Her father’s words still rang in her ears, four years after his death: ‘If you’re asking that question, then he isn’t the one.’ He’d been right.

  Bea took a moment and swallowed a lump. She missed her father and wished she’d listened to him back then.

  Somehow the relationship with Carl had shifted to autopilot. She should have recognised the signs sooner – men rarely go off sex without good reason. Feeling a stirring in her stomach, she realised it was a sense of relief. Even though the betrayal had hurt, part of her was glad he’d been unfaithful, as it was the push she’d needed to begin her own adventure.

  Turning, she exhaled and stared at the craggy cliffs behind her. Impulsively, she tilted her face up to the sun before stretching out her arms wide, then shouted at the top of her lungs, ‘I’m free to do what I want!’ Spinning around, she felt happy-go-lucky. This holiday was the start for her – her time to shine and laugh again.

  Still spinning, with the light breeze in her face, Bea giggled and finally came to a stop. It felt good to let go and just be by herself. Hastily taking a step back to steady herself as the spinning caught up with her, she wobbled. Losing her balance, she gave a tiny squeal and then nearly jumped out of her skin as a hand steadied her. Startled, she looked up. The hand belonged to a man with a look of amusement on his face.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I just thought it would be a bit too soon for you to go falling at my feet when we’ve not even met yet.’ He had a glint in his eye.

  ‘Thank you’ were the only words she could muster. She had no idea where he’d sprung from. Goodness, he was attractive with his huge hazel eyes, flawless olive skin and mass of chestnut hair. His white, short-sleeved shirt complemented his tan perfectly and was clinging to every muscle.

  Smiling, he let go of her arm and offered his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Nolan.’

  Bea was still staring at him. She couldn’t help it. ‘Bea,’ she said, finally taking his hand and instantly feeling a tiny flip in her stomach, completely taking her by surprise.

  ‘Are you from around these parts?’ he asked.

  Bea shook her head. ‘Just here for a two-week holiday, but I may stay a little longer. I’ve not quite decided yet. And you?’

  ‘Just staying a few weeks,’ he replied. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around?’

  ‘Maybe you will.’

  ‘And whatever you’re free from, I really hope you do what you want.’ He gave her a warm smile before heading off in the opposite direction, leaving Bea catching the aroma from an aftershave that oozed class. Nolan was drop dead gorgeous. Daring to glance back over her shoulder, she saw he had the perkiest bum she’d ever seen. Nolan also snatched a quick look back just then. Damn, he’d caught her looking. She bit her lip to suppress her smile. There was an air of confidence about him and a twinkle in his eye that caused Bea’s heart to instantly race. Astonishingly, he tipped her a wink, and she couldn’t stop her smile from growing wider. He soon disappeared around the winding river path and was out of sight, leaving Bea wondering what the handsome stranger was doing in Heartcross.

  As she carried on walking with a renewed spring in her step, she noticed a huge rock, which was a perfect place to eat her lunch, and so she perched on the edge. The pasty tasted as good as it looked and Bea devoured it quickly whilst watching two seagulls on a nearby rock squabbling over an abandoned piece of bread. Their grey and white bodies were quite enormous and the clacking of their beaks could be heard as their boisterous antics continued. One soon flew off when it noticed a small boy throwing stale bread into the water at the end of the jetty. As soon as she finished her lunch, she tossed the paper bag into a nearby bin and carried on walking.

  Turning the next corner, Bea gave a tiny gasp. The Little Blue Boathouse was in sight and it was exactly how she imagined it would look. It was a small stone building with a timber roof that was painted in a watery pale blue, and large windows looking out over the river.

  ‘Could this place get any more idyllic?’ she murmured to herself. Breathing in the fresh air and listening to the river lapping against the jetty and the tiny shingle bay where all the kayaks lay in line, she could tell this would be the perfect sanctuary for the next couple of weeks. She had every intention of passing her trial shift. Up ahead, there was a bright yellow water taxi heading towards the jetty with its engine humming away. It was packed with tourists and Bea guessed there were approximately fifty passengers on board. She noticed a small metal sign advertising today’s excursion; hopefully, in a couple of days’ time she would be selling tickets for those very trips.

