One New York Christmas Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Mandy Baggot

  Praise

  Title Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Fifty-Seven

  Fifty-Eight

  Fifty-Nine

  Sixty

  Sixty-One

  Sixty-Two

  Sixty-Three

  Sixty-Four

  Sixty-Five

  Sixty-Six

  Sixty-Seven

  Sixty-Eight

  Sixty-Nine

  Seventy

  Seventy-One

  Seventy-Two

  Letter from Mandy

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Will this Christmas romance be just for the holidays?

  A fun, festive romantic comedy to curl up with this winter. If you love Heidi Swain and Sarah Morgan, you’ll love Mandy Baggot’s heart-melting Christmas romantic comedies.

  Lara Weeks is heading to New York with best friend Susie for the Christmas trip of a lifetime.

  A festive break in the snowy Big Apple visiting the tourist hotspots, not to mention the shopping, seems like the perfect way for Lara to get over her ex-boyfriend. Or maybe make him so jealous he begs for a second chance.

  Enlisting the help of gorgeous actor, Seth Hunt, doesn’t quite go to plan, but there’s something about him that has Lara wishing for a different kind of happy ever after…

  About the Author

  Mandy Baggot is an award-winning romance writer. She loves the Greek island of Corfu, white wine, country music and handbags. Also a singer, she has taken part in ITV1’s Who Dares Sings and The X-Factor.

  Mandy is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Society of Authors and lives near Salisbury, Wiltshire, UK with her husband and two daughters.

  Find out more about Mandy on her website www.mandybaggot.com, follow her on Facebook/MandyBaggotAuthor and on Twitter and Instagram @mandybaggot

  Also by Mandy Baggot

  Single for the Summer

  One Christmas Kiss in Notting Hill

  Desperately Seeking Summer

  Praise for Mandy Baggot

  ‘A sizzling seasonal read from the Queen of Hot Heroes!’

  Heidi Swain, Sunday Times bestselling author

  ‘I absolutely love Mandy’s books’

  Milly Johnson, Sunday Times bestselling author

  ‘Magical, heart-melting fiction at its best!’

  Samantha Tonge

  ‘There’s brilliant chemistry … such a fun read’

  Bella Osborne

  ‘Mandy creates characters that are full of life and absolutely delightful. I thoroughly enjoyed this book’

  Jenny Hale

  ‘This is fun, flirty and heartfelt romance at its very best’

  Annie Lyons

  ‘A gorgeous hug-of-a-book’

  Zara Stoneley

  For Rachel, who virtually propped me up with encouraging words as I wrote Christmas in a UK heatwave. Bad-ass, baby!

  One

  Appleshaw Market Square, Wiltshire, UK

  It was raining hard, close to freezing, and the windscreen wipers on Lara Weeks’s articulated truck were proving no match for the so-very-British winter weather. A mile. They had one mile to go before they reached the market square of her village, the every-second-house-is-a-thatch Appleshaw. Then the festivities could begin.

  Turning up both the heat on the windscreen and the music – Taylor Swift singing a rendition of ‘Last Christmas’ through the Bluetooth connection – Lara focused on the road, blowing icy breath out into the cab. The ‘they’ encompassed the two Weeks Haulage trucks driven by her and Aldo. Aldo, her almost-brother, was in the lead vehicle carrying a huge, decoration-festooned evergreen complete with glittering lights of gold, red, green and a little out-there damson Mrs Fitch had had on special offer at the garden centre. Beneath the tree sat the whole tableau: Mary, Joseph, two sheep – who would be getting soggier by the second – the local MP’s pet goat Milo, a shepherd and three wise men. The three wise men were Mrs Fitch’s triplet grandsons who now, at thirteen, looked decidedly less than happy at being dressed in gold lamé.

  But this was Aldo’s big night. The eighteen-year-old had been waiting almost his entire life to drive a Weeks Haulage lorry in the annual 1 December parade and finally he was getting his chance. He had passed his HGV test a few months before and it was Lara who had taught him everything he knew. Except maybe what to do when you had Baby Jesus rocking in a crib and it started to hail … Why didn’t it snow instead? That’s what it was supposed to do in December. A light sprinkling over picturesque Appleshaw to make it more festive Christmas cake rather than simply quintessential chocolate box.

  ‘Keep your speed down, Aldo. Just crawl along. There’s no rush,’ Lara said to herself, reaching to turn Taylor Swift back down. She eyed the CB radio on the dashboard. No one else she knew used CB except her dad Gerry’s haulage company. He’d got two brand-new trucks – Lara had called hers Tina – after a good spell of trading, but had insisted on keeping the old-style communication going. It’s tradition, he’d said. So here they were, handsets that looked like they belonged in a museum, alongside USB ports and built-in satnav. Lara took the walkie-talkie from its housing and put it to her mouth.

  ‘Aldo, do you copy, over?’

  The handset found her lap, as she put both hands back to the wheel, visibility growing worse. She couldn’t remember a parade having weather quite as bad as this before. Perhaps no one would even be out to watch …

  ‘Lara? Is that you?’

