A Fresh Start on Crumcarey (Crumcarey Island #5)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

MAGGIE

M aggie had to admit, she was having a brilliant first morning with Olive. Not only was her new boss kind, but she also had a wicked sense of humour.

To that end, she’d taken Maggie over to a window and pointed out Luke as he was working on the hire cars. Then she’d filled Maggie in on his regular order, the way he preferred everything, and the fact that he was bound to need an extra pot of marmalade. He also always needed to be prompted to wash his hands.

‘It’ll scare the willies out of him!’ chuckled Olive.

Maggie was game. Anything to hear her new boss’s infectious laugh. Besides, she was more than happy to have an excuse to talk to the handsome stranger when he finally appeared in the bar.

Luke clearly had no idea who she was, and Maggie was having a grand old time winding him up. If the slightly freaked-out expression on his face was anything to go by, he’d clearly come to the conclusion that she was some kind of witch.

Of course, they might not have met in person before, but Maggie knew exactly who Luke was. Her house wasn’t that far from Mr Harris’s farm, and she shopped in The Tallyaff often enough to have picked up on the grapevine that Mr Harris was expecting a house guest.

As she dried and stacked clean coffee cups on the ledge above the machine, Maggie took the opportunity to shoot regular glances at the newcomer as he chatted away with his uncle. He was wearing overalls covered in oil and goodness only knew what else… but even so, he was a striking bloke. Short, dark hair, tanned skin that seemed to glisten with health… and those eyes. They were like two ice chips. Bright and almost unnaturally blue. They could have made him look slightly foreboding if it wasn’t for the fine fan of wrinkles at the corners – hinting that his gorgeous smile was a regular feature.

Maggie swallowed as her eyes dropped to his large hands wrapped around his almost-empty coffee cup. If ever there was a pair of hands that looked like they knew what they were doing, she was looking at them.

Clearing her throat and averting her eyes as a wave of heat crept up her body, Maggie fumbled with the cup she was drying – only just catching it before it tumbled to the floor.

Oops!

‘Steady on, there, Mags!’ said Mr Harris, raising a concerned eyebrow in her direction at the sound of rattling china.

‘Sorry!’ she squeaked.

Mr Harris gave her a long look, and she squirmed. She knew she was being ridiculous – logically, there was no way the old man could know that she’d just been fantasising about his nephew’s hands doing all sorts of things… but still…

‘Let me get you both a refill,’ she muttered. Any excuse to turn her back on the pair of them for a moment.

As she began re-loading the pucks with fresh coffee, Maggie couldn’t help but compare Luke to Russell. From what Olive had told her, Luke could fix practically anything he turned his hands to… and had a habit of doing so without even being asked. Russell, on the other hand, had been the polar opposite. Her ex had an overblown opinion of his own abilities – and yet, somehow, he destroyed everything he touched. He used the wrong tools, got the wrong end of the stick, and eventually, anything he "worked on" had to be fixed by someone else… or was just left to leak, squeak, and disintegrate.

The man didn’t know his expanding foam from his elbow! Had she really thought that he’d change? That he’d learn and get better with practice? The cottage was in a worse state now than when they’d first moved in – and a good part of that was down to the awful bodge-jobs he’d done around the place.

Maggie set the coffee machine whistling, echoing her mounting frustration as memories of her ex flooded in. She knew she was fast heading down the same old spiral of despair – the one that had kept her out of sight of the rest of the island for months.

The problem was - she felt like an idiot.

For moving to Crumcarey with someone so flaky to start with.

For convincing herself that everything would work out for the best.

For re-convincing herself that she could hack it on her own when he left.

‘Earth to Maggie?’

‘Huh?’ said Maggie, turning to find Olive watching her with one eyebrow raised and a pile of post clutched in her hands.

‘You okay?’ said Olive warily. ‘You look like you’re gearing up to murder the coffee machine… though what it’s done to you, I have no idea!’

Maggie grimaced. ‘Sorry, I was miles away there for a second.’

‘Hm,’ said Olive. ‘Somewhere with palm trees?’

‘I… what’s that now?’ laughed Maggie, shaking her head and doing her best to get rid of the spectre of Russell that was now hanging over her.

‘Just wondering if you were somewhere nice,’ said Olive. ‘Maybe somewhere like this?’ She held up a postcard showing a deckchair underneath a palm tree on a golden, sandy beach. In the background, there was a grand-looking hotel with a vast swimming pool.

Maggie felt herself slide even further down her spiral of doom.

A postcard from Russell. Classic timing!

‘Okay… now you look like you want to murder your pile of post too!’ said Olive, taking a tiny step back as Maggie reached out and took the little bundle from her.

‘Just the card,’ she muttered.

‘Oh…’ said Olive. ‘Is it from…’ she trailed off.

‘Russell,’ said Maggie with a nod, flipping it over to confirm. Sure enough, there was his familiar, untidy scrawl, along with a stamp that told her he was busy living it up in Dubai.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Olive. ‘I should have hidden it under the other envelopes.’

‘It’s not your fault my ex is an idiot,’ said Maggie as she scanned his brief note. It was the usual drivel.

Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here. See you soon. R x

‘Yeah, right,’ she muttered, noting the single kiss. They’d definitely decreased in number. As for seeing him soon…

Tearing the card cleanly in half, Maggie shoved it into the pocket of her apron and turned her attention back to the coffees she was making. She promptly decided she’d better start again. They’d been sitting there for far too long and were probably going cold.

‘You sure you’re okay?’ said Olive lightly.

‘I’m grand, thanks,’ she said, forcing a smile. Because it was true… it had all been going so well… or at least, it had been until the blasted palm trees turned up. ‘Hey, Olive? Do you reckon you can put any future postcards from him straight in the bin for me?’

‘You’ve got it!’ said Olive, patting her on the shoulder.