  Excited to see inside, Bea stepped through the door, which was propped open with the perfect anchor doorstop. Whitewashed panelling gave the whole place an authentic nautical feel and the walls were covered with paintings and photographs of what Bea assumed was the River Festival, along with boat races and the scenery that surrounded the River Heart in all the various seasons.

  ‘Welcome, what can I do for you today? Great day for kayaking, or a rowing boat for two?’

  The man standing in front of her was a jolly-looking fellow with charm. His welcoming smile was huge. Even though it was a glorious day outside, he was wearing a flamboyant blue velvet suit, sporting a bright-red checked cravat and leaning on a cane. Bea loved his dress sense, which certainly stood out in the crowd.

  ‘A kayak for one would be good. And I’m Bea. Pleased to meet you. I have a trial here in a couple of days.’

  ‘Oh yes, Bea! I’ve already heard. Lovely to meet you, I’m Wilbur. You’re around for two weeks, is that right?’

  ‘I am, but from what I’ve seen so far, I already feel like I could stay for ever. It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘Believe me, this place has that effect on people. And if your trial is successful, are you ready for a busy two weeks?’

  ‘I was born to be ready,’ she said, remembering hearing those words in a movie once.

  ‘You’ll need to be. It’s the busiest time for the Boathouse, especially with such glorious weather and the River Festival coming up. It’s been going for sixty years, this year. How incredible is that?’

  ‘Very incredible. Julia mentioned there’s a little attic room available too. If I’m successful at my trial, of course.’

  ‘There is, would you like to go and have a look?’ Wilbur gestured behind him. ‘It’s vacant.’

  ‘Would I? That would be great!’ enthused Bea.

  ‘It’s very basic but I don’t think there’s anything better than waking up with a view of the water.’

  Bea couldn’t agree more. Wilbur pointed to the door at the back of the room. ‘Through there and up the ladder.’

  Excited to see the room, Bea headed through the door and spotted a rope ladder straight in front of her. It reminded her of a story that her father used to read to her as a child, with a rope ladder that led to a secret tree house. She balanced on the wobbly bottom rung and climbed up, pushing open the hatch door above her head. Placing both hands on the tiny wooden handles each side of the opening, Bea pulled herself up. Once on her feet, she gave a tiny gasp. What a beautiful space. The first thing she noticed was the view of the river and the cliffs, which seemed to go on for miles and miles. The room was minimalist but perfect. The floorboards were covered with a wool rug in blue and rose, creating a striking first impression and bringing warmth and colour to the room. There was a bed with a small table and lamp beside it, and a small basin in the corner of the room with a mirror. The beautiful green velvet armchair positioned in front of the window was adorned with a crocheted blanket and a cushion, and the small writing desk and chair on the other side of the room were positioned next to a vintage clothes rail with wooden hangers. There was also a small counter with a kettle, a portable hob and a small freestanding fridge.

  Walking across the creaky floor, Bea smiled up at the attic beams that met in a series of arches, absorbing the beauty of deep brown hues. Taking a seat in the armchair, she gazed at the paintings and pictures of boats that covered the walls and the series of classic books piled on the shelf, before looking out at the view. Felicity was right, the first houseboat had arrived. Bea hadn’t ever seen anything quite like it. The handcrafted cedar boat had a massive deck with sofas and a hammock that hung over the water. The elegance, panache and charm of the houseboat bobbing on the water blew her away. It was very different from the gleaming white yachts that you saw in movies and magazines. Daydreaming, she thought about how wonderful it would be to live on a houseboat and sail all over the world, with a different bay to wake up in every morning. That would be something Bea thought she would never tire of. Wondering who lived on a boat like that, she noticed a pair of binoculars hanging at the side of the window and a selection of birdwatching magazines strewn across the table. Bringing the binoculars to her eyes she focused on the houseboat and the bold lettering on the side, which read: ‘The Hemingway’.