  Lara shook her head at the sound of Aldo’s surprised voice. As well as lorry-driving, she had also taught him to use the CB. The problem was, Aldo didn’t retain information very well, unless, like with the HGV driving, he was absolutely passionate about it. Trucks, football teams and anything Marvel was about the extent of it. And lately, martial arts. If that obsession kept up she might need to suggest he slimmed down his growing Bruce Lee collection, perhaps focus on lighter kung-fu, like The Karate Kid …

  ‘Aldo, yes it’s me. You need to keep your speed down, over.’

  A crackling sound commenced, like someone was crunching up tin foil, and Lara eyed her mob
ile phone, currently playing the music through the speakers. She could phone him … but what were the chances that Aldo would reach for his phone instead of going hands-free?

  ‘How do I keep my speed downover again?’ came Aldo’s reply. ‘I don’t remember that from the test, Lara.’

  She forced in a deep breath. She was being overly cautious. Aldo would be fine. They were less than a mile away, going no more than fifteen miles an hour, and she was right behind him. What could possibly go wrong?

  Suddenly Lara’s phone lit up and a side-eye to the screen showed a photo of her boyfriend, Dan. It was a picture of him in the summer, pulling a face, when she had made him suck on the biggest slice of lemon after a shot of tequila. She smiled, hitting the button on the steering wheel to answer safely.

  ‘Is everyone there or are they all hiding in the pub until the hail stops?’

  ‘What?’ Dan asked. It sounded like he was in a car. Either that or the ban on traffic through the centre of Appleshaw while the parade came through had gone awry.

  ‘I’m literally half a mile from the square now. Aldo and I are about to lead the procession through the town. Have you got a good spot? Is there anyone else there? It might be a great time for Mrs Fitch to sell those golf umbrellas.’

  ‘Is it the parade tonight?’

  Lara laughed. He did like to tease her about the village’s quirks. ‘Very funny! Because it’s not like it’s always on the first of December or anything.’

  There was no response. Just the sound of … motorway traffic?

  ‘Dan,’ Lara said. ‘Where are you? Because you know it’s my work’s Christmas party tonight too, right? You’re having melon, turkey and chocolate roulade.’

  Still there was nothing. She would have thought the line was dead if it hadn’t been for the constant roar of an M-road. ‘Dan, did you hear me?’

  ‘Listen, Lara, I’m not going to make it tonight.’

  She bit her lip. This was the third time Dan hadn’t been able to make it to something that was important to her. He hadn’t made the fun day at the haulage yard when he’d said he was going to help with the barbecue and he hadn’t come to Aldo’s eighteenth birthday party at the social club before that. There had been a disco that night, a killer darts competition and Aldo had drunk cocktails from a bucket he’d also needed to be sick in later on. Lara’s best friend Susie was a relationship guru, and she had told Lara how to handle these sorts of moments. Play it cool. No one likes Little Miss Shrink-wrap.

  ‘Oh, well, that’s a shame but … never mind.’ She swallowed. It felt unnatural. She was annoyed with him. Angry even. And it felt very alien to hold that frustration in. She didn’t do holding in emotion very well … not keeping a lid on it had almost earned her points on her licence last year. A car had pulled out in front of her lorry and she had blasted the horn and shouted some choice expletives. Then, at the next set of traffic lights, she had screeched Tina to a halt, leapt down from the vehicle and confronted the driver … who happened to be a policeman in an unmarked car. ‘You got my text about Christmas though?’

  Susie said always follow up the let-down with something positive. Make plans. Remind him, and yourself, of all the other good stuff you have coming up. It was a case of keeping things fresh and not being complacent. They had been together two years. Things weren’t exactly Interflora and Thornton’s. They were more garage carnations and Dairy Milk. But that was fine. That was normal. What mattered most was they loved each other. And Dan was her window to the world, with his job in hot-tub sales that took him all over Europe. She’d ask him about these trips when he got back, and he would tell her about the little pavement cafes in Paris, the canals of Amsterdam and the buzz of New York’s Manhattan. As much as she loved the cosiness and quaint charm of Appleshaw, she loved to hear stories of a different real life going on in every corner of the globe.

  ‘Lara … I thought you’d been at home now,’ Dan replied.

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘It’s the first of December so I’m driving a truck. Like I’ve driven a truck on the night of the first of December since I was eighteen.’ Six years ago, it had been her first time leading the procession and she’d almost jack-knifed on black ice. ‘So, anyway, Christmas Eve, Aldo wants to do Chinese and a film, Christmas Day we’re going to Mrs Fitch’s for lunch and Boxing Day I thought we could—’

  ‘Lara, I’m sorry … I can’t do this any more. I …’

  ‘Dan … I think you’re breaking up,’ Lara called, adjusting her position slightly, trying to listen hard while maintaining a hard visual on the back of Aldo’s lorry.

  There was a sigh, then: ‘Yeah,’ Dan replied. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Dan … I don’t think I’m hearing you properly.’

  ‘Lara, I don’t know about Christmas. I think … I think I need some space.’

