Summer at Forget-Me-Not Cottage (Little Woodville Cottage Series) by Helen Rolfe

Author:Helen Rolfe [Rolfe, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books
Published: 2023-06-25T16:00:00+00:00

10

The following Saturday, Morgan was at the Little Woodville markets before Nate and she was glad to have time to shunt back and forth to get things from the car before she’d have to face him. She’d embarrassed herself last week and she knew it. Since then, she hadn’t bumped into him in the village and for that she was thankful. She’d seen him in the street one day with Trevor and Branston, but she’d ducked into the bakery and ended up buying another loaf of bread she didn’t actually need as Betty leapt straight in to serve her. The last thing she was going to admit was that she was hiding from someone.

Morgan got all her boxes to her stall with Hildy’s help this time. Morgan swore nobody ever got to these markets before Hildy did, nor did they ever look as bright and bubbly as the florist stall operator’s bright-pink, woolly jumper over inky leggings and brown boots with fur bursting from the tops. Pedro watched her stall and everything on it while she ran to get a herbal tea, as well as a bottle of water, plus a large tea for him. The warmer days were upon them and she’d been caught out enough times not having enough fluids at her disposal. She didn’t intend to let that happen again.

She’d put on a loose-weave cardigan over a plain t-shirt and jeans but took it off, despite it not even being mid-morning. This was one of those summer days where you really didn’t need another layer.

Moments after she relieved Pedro and he went back to his own stall, Nate arrived with a brief nod and a hello.

‘Good morning, Nate. Lovely day.’ She opted to go with ignoring the events of last week. It seemed the easiest thing to do, rather than talk about the grief that sneaked up on her and took her by surprise when she least expected.

The same thing had happened to Morgan a few times since Elaina’s death. She’d been caught out in the street, at the convenience store and even at the bakery the day she saw the French twist on display in the window. It had reminded her of her mum recalling the stage she and Tegan went through when they were learning French at school and were obsessed with practising at home in case they should want to go to Paris one day and see Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower. The girls had wanted French plaits in their hair and Elaina had done her best, but it was time consuming and a lot when you had to do it for two girls day in, day out. In the end, she’d told her daughters that it would be better if they learnt to do them on each other. The novelty had soon worn off. But remembering the conversation, the way Elaina had told the story of her two little girls demanding fancy hairstyles when they had to get to school on time,

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