Let It Snow

Beth Moran

Description

THE NUMBER ONE BESTSELLER.

Curl up with the perfect cosy read and the latest novel by the bestselling author of Just the Way You Are.

'Every day is a perfect day to read this.’ Shari Low

After the end of a long-term relationship, local weather girl Bea Armstrong has been avoiding her family, and their inevitable ‘I-told-you-sos.’ But with Christmas fast approaching, she is finally on her way home to Charis House, the school in Sherwood Forest that her mum and dad run in their old family home. And to top it all off, the insufferable Henry Fairfax – who her parents have always wanted her to marry – has also been invited.

Relief comes in the shape of a last minute interview for her dream job. There are just a few minor problems… The interview is in Scotland, Bea has no car, and the snow is falling already. The only solution is for Henry to drive her – could this Christmas get any worse…

But during an unforgettable two day interview, a stay in a log cabin and a nightmare journey through the snow, Henry turns out to be nothing like she thought. And when Bea’s first love and recent ex shows up, Bea has a difficult choice to make…

Reading Beth Moran’s fabulous novels makes every day better. Feelgood, satisfying, with smart characters and gorgeous settings, it’s impossible not to fall in love with a Beth Moran story. Perfect for all fans of Jill Mansell, Julie Houston, and Jenny Colgan.

*'Let it Snow is so uplifting. It's cleverly written, witty and smart. A winner!' *USA Today Bestseller, Judy Leigh

Praise for Beth Moran:

'Beth Moran's heartwarming books never fail to leave me feeling uplifted' Jessica Redland

‘Life-affirming, joyful and tender.’ Zoe Folbigg
*
'Every day is a perfect day to read this.’ *Shari Low

'A British author to watch.' Publisher's Weekly

What readers say about Beth Moran:

‘I devoured this book in a few days. Wow! This book was such a pleasure to read. I love the way the author has woven all these strands together. A very satisfying ending for us romance fans too. Brilliant read!’

‘I love Beth Moran because she writes so honestly about people with real life challenges whilst still weaving a gentle romance. Settle down with a cuppa and enjoy!’

‘Oh my what a true delight to read Beth Moran new book. A throughly enjoyable read for 2022, full of contemporary issues in a heart warming story of self development and growth. A must read for all singles and everyone that's wanted to change and challenge themselves. Beth Moran has given us a true gem of a book.’

‘I love all of her books and am always left feeling so upbeat at the end of them. Looking forward to the next one already’

Sujets

• Vie de famille
• Relations familiales
• Romance contemporaine
• Fiction
• Christmas
• Suspense
• England
• Scotland
• Nottinghamshire
• Romance
• Family Life
• Contemporary
• Holiday
• The Women
• Feminism
• Woman
• Sibling
• Romantic Comedy
• Contemporary history
• Friendship
• Escocia
• Inglaterra
• Suspenso
• Coming of Age
• Women
• Siblings
• Holidays
• Feminist
• Mashups

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 30 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781802806434
• Langue: English

Extrait

LET IT SNOW


BETH MORAN
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


More from Beth Moran

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Beth Moran

About Boldwood Books
For A, S, D & A
While I was only a short chapter in your stories, you have forever changed mine
1

