Little Boxes
by Celia J. Anderson
Book Description:
Suddenly bereaved, Molly White realises
that she has never really known her feisty husband Jake when random boxes begin
to appear through the post, each one containing a tantalising clue to the
secrets of Jake and Molly’s past. Someone who knows them both well, for reasons
of their own, has planned a trail of discovery. The clues seem to be designed
to change Molly’s life completely, leading her around Britain and then onwards
to rural France and deepest Bavaria.
Meanwhile, waiting in the wings is Tom,
a charismatic artist who runs a gallery in the same town. Strong, independent
and wheelchair-bound from the age of fifteen, he leads a solitary life and has
no idea how devastatingly attractive he is to women. When Tom meets curvy,
beautiful and funny Molly, he knows that she is his dream woman, but she seems
way out of his orbit until the boxes start to weave their spell and the two of
them are thrown right out of their comfort zones.
Little Boxes is a story of love in a
variety of guises - mother-love, unrequited passion, infatuation and the
shadow-love held in memories that refuse to go away.
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Excerpt from Little Boxes
Tom glanced at Molly as she sat with her arms around her knees, noticing for the first time how long her eyelashes were close up. She had a faint smattering of freckles across her nose, and her lips were soft and achingly kissable. He tried not to stare, but their eyes locked and he couldn’t look away. Molly was the first one to break the spell.
‘I didn’t mean that to sound flirty just then, honestly,’ she said, stroking the puppy’s head as if it was an important job that must be done properly.
‘I know you didn’t. Let’s start again. So… ahem… what do you do with yourself all day, Molly?’ Tom asked.
‘Oh, it’s not very interesting, really. I’m a music therapist in schools. I travel around trying to persuade kids that playing an instrument will solve all their problems. I get kicked a lot.’
‘You’re kidding? The kids kick you? Why?’
‘Oh, these are the ones with really big problems. There’s one who only has to catch sight of me and he shouts, “You! F*** off.” Good job I’m only part-time.’ She sighed and changed the subject suddenly. ‘I love this beach, don’t you? But my favourite part of Ferrymead is the stone jetty, with all the tractors and fishing boats, and that rank fishy smell.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Tom. ‘The whole town’s perfect, as far as I’m concerned. Some people might say it’s a bit seedy and old-fashioned in places, I guess.’
‘Would they?’ Molly frowned.
‘Well, obviously no-one with any sense would say that.’ Tom saw Molly’s shoulders relax again and thought it was safe to continue. He must have touched a nerve there. Why was she so prickly all of a sudden? ‘Anyway, I’ve driven quite a way down the east coast when I’ve been looking for new places to paint,’ he said, ‘right from Berwick-on-Tweed to the bottom end of Suffolk, but this part of Norfolk is just so chilled out and beautiful.’
‘I know. When we moved here, some of my friends thought it was crazy to leave a place where you could so easily get into Leicester – there’s so much to do: bars, theatres, shopping. But I feel safe here.’
‘I’m glad you like the jetty. Most people don’t like that area so much. The stink puts some of the tourists off – that’s got to be a bonus.’ Tom knew he shouldn’t hate the trippers so much; his best-selling pictures were those traditional big-sky-and-sea type landscapes – they couldn’t get enough of them. He longed to burn all those pictures one day in a wild beach bonfire and begin painting something else. Anything else. Something good.
Molly turned to smile at him. ‘Do you ever get the urge to paint something different, Tom? Like portraits, or that stuff that’s just big coloured shapes?’
Tom blinked. Was she a witch? He nodded wordlessly. Molly looked at her watch.
‘Oh no, I’m going to be really late for fetching Max and Hattie from school.’ Before Tom could stop her, she jumped up and checked that the puppy’s lead was attached properly and began to drag it up the beach, looking back over her shoulder as she went. ‘Next time I see you, I’ll buy you a drink, Tom. I mean as a thank you, I’m not trying to pick you up or anything… not that I… oh sod it, I’m off.’
‘Wait a minute, don’t go just yet,’ Tom shouted back, but she’d disappeared up the steps and along the promenade towards the town, almost stumbling in her rush to get away.
About the Author
Celia J Anderson spends most of her spare time
writing in as many different genres as possible, including children’s fiction.
In her other life, she’s Assistant Headteacher at a small Catholic primary
school in the Midlands and loves teaching literature (now comfortingly called
English again but still the best subject in the world.)
She tried a variety of random jobs before
discovering that the careers advisor at secondary school was right, including
running crèches, childminding, teaching children to ride bikes (having omitted
to mention she couldn’t do it herself) and a stint in mental health care. All
these were ideal preparation for the classroom and provided huge amounts of
copy for the books that were to come.
Celia enjoys cooking and eating in equal measures,
and thinks life without wine would be a sad thing indeed. She is married, with
two grown up daughters who have defected to the seaside. One day she plans to
scoop up husband and cats and join them there.
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***GIVEAWAY***
3 digital copies of Sweet Proposal.
I love romance novels because they remind me to romance my husband and sometimes I end up getting date ideas from them.
ReplyDeleteromance books help us to remember that not everything can be left to fend for itself - romance needs a lot of attention in life!
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