Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy, Katey Lovell [booksvooks .txt] 📗

hoop spinning for, challenging him to a duel next time they were together.

“You really want to come?”

“I’d like to. She’s a great kid.”

We were giggling about her enthusiastic storytelling when my phone rang. I answered with trepidation. “Nick? Is everything all right?”

I held my breath. Chantel was thirty-three weeks pregnant, and still under the watchful eye of the hospital consultants who’d told her to prepare for an early delivery. They’d felt the smaller twin would have a better chance out of the womb than in and a planned C-section had been scheduled.

“They’re here,” he said, through sobs of happiness. “My girls are here safe and sound.”

“Oh, Nick, that’s wonderful!” I said, choking back my own tears.

“Alicia and Imogen. They’re so beautiful, Soph.”

“And they’re doing okay? And Chantel?”

“Chantel was amazing. She was so calm, even the nurses commented on how relaxed she was. And the girls are doing really well. Imogen’s tiny, as expected, and they’re both on the neonatal intensive care ward, but they’re little fighters, even the doctors say so. I can’t wait for you to meet them. You’ll adore them.”

“I already do.”

“Anyway, I’d better go. I’ve got to ring Anna and Jakob to tell them the news.”

“They’ll be over the moon. Congratulations, Dad of Three.”

“Congratulations to you too, Auntie of Three.”

My smile was enormous as I shared the news with Max, my heart surging with love for the new additions to my family.

It was only when Max spooned me as we were drifting off to sleep that I realised Nick had called me before he’d called Anna. That gave me such a glow of contentment that if Max had told me I was shining luminous, I wouldn’t have been surprised. It was the ultimate seal of approval from my brother.

November

Chapter 33

If March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, November must be the reverse. The dip in temperature was sudden and unwelcome, a bluster of snow flurries a reminder that winter had well and truly arrived.

Most people had been grumbling about the bitter winds and frosty mornings, but I embraced the new season with a creative gusto. I’d felt rotten for so much of the autumn, a tiredness seeping through my bones that I’d put down to the change of seasons and being wiped out after recovering from the migraine from hell. It was good to feel stronger as the year came to a close, but I was starting to suspect that my symptoms hadn’t just been a result of the migraine, and I wasn’t yet ready to face up to what that might mean.

I’d got into the habit of coming home from work and treating myself to a hot chocolate, lighting a candle (one of my latest projects) and settling myself down to some serious crafting. Most nights Max would keep me company, often cooking up a storm in my kitchen (with Scrat Cat for company) because I’d discovered Max was a surprisingly adventurous cook. I probably wouldn’t eat at all if it wasn’t for him making me taste his flavoursome curries and spicy soups, because having plenty of stock for the forthcoming Christmas fayres was my priority.

Our evenings were very hygge, spending time enjoying our own hobbies before finally curling up together on the settee, Max’s arm draped around my shoulder and a shared blanket wrapped around our legs. Our evenings were productive but never stressful, and although we were busy, the pace of life never got to be too much to bear.

We made time to enjoy the company of our families, going for meals at the Oakleys’ each Sunday and visiting Mum and Dad, and Nick, Chantel, Noah and the twins, who were home after a six-week stint in hospital. We’d even been to Liverpool for a weekend to see Nadia and Summer, where we’d met Rob for the first time. I could see why Darius’s ego would be threatened by him. He was very like my ex in looks, but with a naturally generous heart.

Everyone had warmed to Max immediately which mattered to me more than I’d realised.

With just three days left in November I was setting up my first ever craft stall in a draughty community centre.

“It looks great,” Max assured me, as I moved the stock around for the hundred-millionth time. “Stop panicking.”

“I can’t help it. What if no one buys anything? I might have made all this for nothing.”

“People will buy them, believe me. You sold all those candles online, didn’t you? And that Christmas bunting. I’m sure there will be plenty of customers, and anything you don’t sell today you can sell at another event. That’s the great thing about it. Imagine if you were a baker.” He nodded discreetly in the direction of a couple setting out trays of pastel-topped cupcakes. “They can’t just shove any unsold buns in a box for another day.”

“They probably eat them.” I laughed, thinking it wouldn’t be much of a hardship having to eat tons of cupcakes. They looked delicious.

“Maybe you should start selling cakes after all,” Max joked.

“You’re the one who’s handy in the kitchen,” I reminded him. “If anyone’s going to be selling cupcakes it’ll be you.”

“I’ll stick to buying us some, support other small businesses. Any preference on a flavour?”

“Carrot cake?” I screwed my nose up hopefully. “Or just good old vanilla.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He smiled, making his way towards the cake stall. The couple beamed in delight at their first customer of the day, as I straightened a pile of business cards. I’d had them printed especially for the occasion, and although I felt a bit like an imposter for having them, I was pleased with how they’d turned out. If they brought custom my way they’d be well worth the money I’d spent on them. Speculate to accumulate, and all that.

My most recent credit card statement had shown huge improvements, and it was cheering to see my efforts paying off. They’d even lowered the minimum demands, which