Meet Me at Wisteria Cottage
'A striking example of two pasts threatening a joint future…A great read'Sue Moorcroft, bestselling author of Just for the Holidays‘Warm, funny…a wonderful read’ International bestselling author Nicola CornickA Cornish EscapeAfter her house is set on fire and her love life is left in tatters, Maddy Hart can’t believe her luck when a friend offers her the temporary haven of Wisteria Cottage. Overlooking the turquoise blue waters of the Cornish coast, the fresh air feels like a fresh start for her and her broken heart.Peeking out of the cosy cottage windows, Maddy’s surprised to see her gorgeous but insufferable neighbour Harry Tudor has been employed to landscape the garden. But as the wisteria winding its way around the cottage begins to bloom, an unlikely friendship starts to blossom…
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HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Teresa F. Morgan 2017
Cover design by Cherie Chapman © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Teresa F. Morgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008225346
Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008225339
Version: 2018-09-24
For my dad, my real life hero
Contents
Maddison Hart threw her bag on the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition and, checking the pavement was clear, reversed off the driveway. A bad memory reminded her to glance in her wing mirror just in time. She was about to hit her neighbour’s pickup truck on the opposite side of the road – again. She slammed the brakes and cursed. She’d only just had her damn brake light fixed.
‘Bloody idiot,’ she said, screwing up her face.
Why did he park it there, on the road, and not on his driveway? It was big enough!
He always seemed to be parked there when she wanted to reverse off her drive, too! Damn the man.
Her neighbour, wearing only a pair of knee-length khaki shorts, and busy putting some tools into the back of the black pickup, smirked.
Oh, crap, he’d heard her too, with her window partially down. Sod it, he’d been living here three months, and now it was getting annoying. She pressed the button, and lowered her window further. She would not be intimidated by his bare chest and muscles.
‘Mr …’ she glanced at the stickers reading ‘Tudor Landscapes’ along the truck’s side, ‘Mr Tudor,’ she said more assertively, ‘could you not park your truck right there?’
‘It’s Harry.’
‘Okay, Harry,’ she sniped, ‘could you please not park your truck right there.’ Everything about him, his whole demeanour, infuriated Maddy.
‘Why?’
‘I nearly hit it – again!’
‘What do you mean again?’ He glanced at the truck, rubbing his hand along the paintwork.
‘I said nearly.’ She lied. Last time she had clonked it, but it had done more damage to her car than his.
‘It’s easy, look in your mirrors as you reverse off your drive, lady.’
Maddy took a deep breath, her teeth clamped together and she dramatically swished her strawberry blonde hair off her shoulders before choosing her next words. ‘It’s awkward whether I look in my mirrors or not.’
‘Drive slower then.’
Maddy refrained from growling with frustration, instead she gripped the steering wheel tighter. The man was obviously too arrogant to listen. ‘It doesn’t matter how fast I go. I’m used to reversing off my drive, hassle free. The people who lived in the house before you never parked on the road. They used their driveway.’
‘Then reverse onto your drive, so you can see what you’re doing when you leave, if it’s so difficult.’
‘It’s not easy to reverse onto my drive either, with your monstrosity of a truck in the road.’ The road was too narrow, as it only led to a handful of houses.
‘Maybe you should own a smaller car if you can’t handle it.’
Deep breath, Maddy. One, two, three … She did not like his smug expression, and wished he wasn’t six feet tall and built like a marine, standing there baring his tanned torso, because she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Bastard. She hated smug bastards.
‘Are you implying I can’t drive?’ Her eyes narrowed. She drove an estate car so that her paintings fitted in the back. A smaller vehicle was not suitable – she’d tried it. However much she’d loved her Mini Cooper S in racing green, it had not been practical.
‘I can’t see why it’s so hard, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll stop leaving my truck here when you stop your damn cat from crapping in my front garden.’
