to see herself differently. With an age gap and old wounds standing in the way of a second chance at romance, will Grace take the plunge and rediscover that life is full of unexpected possibilities in any chapter?

 

If you enjoyed the movie, The Holiday, you'll love this heartwarming novella of unexpected love.

 

Other books by Danielle Thorne

A Home For The Twins

A Promise For His Daughter

His Daughter's Prayer

Falling For The Coach

Brushstrokes And Blessings

By Heart And Compass

Turtle Soup

Valentine Gold

Henry's Holiday Charade

Garland's Christmas Romance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danielle Thorne
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223278979

Danielle Thorne

Danielle Thorne writes sweet southern romance and historicals from Atlanta, Georgia. Married for thirty years to the same fellow, she's the mother of four boys, four daughters-in-law and has two grandbabies. There are also cats.Danielle graduated from BYU-Idaho after studying English and Communications. Free time is filled with books, movies, yardwork and not enough road trips or beach time. She can be found on most social media platforms and loves to connect with readers.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The small taxi whirred away before Grace Meriweather could change her mind, and she instantly regretted she’d tipped in advance. She’d only climbed out of the car to assure herself the crumbling Irish cottage on the side of the road couldn’t be the right address, but the driver had tossed out her bags and sped off. Now she was abandoned in the cold, gray rain in the middle of nowhere instead of her Atlanta apartment where at least she knew the lay of the land. Examining the dilapidated stone house beyond an ancient rock wall, Grace realized she should have stopped at the pub in the last village they’d passed as the driver had suggested. He’d seemed to know the narrow uphill dirt road from Ballyven wasn’t going to end well. She shuddered as water droplets pelted the top of her head, thin sweater, and the new designer carry-on suitcase.

Great. Grace clumped to the door, boots squishing the thick grass of an overgrown yard until she reached the rotting eaves over an arched door. Laura Jennings, I am going to wring your neck! Her best friend had offered her a vacation in her cousin’s home outside Ireland’s Wicklow National Park in exchange for Grace’s timeshare in Florida. It’d seemed like the perfect plan. Laura could enjoy the beach instead of the Irish countryside she was already familiar with, and Grace could explore something exciting and new instead of the old timeshare she had to share with her ex. With her daughter now in college and a job offer, it was time for Grace to turn the page that she’d been stuck on for too long. She needed fresh memories to crown her new independence. But this place...was not a vacation home. She checked her watch. At this exact moment, Laura was probably enjoying fruity drinks and giggling with glee over how she’d bamboozled her into swapping Clearwater’s beaches for a sheepherder’s shack dubbed, Clover Cottage, in the wilds of Ireland.

Grace squeezed a lever on the door and shoved, but it didn’t budge. It looked rusty so she gave it a tug then put her shoulder into another push. Nothing. Rain hurtled over the archaic grassy roof spattering her luggage. With a grunt, Grace balled her fist and hammered on the door. A housekeeper was supposed to drop by and leave it unlocked. She took a step back and looked to see if the taxi had turned around. She could meet him for a return trip to the tiny village of Ballyven. Besides a lodge-like pub, she’d seen a small grocery store, a few scattered houses, and a narrow, tall church—all signs of civilization. But there were no sounds of an oncoming automobile, just the quiet growls of distant thunder.

Grace fumbled for the phone in her back pocket. There wasn’t a signal. It was just her and the remote getaway Laura had promised, but this was not the idyllic stone manor Grace had imagined. There was no pea-gravel driveway or elegant rose garden to stroll while she deliberated on her life as an empty nester. Instead, she was staring at a ramshackle hobbit house with water gushing off the roof like Niagara Falls. Disbelief burned her throat, and she fought a wave of panic. This was not a vacation swap. It was a survival show.

The wind nipped her skin through her sweater, and Grace hunched over with a groan. She noticed a small window a few feet away. It was pitch black and lonely inside. Her chest tightened when she realized darkness was creeping in fast. Taking action, she sloshed to the window and tried to jimmy it open. It gave a few inches, and she managed to get underneath it and push up with all of her strength. It slid open with a moan, and she heaved herself up onto a narrow window sill with elation and threw herself inside. She’d made it. Oof! But only halfway. Dangling half in and half out with arms paddling the air, Grace groaned at the ridiculous predicament as rain soaked the back of her suede leggings.

