Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“What a strange sentence to arrive to.” Isa popped open my gate. “There’s a massive hullabaloo out there, by the way. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Ugh.” I dropped my head back and stared up at the clear, blue sky. “That means he’s here, doesn’t it?”
“Who’s here?” Isa asked. “Prince William? Theo James? Henry Cavill? Tom Hardy?”
“Isn’t Henry Cavill the superman bloke?” Susan asked. “What would Superman be doing in Hanbury?”
“Same as all the other rich people who come here,” Isa replied. “Buying our houses for overinflated prices and killing the property market for locals.”
Ouch.
Why didn’t she tell us how she really felt?
Susan shook her head, sighing forlornly. “It’s getting harder and harder to live an idyllic country life.”
“I think Henry Cavill has better things to do than buy a house in Hanbury,” I said, putting my water bottle down.
“Right, but you still haven’t told us what you’re talking about.” Isa poked around in one of my raised beds. “Hey, you missed a courgette. It’s about to break out and stage a coup.”
Fucking courgettes.
They were the bane of my existence.
“I have no idea how they manage to always hide.” I shuffled over to where she was and moved the leaves aside. Thank God I was wearing my gloves—there was nothing worse than getting stabbed by those spiky little hairs on the stems.
“Hey,” Isa said, staring at the courgette. “How do you always manage to grow vegetables bigger than my ex’s dick?”
“I’ve grown radishes longer than his dick.”
Susan snorted. “Isn’t your ex that handsome vet you work with? He did my Merlot’s annual check-up last week, and I felt like a schoolgirl every time he smiled at me.”
Only Susan would name her dog after her favourite wine.
And flirt with a vet who was young enough to be her son.
Not that I was judging her. If I were, I’d judge her for her crush on George before deriding her for fancying her vet.
You go get yourself a tasty little boytoy, Susan.
Isa spun and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Wrong ex.”
“She only went out with him for three weeks,” I said, peeking around Isa to look at the older woman. “I don’t know if we can call him an ex.”
Susan narrowed her eyes. “Was there something wrong with his penis, Isa?”
This woman was out here shouting about sexual harassment to George only a week ago, now she wanted to know about her vet’s cock.
Pick a damn lane, Susan.
Pick. A. Lane.
Maybe I was judging her a little now…
“No, his penis was fine,” Isa said, sighing and looking at her nails. “But he did call me by his ex’s name during sex, so what was I supposed to do? I’m far too beautiful and talented to be a rebound for anyone.”
I stared at her. “You’re so humble, Isadora. It’s a wonder more people aren’t aware of your greatness.”
She sniffed, laying a hand dramatically against her chest. “I know. It’s Hanbury’s greatest tragedy. No, it’s Devon’s greatest tragedy. England’s, perhaps. Shakespeare would weep with inspiration if we ever met.”
“Can you believe she says I’m the weird one?” I asked Susan, rolling my eyes. “She should be in showbusiness with the dramatics she throws out.”
Susan tapped her chin. “The drama group is looking for a new member for the panto this Christmas.”
Isa brightened and rushed across my plot to grab Susan’s hand over the fence. “Really? Will you put in a good word for me? I’ve been trying to get in for ages!”
“Consider it done.” Susan clasped Isa’s hand just as tightly, and if the two of them were in a cartoon, they’d have little excited sparks flying off their heads. “Leave it to me, Isa.”
“Susan, you’re a darling.”
Jesus Christ.
This place got crazier by the day.
The last thing Lady Narcissist over here needed was a whole arse stage for her to play out her delusions in front of hundreds of poor, unsuspecting theatregoers trying to rustle up some semblance of Christmas spirit.
“Anyway, who is the he that you said was here?” Isa pointed to my vegetable bed. “There’s another courgette hiding there.”
“Son of a bitch,” I hissed, turning around to that bed. “How do you always see them, but I don’t?”
“I get my eyes tested regularly.”
“Must you mock me so? You know how I feel about those little puffs of air they shoot into your eyes with their little machine.”
“Yes, yes, I know. It feels like a tornado on your eyeballs.”
I cut off the rogue courgette and added it to my basket. “Exactly. It gets windy enough here during storm season without opticians taking liberty with the only set of balls I possess.”
“Well said,” Susan demurred. “But that doesn’t explain who he is.”
I smacked the side of the vegetable bed with my snips. “Pah!”
“Ooh, I know this one!” Isa clapped her hands together and grinned. “There’s only one person who could elicit such a visceral reaction from you. It’s the new Duke of Hanbury!”