Today I bring to you a blog tour for the romance novel Meet Me at Willoughby Close by Kate Hewitt.
Welcome to Willoughby Close… a charming cluster of cozy cottages, each with a story to tell and a happy ending to deliver…
Ellie Matthews has come to Wychwood-on-Lea to find a new start for her and her daughter Abby. But, life there doesn’t start out as idyllic as she had hoped. While Ellie loves her cute cottage in Willoughby Close, the Yummy Mummies at the primary school seem intent on giving her the cold shoulder, Abby has trouble fitting in, and her boss, Oliver Venables, is both surprisingly sexy and irritatingly inscrutable.
But miracles can happen in the most unexpected places, and in small, yet wonderful ways. Slowly, Ellie and Abby find themselves making friends and experiencing the everyday magic of Willoughby Close. When Oliver’s nephew, Tobias, befriends Abby, the four of them start to feel like family… and Ellie begins to see the kindness and warmth beneath Oliver’s chilly exterior, which awakens both her longing and fear.
Ellie knows all about disappointment, and the pain of trying too hard for nothing, while Oliver has his own hurts and secrets to deal with. When the past comes rollicking back to remind both of them of their weaknesses and failings, will they be able to overcome their fears and find their own happy ending?
Discover the heartwarming magic of Willoughby Close… with four more stories of hope and happily-ever-afters to look forward to.
I really enjoyed reading this book. It was light-hearted and funny. The characters were very easy to relate too and so were the problems in which they faced. Ellie was a likeable character who was portrayed as a typically normal single mum instead of these semi perfect characters we usually see. Even the character of Marmite was amusing with his flatulence problems and over excitement.
Definitely one to read if you enjoy something that will allow you to be absorbed into another life 🙂
Amazingly, he found them both seats, and he slid in first, tensing slightly when Ellie joined him in the narrow seat, her leg brushing his. He could smell her perfume, something flowery and light that reminded him of spring rain. She gave him a quick, apologetic smile and moved so their legs were no longer touching.
Even so their bodies seemed rather close to one another. He hadn’t realized quite how small the seats on a train were. Unless he angled himself away in an obvious manner, his shoulder brushed hers. When she moved to put her bag on the rack above them, her breast brushed his arm and Oliver felt himself react. Good grief, he was hardly some randy boy to be affected by such a small touch. What on earth would she think? He inched closer to the window.
“So.” She gave him a quick grin. “This is cozy.”
“Quite.” He could feel himself reverting to standoffish form. Typical. The trouble was, small talk had always eluded him. Perhaps it came from a childhood where the adage ‘children should be seen and not heard’ was taken to its extreme; his father would have preferred they weren’t seen, either. Perhaps it came from years at boarding school, trying to make himself invisible, or from an adulthood spent in libraries and classrooms, hiding behind books, immersing himself in research. In any case, he couldn’t think of what to say now. He’d wanted to talk about his book, but it seemed arrogant and impolite to ask for her opinion now, as if he really was merely looking for flattery.
To his relief, Ellie mentioned it first. Perhaps she found small talk as onerous as he did, although upon reflection that seemed unlikely. She never seemed to be at a loss for words. “I think you have a very interesting subject matter,” she said, twisting in her seat so she could appraise him frankly. This close her eyes looked extraordinary, a deep sea-green, and as clear as Venetian glass. “But your tone is academic and well, I’m sorry to say it, but rather dry.”
“Dry?” For a second he’d lost himself in her eyes, noticing the golden glints in the irises. Had he been staring? He cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… dry.” She shrugged, smiling no doubt to soften the blow. “You make even interesting things sound rather dull.”
Ouch. Oliver blinked, trying to arrange his features in an expression of kindly interest rather than… well, hurt. It was stupid to feel offended by her words. She was only offering him the opinion he’d asked for, and he had a feeling she was right. He didn’t put emotion into his writing. He didn’t put it into his life.
“The thing is,” Ellie continued earnestly, leaning forward so a strand of her curly, crazy hair swung down and actually brushed his cheek for a stunned second, “there’s so much humanity in these stories, isn’t there? The chimney sweeps who are barely more than babies… when I read it, I don’t care about the facts—what percentage of six-year-olds were in school, for example. I want to hear about Charlie Smith who swept chimneys in Mayfair to help buy medicine for his consumptive mother.” She looked starry-eyed, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly parted. Oliver stared at her for several seconds before he managed to find the sense to string some words together.
“Who’s Charlie Smith?”
Ellie refocused on him, laughing lightly. “I don’t know. I made him up. I just mean personal examples rather than dry statistics.”
“Hmm.” Oliver leaned back a little; Ellie’s hair had come undone from its messy topknot and the ends were brushing his shoulders every time she moved. He didn’t think she realized and he had the sudden, outrageous urge to wrap a finger around one of those crazy curls and pull. His head needed examining. She had a daughter. She might be married. She probably was. “I shall certainly think about that.”
“I’m probably not the right person to ask,” Ellie told him as she made a face. “My usual reading is a bit… lighter. The last thing I read was the latest Jilly Cooper. You probably haven’t even heard of her.”
“I know Jilly Cooper.” She looked astonished and he rushed to clarify, “I don’t know her, know her, of course. But I remember sneaking looks at my mother’s copy of Riders when I was a boy.” Why on earth he’d mentioned that, he had no idea. Now she’d think he was some creepy pervert. He felt heat crawling up his face and he tried for a light laugh. “I remember a certain salacious scene involving nettles.” Wonderful, that made him sound even more perverted. He needed to stop talking now.
If you fancy picking up a copy then you can do so here.
Thanks for reading.
The Stationery Geekette x