  Hearing Wilbur call her name, she took another quick look around before descending the ladder. Bea’s face was stretching into a huge smile and she felt a positive shift in her feelings and mood. This place was just what she needed to concentrate on herself and her own well-being. This was an adventure she couldn’t wait to start.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Wilbur, handing over change to a customer who then disappeared into the changing room with a wetsuit.

  ‘I love it! I want to wake up to that view and the room is utterly gorgeous.’ She crossed her fingers in front of Wilbur. ‘I’m hoping I pass my trial.’

  ‘I’m sure you will sail through it. No pun intended.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘And there’s no charge for your kayak today. If you would like a wetsuit, they’re just there.’ Wilbur pointed to a rail. ‘And life jackets are over there, lockers for your personal items too.’

  Within five minutes, Bea was tightening up her life jacket and walking down to the shallow bay. The river was full of kayaks and with the weather as sunny as it was Bea was going to take the opportunity to spend an hour on the water. The spare kayaks were lined up, all in bright solid colours, and Bea chose yellow. The front end of the kayak was planted on the shingle and the rudder in the water, so she found a rock-free area to enter the water from the shore. As she waded in, the cool water splashed against her legs, her feet squelching inside her now soggy trainers. With the drag marks already half erased by the waves, the banana-coloured boat was soon bobbing in the water. Bea strapped her helmet under her chin and scooted slowly into the cockpit, extending one leg at a time. She began to use sweeping strokes to pivot the kayak and soon she was heading out into the middle of the river in the direction of the houseboat. She soon got into the rhythm and shouted ‘Good afternoon’ at everyone who crossed her path.

  The water was a little choppy at times but overall surprisingly calm – nothing that Bea couldn’t handle. Enjoying the views, she glided for a wee while. She could already imagine the exciting atmosphere of the River Festival. Beginning to paddle again, she hit shallow water. With the sun reflecting on the water, Bea could see darting fish below the surface. This made a lovely change. If she was back home, she would be trying to grab a few more hours’ sleep ahead of the no doubt mundane night shift she would have to take on later.

  After five minutes she changed direction and headed for deeper water. It wasn’t long before she was paddling close to The Hemingway, wondering who lived on a boat like that and where they had travelled from. The hammock looked divine and she could imagine herself lying there, soaking up the rays with a cheeky bottle of pinot grigio chilling in an ice bucket at the side of her. ‘That’s the life,’ she murmured to herself.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Bea, the woman who is free to do what she wants.’

  Immediately, Bea swung a glance to the deck and met the gaze of Nolan, who grinned at her. He was standing with a paintbrush in his hand and wearing just a pair of grey lounge pants. Her hands poised on the paddle, Bea couldn’t help admiring his tanned torso. And there it was, a feeling she’d forgotten – that tingle, the goosebumps and the flutters in her stomach that had been missing for so long.

  ‘Pleased to meet you again,’ she said, flicking her eyes over the boat. ‘Are you the captain of this amazing vessel?’

  Nolan threw his head back and laughed. His eyes flashed with instant warmth as he winked then rescued her from the embarrassment. ‘I’m just about to crack open a beer, do you fancy one?’

  ‘The sunshine, a beer and an almighty vessel – an offer no one can refuse,’ she replied playfully, looking up at the boat and wondering exactly how she would climb on board.

  Nolan must have read her mind and threw a rope over the side. ‘Attach the clip on the end of the rope to the metal ring behind you,’ he instructed.

  Bea swizzled her body round, located the metal ring and did exactly that.

  ‘Now pass me up your paddle.’ Nolan lay on his stomach, reached over the side of the boat and grabbed it from her.

  The kayak was bobbing from side to side and, feeling a little jittery, Bea slowly wriggled backwards as much as she could, praying the kayak didn’t tip over. Nolan then unravelled a rope ladder, which hung down the side of the boat.

  ‘Okay, as you stand up, there’s a fair chance you may end up in the water if the kayak tips over,’ he shared.

