Another Time, Another Place

Jo Lovett

Description

'The love story was gorgeous - such brilliant energy and chemistry' Kristen Bailey

The best people in life are worth the wait...

When Liv finds herself locked in a shed with handsome stranger Ben (after they try to rescue a cat together), the instant connection they make feels like fate had a hand in it. Has Liv finally found her perfect match?

But everything about the timing means there’s no way they can be together. Not least because Ben has a girlfriend and Liv is moving from London to Paris the next day.

Over the coming years their paths weave in and out of each other’s lives – together, but always fleetingly.

If only they could stop missing each other, who knows what fate may have in store for them…

- 'Clever and funny with a sparkling and heartfelt love story, Jo proves once again why she's the queen of page-turning, feel-good romance' Catherine Walsh, author of The Matchmaker

'I LOVED Another Time, Another Place. I raced through it, desperate to find out what happens between Liv and Ben as though they were friends of mine. It was pacy and funny and romantic... Every single character leapt off the page, and it sparkled with wit and warmth. A triumph of a rom com.' Clare Swatman, author of The World Outside my Window

'Such a warm, witty book ... The love story was gorgeous - such brilliant energy and chemistry between Liv and Ben - you really rooted for them...' Kristen Bailey, author of Sex Ed

‘I absolutely loved it! Such a wonderful, emotional read’ five-star netgalley review

‘I was obsessed with Liv and Ben’s near-misses’ five-star netgalley review

‘An adorable rom-com … the connection and chemistry is electrifying’ five-star netgalley review

‘A proper 'feel good' story … I couldn't put it down’ five-star netgalley review

‘A very clever love story … I loved it’ five-star netgalley review

Sujets

• Mashups
• New Adult
• Wholesome
• Feminist
• Women
• Coming of Age
• Reino Unido
• 21st century
• Friendship
• Contemporary history
• Sliding Doors
• Romantic Comedy
• General officer
• Woman
• United Kingdom
• Feminism
• The Women
• City Life
• Great Britain
• General
• Clean
• Contemporary
• Pile et face
• Family Life
• Romance
• Fiction
• Royaume-Uni
• France

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 08 août 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785134944
• Langue: English

