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The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams
Kellie Hailes
‘One of my favourite Christmas books for 2019… this one was pure magic!’ Rachel’s Random Reads The most magical time of the year… The most magical time of the year… Josie Donnelly spends most years pretending that Christmas doesn’t even happen! So, she hopes that the sleepy village of Sunnycombe will be the perfect place to escape the festivities… Or so she thought! Spending time with (far too handsome) bakery owner Callan Stewart and his young daughter, Mia, makes her long for the family Christmas she’s missed out on. Could the little bakery on the hill be her own recipe for a happy ever after this year…? Perfect for fans of Caroline Roberts, Cathy Bramley and Heidi Swain. Praise for The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams: ‘I loved every second of this book…pure magic!’ Rachel’s Random Reads ‘Gives me all those warm and fuzzy feelings’ Wildflower Books ‘A great book to curl up with on a cold wintery day’ Roberta Reads ‘Definitely give this book a read!’ Being Unique Books
About the Author (#u33654106-0463-5b46-94a9-dd725b787826)
KELLIE HAILES declared at the age of five that she was going to write books when she grew up. It took a while for her to get there, with a career as a radio copywriter, freelance copywriter and beauty editor filling the dream-hole, until now. Kellie lives in Auckland, New Zealand with her patient husband and delightful daughter. When the characters in her head aren’t dictating their story to her, she can be found taking short walks, eating good cheese and hanging out for her next coffee fix.
You can follow Kellie on Twitter: @KellieHailes (http://twitter.com/KellieHailes)
Also by Kellie Hailes (#u33654106-0463-5b46-94a9-dd725b787826)
The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove
The Little Unicorn Gift Shop
Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop
The Big Little Festival
The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises
The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams
KELLIE HAILES
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Kellie Hailes 2019
Kellie Hailes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © November 2019 ISBN: 9780008336141
Version: 2019-10-09
Table of Contents
Cover (#u441a6c4e-f372-5756-8acf-8035d1262305)
About the Author
Also by Kellie Hailes
Title Page (#u6965f7c4-f686-537f-aab0-86e0b1d8760d)
Copyright (#uf3f0d31e-2240-5563-b97a-48de2d9212d5)
Dedication (#u0e1c4952-ce27-512f-8084-5429dd1b4f9e)
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher
For Daisy.
My biggest teacher.
My greatest love.
Chapter 1 (#u33654106-0463-5b46-94a9-dd725b787826)
The shops either side of the bakery looked like someone had taken in too much festive cheer and then vomited it up. Twinkling golden fairy lights danced around Santa-red tinsel. Snowflakes were spray-painted onto their windows, floating down to sills where they gathered into thick fake drifts.
Josie shuddered. It was all so totally, utterly, over the top. Thankfully Christmas would be done and dusted in a matter of weeks, and then she’d be free of it for another eleven months.
At least the bakery was bare of Christmas decorations. One person’s stand against a season that promised so much, but always failed to deliver. At least, it had in more years than Josie cared to remember.
A tendril of hope stirred low in Josie’s stomach. Surely the lack of seasonal cheer was a sign she was going to get the position advertised in the bakery’s window. She just had to go in there and prove she would do a great job being the front-of-house face of the business.
Squaring her shoulders, she tightened the belt of her lucky tomato-red woollen coat, rubbed her finger across her teeth to make sure her hastily applied lipstick hadn’t decided to attach itself, then plastered a smile on her face and opened the door to what she prayed would be the beginning of her new life. Again.
Josie took a tentative step in and glanced around looking for signs of her potential employer. With no one in sight she took a moment to take in the bakery’s offerings.
Cupcakes topped with icing in the shape of mistletoe, miniature Santas and itty-bitty Christmas trees were lined up under the counter’s glass top, alongside little mince pies. Reindeer-shaped gingerbread lined another tray. On the counter, a cake tray offered up cellophane bags filled with what looked to be spice biscuits, tied with curled green and red ribbons.
Her heart sank. The owner wasn’t so anti-Christmas after all. Or maybe they were just pandering to the customers. Meeting demand. Making money while money could be made. That must be the case, she decided, because something wasn’t quite right with the treats laid out before her. In fact, something was positively off.
The cupcakes seemed a little … flat. Stodgy. With a look of dryness about them that no amount of tea chugged back while munching through a bite of one would fix. And she had a sneaking suspicion the icing decorations on top were store-bought, not made by hand. The mince pies’ pastry appeared … rock hard. As for the reindeer? Iced by someone with all the skill of an enthusiastic 5-year-old.
For all its apparent jolliness, Josie sensed sadness in the bakery. But why? And where was the owner? You’d have thought they’d have rushed in at the sound of a potential customer.
‘Hello?’ Josie called out, keeping her tone light, happy. Hoping the desperation that had her stomach stitched up with nerves didn’t come through. She waited for the tip-tap of footsteps. None came. ‘Hello?’ Maybe something had happened to the shop’s owner? Perhaps they’d had a fall and couldn’t move. Or hit their head and were passed-out cold.