  Bea had already worked that one out for herself but, determined not to end up in the water, she made a swift move and grabbed the rope ladder like her life depended on it. The kayak tipped but luckily Bea was already climbing towards the deck, where Nolan was standing waiting with two beers in his hand. Only forty-eight hours ago her life had been doom and gloom as she packed her suitcase and readied to flee. Never in a million years could she have envisaged this – standing on the deck of a houseboat with a handsome stranger, and drinking beer in the sunshine. Could life actually get any better than this?

  ‘Cheers.’ He handed her a bottle and clinked his against it. Immediately she detected his divine, spicy masculine fragrance, which sent a tingle down her spine. Knowing she was blushing slightly she couldn’t stop her eyes flitting over his body. Then full-blown embarrassment hit her as she realised she was wearing a life jacket along with an unflattering wetsuit, her legs resembling black puddings hanging in a butcher’s window, and on her feet were sodden trainers that felt all squelchy and stank to high heaven.

  ‘Do you want to take off your jacket and trainers?’ Nolan asked, as if reading her mind.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Bea, handing back the beer while she unclipped her helmet, hung her life jacket on a nearby hook and kicked off her trainers. Holding them over the side of the boat she promptly poured the water back into the river before placing them on the deck to dry out in the sunshine.

  Taking back the beer, she took a sip. ‘It’s like a log cabin on the water,’ she said, admiring her surroundings. ‘It’s truly amazing.’

  ‘Because that’s exactly what it is.’

  ‘And everything is so olde-worlde. Do you actually live on here?’

  ‘I do, at the minute,’ he replied, gesturing towards the bamboo cane seat with plush soft cushions. Bea sat down. ‘And I can’t see it changing any time soon. I’ve been sailing the seas for the last six months. This was my grandfather’s boat and it’s been part of the family for many years. He passed away last winter…’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Bea offered warmly.

  ‘Thanks,’ Nolan replied, sitting down in the chair next to Bea and taking a swig of his beer. ‘I’ve spent the winter months renovating the boat. It was hard work, took a lot of blood, sweat and tears, but it’s been well worth it. It had been moored outside my grandfather’s house for many years and it was only when he passed away that I came to realise there’s more to life than a nine-to-five job and answering to someone else.’

  Bea could relate to that but it took some guts to give up the security of regular work on a whim. She’d never been one for taking chances. This was the first daring thing she’d done for many years.

  ‘Where did your grandfather live?’ asked Bea.

  ‘On the coast of Cornwall.’

  ‘That’s a lot of water you’ve covered to get here.’

  ‘And worth every second. Me and The Hemingway have bonded. I’m glad I took the decision to renovate it, otherwise it would have been scrapped.’

  ‘You’ve renovated this entirely by yourself?’ Bea was amazed. ‘It’s a thing of beauty.’

  ‘Isn’t it just,’ replied Nolan, holding her gaze, and there was that feeling again, the flutter of a hundred fireflies swirling around her stomach.

  ‘Would you believe I’ve never actually been on a boat before? This is a first for me.’

  ‘And I’ve never had a visitor on my boat before, so this is a first for me, too.’ He held up his beer bottle and clinked it against Bea’s. ‘Welcome!’

  ‘It’s such a grand name for a boat, “The Hemingway”.’

  ‘Named after my grandfather, Morgan Hemingway. Would you like a tour?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Bea was curious to have a look at all the nooks and crannies and discover what the boat had to offer, and it was soon clear that The Hemingway was not just a run-of-the-mill houseboat. She thought it would be all mod cons and leather upholstery but was surprised to find it was littered with paintings on the walls, and old velvet settees with crocheted blankets and brightly coloured cushions. In a corner there was a bar stacked with bottles of different spirits.

  Nolan pointed to it. ‘I’m not an alcoholic,’ he said, smiling and holding up a bottle. ‘Each one of these bottles tells a story… Look.’ He handed one of the bottles to Bea and pointed to the handwritten label. ‘At every bay my grandfather sailed into he purchased a bottle and labelled it with the place he bought it.’

  ‘What an amazing collection.’ Bea handed the bottle back and began to look at some of the others. ‘Salcombe. St Ives. Oh my, look at this one…’ Bea picked up the bottle of Glensheil Gin. ‘Heartcross. The Hemingway has frequented these waters before!’