What were you thinking, Gracie? She’d never been out of the United States, not even to Canada. Why had she thought she could fly halfway across the world to Ireland all by herself? She’d hardly understood the officials in customs although they were supposed to be speaking English. Panic fumbled at her chest. She should have stayed at home where she knew her limits; taken the job offer and started a career path in education while waiting patiently for her daughter to visit. She didn’t need a new life, she should have kept a grip on what she had left of the old one even though it included an ex.

Breathe. Grace heard Laura’s voice in her head and sucked in a deep breath to calm herself. It brought an aroma of stale toast, old coffee, and scorched wood. Weirdly, she found it comforting and suspected they were full of memories. With renewed determination, she cupped her hands over her head and dove headfirst onto a hard stone floor in the darkness Ow. It didn’t echo. That was good. The neglected cottage was gloomy but warm, old but clean. Ish.

Dripping like a wet towel, Grace climbed to her feet and let her eyes grow used to the dim light. At first glance, the inside was not much better than the outside. Glowing embers winked through the ashes heaped in a medieval-looking fireplace, an outdated sofa was pushed against the wall, and an old secretary lined with books that most likely explained how to grow cabbage and shear sheep stood rigidly beside it.

Another gust of wind sliced through the back of her clothes, and Grace shivered. She closed the window and was immediately satisfied when the rain muffled. Scanning the room, she saw a turntable and a pile of old vinyl records then she spotted the front door. There was a mid-century electrical switch beside it, and with a flick of her wrist, a faded yellow chandelier came to life. She studied her humble surroundings with a sinking heart. The cottage was a tiny rectangle with a kitchenette and table to the right and the parlor she’d fallen into like Alice into Wonderland on the other. Grace felt isolated. And wet.

Suitcase! She yanked open the door after two hard tugs. Her travel bag glistened with water. She rolled it inside and shuffled backward to a spindly chair at the table to sit down. Okay, it’s rustic, she said aloud. I can do this. She shuddered in her wet clothes, remembering Laura had warned there wasn’t any central heat or air. It hadn’t seemed important four weeks ago, but now it was late September, and she was at a higher latitude than she’d been in Georgia. Grace exhaled in surrender and got to her feet to explore. She’d lived for others for so long. Now was the time to decide what to do with the rest of her life while she was far across the sea.

A Victorian-era lamp clicked on in the parlor when she twisted its knob, and oil landscapes appeared on the walls. She moved over to the fireplace and found rolled newspaper and dark blocks that looked like dirt stacked beside a matchbox. She dropped to her knocking knees and lit a match. Watching the paper curl with a flame, she prodded small pieces of kindling with a fire poker then returned to the kitchen and rifled through a cardboard box on the counter. It contained cocoa and tea, as well as a small box of plain cookies labeled biscuits and a bag of potato chips called crisps. The chips and cookies were open, and she drew her brows together. The help had helped herself, Grace decided, but she couldn’t blame the woman. It was at least a forty-minute walk to civilization if she was from the nearby village. Grace’s empty stomach growled in protest. She’d have to eat the cleaning lady’s leftovers because she’d finished her last sea salt caramel candy bar. A hot meal would have to wait until tomorrow.

Her bladder complained next, and Grace swore she’d never forgive Laura if the only ladies’ room was an outhouse. To her relief, she found a humble bathroom with a gurgling toilet tank down a hall, and across from it, what she assumed was a bedroom. Grace turned the knob on the door and reached inside for a switch. Like the bathroom, the air smelled faintly of cedar and soap and something else she couldn’t identify. She flicked on the light. A bare bulb with an exposed wire dangled from the ceiling. Beneath it was a small bed with a crocheted blanket her great-grandmother would have loved. A guttural cry from the bed made Grace jump back, and she screamed. A man sat up from under the covers and pulled the granny blanket up to his chest like a modest school girl. Grace stood motionless, the blood in her veins iced over. It was the wrong address. She should have known. Oh, no! Grace raised her hands in surrender. I mean no harm.

Who are you? the stranger demanded.

She shook her head in disbelief at her predicament, and the heat melted her frozen blood cells and carried them to her cheeks. I’m in the wrong house. I’m so sorry!

Can I help you? The stranger straightened, his voice grizzled and hoarse. Cropped wheat-colored hair splayed out like dried pasta. He squinted.

I’m Ms. Meriweather, she blurted in self-defense. Grace? Laura Jennings’ friend. I thought this was the right place, but it’s not. I was looking for Clover Cottage?

This is Clover Cottage, but... The man’s eyes widened as he swung his legs over the side of the bed in a swift motion.

Grace stepped back in alarm. Laura’s cousin lets her stay here once a year, she exclaimed. "She said I could come instead. I have