  She hit the brakes hard, the hissing sound rising up like a hundred angry cats had all started fighting with each other. There was a definite shifting of her load and she instantly regretted the action. On the back of Tina were the Second Appleshaw Scout Troop, and their depiction of Christmas Through the Ages included a tableau of the various John Lewis adverts. There were boys and girls in penguin suits, snowmen, large full moons and a collection of boys dressed as wizened old men.

  ‘I … don’t think I heard what you said,’ Lara stuttered. The hail was hammering at her windscreen now as she sat stationary, Aldo’s back lights rolling away from her.

  ‘Lara … I think we should go on a break.’

  She racked her brain for a Susie-style interpretation of this. What was the best thing to say? What did he mean? Think! Think! Something positive and plan-making! Quick!

  ‘We should get away,’ Lara blurted out. ‘We haven’t been away since … the camping trip.’

  ‘Lara …’

  ‘We could go camping again. It was fun, wasn’t it? Sitting around the fire, toasting marshmallows, drinking that awful cider, feeding the rabbits the horrible chips from the chip shop …’

  ‘It’s December,’ Dan said.

  ‘I know but … we could go in Tina.’ She felt hope spark in her chest. Her lorry was full of all the modern trucking conveniences, including heating. ‘I’m sure Dad wouldn’t mind, just for a few days. It’ll be cosy. It’s got the bed and we could fill the cool-box with beer and find a great band to go and watch and then we could—’

  ‘I need to get away for a bit,’ Dan stated. And then there was an out-breath. ‘And … I think we should have a time-out.’

  A time-out. It sounded like something you gave a naughty child as punishment. Lara was desperately thinking for an alternative explanation but right now it sounded like Dan was breaking up with her.

  ‘I’m going to Scotland for Christmas,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Oh.’ What else was there to say? This felt all wrong.

  ‘A friend has booked a lodge up there and—’

  ‘Which friend?’ Lara asked. ‘Derek?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Smooth Pete?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then who?’

  There was a throat-clearing that sounded nothing short of guilty. ‘You know Chloe … from the golf club.’

  Chloe from the golf club! Cleavage Chloe. Her boyfriend was spending Christmas in a lodge in Scotland with Cleavage Chloe! This couldn’t be happening. Lara held her breath and closed her eyes, only coming to with the sound of questioning voices coming from the back of her rig. The scouts. The Advent Parade. Her almost-brother, Aldo. She was in the middle of a very important job. She put the lorry back into gear and put her foot to the accelerator.

  ‘There’s others going too. Sam and Fiona. Darren and Amanda—’

  ‘But not me,’ Lara said. ‘You haven’t invited me.’

  Why hadn’t he invited her? Scotland at Christmas sounded romantic. It was bound to snow. There would be log fires and single malt whisky, tartan rugs and … kilts. Dan in a kilt. He had such great legs … and now those
legs would be in Scotland for Christmas along with the rest of him … and Cleavage Chloe.

  ‘I think we need to … think about things …’

  ‘Well, what things? Tell me what we need to think about and we’ll think about it,’ Lara said. ‘We can think in Appleshaw, can’t we? I know I can. Why do you have to go to another country to think?’

  ‘I need a bit of space and time—’

  ‘Why?’ Lara said. ‘I don’t understand what for.’

  ‘To work things through.’

  ‘What things, for God’s sake?!’

  ‘To work out if—’

  ‘Dan! I’m seconds away from the Appleshaw Silver Band’s rendition of “O Holy Night”.’

  ‘To work out if … I still love you.’

  It was at that second that Aldo’s back lights became visible again … and so close. So close that Lara wasn’t sure she was going to be able to stop in time. Her options were limited now she had reached Appleshaw’s centre. She either smashed into the back of the vehicle containing the Messiah, his parents, the Magi and the villagers’ livestock or she took out the soup stall …

  ‘Lara,’ Dan spoke over the phone. ‘Lara, are you OK?’

  Two

  Appleshaw Social Club, Appleshaw

  ‘Best bit of driving I’ve ever seen, Doug. I’m telling you, my girl could do that truck racing they have at Thruxton.’ Gerry Weeks ate another mouthful of turkey and stuffing before carrying on. ‘Skewed that unit in double quick time, missed the soup stand by inches and not one of them scouts lost a woggle.’ He let out a hearty laugh and slammed his hand down onto the table. Aldo copied him, gravy splattering up from his plate. ‘Lara, you might have to re-enact that move in the yard. Teach the other drivers,’ her dad concluded.

  Lara said nothing. Tonight was supposed to be the first night of the beginning of her favourite time of year. She might have avoided disaster in the square but, after Dan’s words, there had been no festive joy in the proceedings for her. Usually Dan would be there, teasing her about the traditions – Mrs Fitch selling her Christmas pudding woollen hats, Flora giving out her home-made mince-pie whisky, the school children determined not to let anyone go home without purchasing a zip-lock bag of ‘reindeer food’ (basically Quaker Oats and glitter). But he hadn’t been there. Wasn’t here now. Would be spending Christmas in the Hebrides. Wanted to go on a break …