Read Online Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun by Samantha Tonge - Free Book Online

purée.’
    â€˜Exactly,’ said Phil. ‘Honestly. This resort is useless. The restaurant isn’t geared up for anyone under eighteen and the swimming pool is a joke—there is no slide, music or inflatables for kids and too many adult-only sessions. And, as for the evening entertainment …’ He shook his head. ‘Last night was some operatic girl singing Katherine Jenkins. Great for me and the wife but where is the bingo or puppet show for the kids?’
    â€˜I guess it is early days,’ said Izzy, now on her feet.
    â€˜There’s no reason why any normal family can’t enjoy this place, just the way it is,’ muttered George, and Phil turned purple in the face.
    Oh dear. Now tears hung in the little boy’s eyes, while the baby grinned and smeared purée around its mouth, apparently enjoying the sideshow.
    I glared at the three adults and jerked my head towards the boy. ‘Perhaps you could discuss this somewhere else?’ I said quietly. ‘I’ll look after the children if—’
    â€˜Don’t bother. We’re leaving,’ said Phil and grabbed his son’s orange juice to knock back. Except the glass must have been wet and, as he lifted it into the air, Phil lost his grip for a second. Liquid gushed southwards and yes, you’ve guessed it, right onto short me.
    â€˜Urgh!’ I wiped my cheek and breathed in sticky citrus smells.
    â€˜Christ,’ said Phil. ‘Huge apologies. I didn’t mean that to happen.’
    George rolled his eyes.
    â€˜It was an accident.’ Phil glared at a smug George.
    â€˜Attention, everyone!’ snapped a voice. Formal Cornish tones, already recognisable to me. Within seconds, Tremain stood by my side as I spat out the citrus liquid. I turned around, slipped on spilt liquid and fell to the floor. My cheekbone hit the table on the way down and I winced. Immediately, strong arms pulled me to my feet. I flinched as Tremain touched my skin, just under the left eye.
    â€˜Keep still,’ he ordered and held up his hand as Izzy approached. With a handkerchief, he carefully wiped the juice from my face. He tilted my head to the light and my heart raced as he trailed a finger across my eye socket. Must have been the shock of the argument, that’s all.
    â€˜No real damage done. You might have a bruise for a few days. You’re lucky you didn’t hit the table corner. That could have gone in your eye.’
    â€˜Lucky?’ I stuttered and wondered why his proximity made me not trust myself. Up close, I noticed a small scar above his top lip. How many women had tried to kiss it better? Urgh! Where had that thought come from? Perhaps I was dazed from the fall. Yes. I mean nothing could persuade me to press my lips against thelips of a man who was so arrogant. Even if his leaf-green eyes, for one second, appeared full of concern. Even if, up, close and personal, with his broad chest, firm arms and direct stare, he looked like a man who would single-handedly fight a whole army for you, if he’d decided you were his one.
    Tremain turned to Phil and George. ‘It takes a five foot woman to try to settle your argument?’
    â€˜Five foot two,’ I muttered, ‘and that’s sexist.’
    Tremain flashed me a look. Blimey. Was that almost a hint of humour in his eyes? I couldn’t tell, because it disappeared more quickly than the orange juice had flown.
    â€˜This is a holiday resort not a war zone,’ Tremain continued.
    Phil rubbed his forehead while their baby looked on, absolutely delighted. No doubt this was even better than its favourite slapstick kids TV show. ‘Your waiter was rude, Mr Maddock,’ he said and briefly explained what had happened, despite George’s indignant interjections.
    â€˜I see.’ Tremain glanced back at me and something stirred in my stomach as he scanned me from head to toe. ‘Good thing that washing machine is