She eyed the door that presumably led to the kitchen. She was going to have to go back there. She couldn’t leave without making sure whoever was supposed to be manning the store was okay. It might not be the politest thing to invade someone’s work area unannounced, but it was the right thing to do, given the potential circumstances.
Josie summoned up her courage, prepared to deal with the worst, and charged round the counter into the room beyond and smacked into, then rebounded off, something hard, warm and really nice-smelling.
Musky, sweet, with a hint of pine and soap.
‘I’m so sorry. Are you all right?’ The good smell came with a nice voice. Deep. Strong. But kind. ‘Although, I have to ask, what are you doing heading back here?’
Josie scrambled to gather her wits as she looked up into a face that deserved to be on the cover of a high-end men’s magazine – certainly not in a small cake shop in the little Cotswolds village of Sunnycombe. Eyes the colour of chocolate icing stared at her with a mix of concern, curiosity and a hint of suspicion. A wrinkle between his brows led to a straight and manly nose.
A nose could be manly? Who knew? But then she had no idea full lips could be masculine on a man either.
He laid his hand on her forearm and crouched a little – okay, a lot – so he was at her height. All five feet four of it. ‘Are you okay? Are you lost? Should I call someone?’
Oh great, so now he thought she was in some sort of state. This was not how the interview was meant to go.
Walk in. Appear confident. Ask about the job working front of house. Mention she had experience baking. Charm the owner into saying yes. Tick ‘job’ off the long list of things she had to do.
Pull yourself together, Josie, she growled.
‘I’m here …’ The words came out with a waver. Not good. She swallowed, breathed in, breathed out and tried again. ‘I’m here to talk to the owner about the job that’s advertised in your window. Is she in?’
For a split-second his eyes darkened to the colour of cocoa, a frown line appeared between his brows, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. He bobbed back up and a slow smile spread across his face, lifting his cheekbones. ‘Oh, so you want to see the lady of the house?’
‘Yes, please.’ Josie nodded, taking a step backwards. Another. Then another. Until she was back in the front of the shop and away from the man who, from the golden band gleaming on his wedding finger, was clearly the husband of the lady of the house, which made him completely out of bounds.
He turned around, cupped his hand to his mouth and called, ‘Sweetpea? Can you come down here? There’s someone to see you.’
Quick steps crossed the room from the floor above, then clip-clopped down the stairs. Josie sucked in another breath, attempted to smooth the ever-present auburn halo of frizz that refused to be tamed, and returned her customer-ready smile to her face.
‘I haven’t done anything, I promise. I’ve been good. I didn’t put dolly’s head in the toilet again.’
The voice was sweet and soft, and sounded far too young to be the owner of a cake shop.
‘Mia, this lady is here to see the lady of the house. And that would be you.’
Mr Out of Bounds leaned down and swooped up the owner of the voice into his arms. She automatically hooked her legs either side of his waist, anchored herself to him and with the same chocolatey-brown almond-shaped eyes that belonged to the man holding her – her father, Josie gathered – stared at Josie with undisguised curiosity.
‘I don’t know her. Does that make her a stranger? Is she stranger danger? Shall I yell at her to go away?’ Blonde curls, a few shades lighter than her father’s, bobbed around her heart-shaped face.
‘No, she’s here for the job. So I don’t think yelling at her is going to be the best idea. Besides, we don’t yell in this house. Remember?’ He tickled Mia’s waist, his grin widening as she burst into giggles. ‘Giggles only.’
‘Giggles only.’ Mia nodded. ‘And presents. And carols. And more presents.’ Mia turned to Josie. ‘Christmas is coming and Santa is coming and Daddy’s going to get me a teddy bear and a ballerina jewellery box and a unicorn and a pony and a …’
‘One present from Santa. One present from me. You know the rules.’
One present from me. Not us, Josie noted. Was the wedding ring for show? Was the owner of the cake shop away for Christmas, and he was just filling in? But then who was doing the baking if not the person whose name was swinging from the sign outside? The man before her didn’t look the baking type in his perfectly pressed fawn-coloured chinos and olive cable-knit jumper. He looked more like … a businessman who was having a day off from the office. So maybe that meant he co–owned the shop with the business partner whose name was on the sign.
‘Who does the baking here?’ Josie blurted, tired of standing around and trying to piece together what was going on in front of her. Wondering and pondering wasn’t going to get her answers any faster. Nor help her acquire the job. ‘Is it Abigail? Is it her shop? Her name’s on the sign outside. Do I need to speak to her about the job?’
‘Mummy isn’t here anymore.’ Mia’s eyes were wide. Serious. Her tone too matter of fact to have come from such a petite person. ‘She’s gone to a better place. Daddy says it doesn’t have unicorns, but I think it does. And clouds made of marshmallows and you can eat them any time you want. Even at breakfast.’ She nodded again, sure in her beliefs.
Josie folded her arms across herself, wishing the act could soothe the pain twisting her heart. She knew something of having a mother not be there. The difference was hers had chosen to leave and never come back. Mia, the poor poppet, had had her mother taken from her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, hating how the words sounded so empty. Useless. Unable to soothe, to comfort. To help bring Mia’s mother back.