‘To summarise, Poppy Walton, you can tell Mum that a new sledge will definitely come in handy tomorrow afternoon. Maura Kelly, I’d hold off on booking those ferry tickets home, you’ll be struggling to reach Holyhead by Christmas Eve. And for everyone who’s asked, I’m not a betting woman, but even I’d be tempted to stake my stocking on the snow lasting until Christmas. So, get your shovels ready, allow extra time on the roads and keep an eye out for each other. I’m heading home for the holidays until the twenty-ninth, but you’ll be in Summer Collins’ capable hands until then. This is Bea Armstrong wishing you all a magical, merry Christmas.’
I kept my smile in place for those awkward few seconds until the camera cut, at which point my forehead immediately furrowed at the reminder that I’d be spending Christmas with my family. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. I love my family more than life itself. But combine the two together and, well, let’s just say that I’d be packing my migraine medication .
As I approached my desk a few minutes later, the phone began ringing right on cue.
‘Mrs Lewinski,’ Sondra, the receptionist, said in the exact same drone she used every day at six forty-five.
‘Mrs L,’ I chirruped. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Good evening, Bea,’ the reedy voice rasped. ‘A lovely broadcast as always. However, I’m a little concerned about my parsnips…’
Today it was her vegetables, yesterday it was whether she needed to ask the ‘nice young man’ next door to de-ice the garden path. Mrs Lewinski phoned the television studio most days at six forty-five on the dot and asked for her own personal weather report. I was happy to give it to her. Not just because part of my presenting style included answering individual questions from the viewers at the end of each broadcast, or because I knew I might well have been the only person she’d spoken to all day. But also because the weather was quite simply my obsession, and I would willingly talk about it in great detail to anyone who’d listen.
As soon as I’d ended the call, another one came through. Walter Pirbright.
‘You got it wrong again.’
I paused, the phone tucked under my chin so I could pack up my things at the same time. ‘Oh?’ Walter was a local farmer. He contacted me no more than once a month, every time to correct what he considered to be an inaccurate forecast.
‘The snow’ll be here tonight. A couple of hours, I’d say.’
Various arguments popped into my head about why he was wrong, and the data clearly showed that the snow wouldn’t reach Nottinghamshire until the early hours of the morning. I bit my tongue. In two years, Walter had been wrong once.
‘How bad?’
‘If you’re planning on getting home tonight, I’d not hang about, and if you’ve plans for tomorrow, cancel ’em.’
The phone rang off before I had a chance to reply. I was mulling this new information over while checking my desk for anything I might have forgotten when Jamal sauntered over. Jamal was a broadcasting engineer and my closest friend at work. ‘Great forecast. Letting all your obsessed fans know where you’ll be for the next week.’ He assumed his usual position, compact frame perching on the corner of my desk, hands pushed into the pockets of his skinny chinos.
I rolled my eyes, pulling a turquoise duffel coat over the Fair Isle knitted jumper dress I’d worn to embrace the festive season. ‘Telling viewers that I’m going home is not quite handing out my address.’
‘It’s not hard to find out where your parents live.’
‘Maybe by “home” I meant my own home, where a gorgeous partner, adorable twins, and stinky dog will ensure a perfect Christmas.’ I leant past him to pick up my travel mug.
Jamal smiled. He was the one with a stunningly beautiful wife, four-year-old girls, and a perfectly groomed Pomeranian called Stinker. ‘I think it’s pretty obvious you live alone.’
‘What?’ I paused to look at him. While I was proud of how much I enjoyed living alone, I wasn’t sure Jamal was paying me a compliment. ‘How is it obvious?’
He shrugged. ‘If you shared with someone they’d never let you leave the house wearing those tights.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ My tights were covered in glittery snowflakes and I loved them even more than the matching earrings now tangled up in the dark bob brushing my shoulders.
We were both still laughing when the air turned frigid, which usually signalled – somewhat ironically – that Summer had arrived in the vicinity.
‘Ooh, care to share the joke?’ she trilled, popping out from behind Jamal with a flick of her blonde extensions.
‘Just general merriment at the knowledge that I won’t be spending Christmas here for once.’ I grinned back.
‘Gosh, Bea. I really admire how you manage to feel so secure in your career! If it was me, after so many performance hiccups I’d be terrified that abandoning my fans on such a crucial weather week would risk having no job to come back to in the new year. Your confidence is amazing!’
‘With popularity ratings like Bea’s, I don’t think she has anything to worry about,’ Jamal said, assuming a blandly pleasant expression as he pushed off from the desk and walked away.
As the main weather presenter for our local, East Midlands news, I covered most of the lunchtime and early evening news programmes as well as updating the website and apps and writing any additional weather-related stories. When a few months ago Summer had joined the team straight out of drama school, I’d imagined we’d develop some sort of mentor-mentee relationship where I passed on my meteorological expertise, gained from an environmental studies degree, a year training at the Met Office, and a lifelong passion.
She’d be grateful for the time and investment I was willing to offer, and we’d swiftly become friends. Fellow women cheering each other on in the cut-throat world of broadcasting.
That wasn’t quite how things had turned out.
While I wanted to blame Summer’s passive-aggressive snarkiness on her five a.m. starts, I suspected it was more of a basic personality trait than unsociable work hours.
And as for the recent performance ‘hiccups’? They were nothing to do with my ability to provide weather reports. My aim was to make people feel as though I were a friend who’d popped round to tell them exactly what they needed to know about the forecast, and my popularity ratings showed how much viewers appreciated my answering their queries live on air. But after I’d broken up with my boyfriend Adam in June, my organisational skills had taken a hit. I’d missed a couple of important meetings and got the wrong deadline for a feature on local flooding. While my producer had initially been understanding about my eleven-year relationship coming to an abrupt end, I had been firmly informed last month that I had Christmas week off to rest with the proviso that I’d be returning back to my ‘old self’.
While no one who’d met my family would consider a week at Charis House anything close to restful, someone did once say that a change was as good as a rest, and it was certainly nothing like my usual life.
‘I guess you’d better be off, then,’ Summer said. ‘Wouldn’t want you to get caught in the snowstorm.’
‘The snow won’t hit us for at least a couple of hours,’ I said, deferring to Walter’s prediction. ‘Why are you here, anyway? Didn’t you leave straight after lunch?’
It was then that I noticed her outfit. While I tended to push the boundaries of the dress code with fun, personal touches like flowery headscarves or, as in today’s case, the snowflake tights, Summer stuck to shift dresses and suits. This evening she was in a silver sheath dress with a neckline that dipped below her ribcage in a sharp V and a hemline revealing several inches of toned thigh. Because I tried to avoid looking her in the face, I’d also not spotted the sweep of dark eyeliner and fake lashes, or the scarlet pout.
Before she could answer, there was a general straightening of postures and quietening down of conversations as Mike Long, the studio head, strode through the newsroom doors. Summer immediately glided over to him. For a stunned second I thought they must have a date. I would have considered that none of my business except that our main newsreader worked on Reception until Mike took a fancy to her, and Summer’s comment about my job security came back to slap me in the face.
‘Right, I’ve not got long but this one has persuaded me to buy the first round,’ he boomed across the room before throwing a wink at Summer. ‘So are we ready to hit the town and party like it’s almost Christmas?’
There was a flurry of laptops being signed off and coats and bags grabbed as my colleagues, who all seemed to know what was happening, hurried to join Mike and Summer by the entrance. Jamal wandered back over to my desk. At some point in the past few minutes he’d slipped into a smart jacket and added a reindeer tie.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready for what?’ I asked, a snowball of dread gaining momentum as it rolled through my intestines.
‘Christmas drinks.’ Jamal frowned. ‘With the boss.’
‘I… I wasn’t invited.’
‘Bea, everyone was invited. Part of the whole new team-building strategy. We had a reminder email this morning. “Do not forget. We expect to see all of you there.