Extrait

ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE


JO LOVETT
To Oliver
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue


Acknowledgments

More from Jo Lovett

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
1
LIV



July 2014

If fate’s going to strike, you don’t expect it to be next to some recycling bins at a bus terminus on Putney Heath.
I’ve been hefting bags of clothes into the recycling chute in front of me for what feels like several minutes now and my biceps are killing me. I should really go to the gym more often (ever). In my defence, the chute’s high and you have to lift a really heavy handle with one hand while you put the bag in with the other. Also, I’ve put a lot of bags in.
The large number of bags is directly linked to what I now realise is my very bad habit of loving a bargain. Looking on the bright side about my enforced move out of London tomorrow, clearing out my flat has forced me to recognise that after approximately thirty-seven disastrous – although amazingly priced – sale bargains I should have learnt some lessons. (There’s always a good reason that they’re reduced.)
Another bright side is that I have to move to Paris. Paris! I should be very excited. Everyone wants to live in Paris. I am very excited. Just also a bit daunted. I’ve lived in London my whole life (apart from three years at university in Newcastle but that was easy because my twin sister did the same degree as me). I’ve always been lucky enough to be surrounded by family and friends, and it feels like it’s going to be a challenge not knowing anyone at all.
The biggest bright side is that I’m getting away from my arse of a boss and even bigger arse of an ex-colleague. I don’t have any caveats about that; I’m just delighted.
Someone behind me clears their throat and I realise I’ve been staring at my last bag – containing a heavy neon-yellow dress and a purple mohair bolero jacket, both unbelievable bargains but quite unwearable – for ages. Whoops. I should hurry up. No one wants to have to queue at the (quite smelly) recycling bank on a summery Friday evening. Why does it smell, actually, when it’s only clothes and shoes? Have people been putting household rubbish in? Rude.
Anyway.
‘Sorry.’ I pick up the final bag and hoist it effortlessly (not really – I almost squeak in discomfort at the pull on my arm muscles) into the bin, and stand back to give the man behind me access to the chute. I almost gasp out loud as he flashes me a smile, because in that moment it’s like everything else fades away and he’s all I can see.
I’ve never in my life had such an intense reaction to just a smile.
It’s wide, it’s crooked, it displays almost-but-not-completely-perfect teeth, it transforms the rest of his face, and it makes your own lips start to widen in response. My lips, anyway; I think it might just be me whose knees turn to jelly at the sight of it. I know it sounds utterly ridiculous, but it’s like I have some connection with him in the space of a split second. It does sound utterly ridiculous. I’m probably just feeling over-emotional because tomorrow morning I’m leaving my entire life as I know it behind and moving to France.
I realise that I’m staring, blocking the man’s access to the recycling bin.
Recycling is why he’s here. He is not here to smile at me. I move out of his way, rubbing my arms to smooth the tiny hairs that have risen, wondering how I’m suddenly shivering when it’s still so warm, the evening sun high in the sky with no cloud in sight.
As I move, I take in more details of the man surrounding the smile. He’s around my age, maybe two or three years older, so he’s probably late twenties. He’s tallish and broadish, and wearing a light grey T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts; he has ruffled mid-brown hair, tanned skin and, again, the smile.
I feel as though everything about him is amazing. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear ‘Love is All Around’ playing behind me and see hearts floating through the air. I can almost smell the gorgeousness of him. I mean, not really. He could have the most wonderful manly scent ever, or equally the most disgusting BO, and I wouldn’t be able to smell it above the delightful combination of putrid bin and the diesel fumes the red bus just to my left is pumping out, but I feel like he smells gorgeous.
I am literally on the brink of saying something along the lines of, ‘Hi, my name’s Liv. Would you like to go for dinner with me? Right now?’ Or just, ‘Well, hello .’ Like my mouth is literally opening to ask him out. Which is bizarre, because I never make the first move. The last time I did was in Year Twelve with a new boy and that did not end well (Ned Morgan – nice name, nice face, really not a nice personality as it turned out).
Instead, I feel myself give a weird smile (I think I started by aiming for slightly flirty but panicked) and hear myself say, ‘Enjoy your recycling,’ and immediately give myself an internal eye-roll. Not that much better than ‘Well, hello ’.
‘Thanks.’ His voice is deep, holds a laugh, and gets me somewhere right inside.
And I’m staring at him again. He clearly just wants to do his recycling.
‘Bye then.’ Why? Why am I saying goodbye to him?
He smiles again and lifts his two bags in, fast, one after the other, and I turn to begin the walk across the grass back to my car, hoping that it isn’t obvious that I’m practically drooling at the way the muscles in his upper arms flexed as he worked the chute.
I hear the light slap of his flip flops on the tarmac behind me, and then… he catches me up, definitely, definitely on purpose and says, ‘Which way are you going?’
He has just asked me which way I’m going. As in he is definitely making conversation with me. Maybe he felt some kind of connection too. Maybe he’s suggesting that the two of us go somewhere this evening. Maybe he just felt the same insane connection, like fate has pulled us together. Maybe…
Maybe not. I’m leaving tomorrow. And this evening my sister, Frankie, and my best friend, Sulwe, are coming over and we’re getting takeaway. If fate has pulled me and this man together, it has very bad timing. Given that we’re using the same clothes recycling bank, we probably live reasonably close to each other, so this could have happened any time. And that is one reason that I do not believe in fate.
‘I’m just…’ As I point towards my car, not totally sure where I’m going with the end of my sentence, I hear a noise from inside the little hut we’re passing. I stop for a moment. ‘Was that a cat?’
I move closer to the hut and listen. Yes, there it is again. We always had cats when I was growing up and the miaow of a miserable one is very recognisable. ‘I think there’s a cat with a problem in there.’
‘Yep, I think you’re right,’ the man agrees in his lovely deep voice.
The door of the hut is slightly ajar; I push it and go inside. As I pause to let my eyes adjust to the dark so that I don’t trip over any of the immense clutter in front of me (the owner of this hut is not a tidy person), I note two things. One, the sound is definitely the miaow of a hurt or scared cat and it’s coming from the back of the hut, and two, the man has followed me inside.
I can make out a shelving unit at the back. As I advance cautiously, two green eyes stare at me from the very top shelf. I’m not cautious enough and I yelp as I stub my toe on something and then scream as something wispy catches my face. The cat’s eyes widen and its miaow increases and then just stops. I’ve clearly terrified it. And obviously there was no need to scream because the thing that brushed my face must have been a cobweb and there is nothing wrong with spiders. Nothing wrong at all. Unlike rats and mice. I hear a little scuffly sound and have to swallow another scream. What if there are rats or mice in here?
‘Are you okay?’ I love the concern in the man’s voice and now I’m feeling a lot better. Of course there aren’t small furry creatures in here, and even if there are, it’s fine. Fine . We are large humans. Mice (eurgh) and rats (actual vomit) are way smaller than us. We will be okay.
‘Totally fine, thank you. I just banged my foot on something and then walked into what I think must be a cobweb. I’m not so sure the cat’s fine, though.’
As I’m speaking, I continue to move forwards, my hands outstretched, and now I’ve made it to the shelves. I look up.
‘It’s stuck in something.’
‘Cricket helmet,’ the man says. The cat miaows plaintively again as if it’s relieved someone’s correctly diagnosed its predicament. ‘I’m thinking I need to get it out.’
I nod. There’s no way I can reach up there without climbing halfway up the shelves and they really don’t look like they could support my weight. I move to my right to go past the man just as he moves to his left and then we both stop, and then I move left while he goes right and then we both stop again. We both laugh, kind of awkwardly, but we’re also being a bit flirty, which I have to say I love , and then he says, ‘You go.’
‘Why thank you.’
Eek, no, that just sounded embarrassingly coy. I try not to shake my head at myself, and step to my right around him as he stands still. As I inch past, our chests are almost within touching distance and, honestly, I feel almost fluttery. Or giddy. This is ridiculous. Also, I admit, hugely exciting.
‘Great, then,’ I say with cringeworthy forced nonchalance, and come close to clapping my hands together before I realise that that would a) make me look very peculiar and