Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Praise for A Season for Second Chances
- Also by Jenny Bayliss
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Guide
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
She didn’t want to, but she began to cry down the phone. Once the sobs came, they came thick and fast, and she didn’t seem to be able to stop them. She wished at that moment she was snuggled up in the sitting room at her parents’ house, the TV on in the background, her mum chatting regardless of whether anyone was listening or not. Her dad would keep her topped up with an endless stream of mugs of tea because that was the only way he knew how to deal with his daughter’s boyfriend issues: to drown the problems in an ocean of tea in the hopes they would float away—and to be fair, it had always been pretty effective.
“Oh, my darling girl.” Her mum sniffed. “You know I cry if you cry!”
“I know.” Sniff. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you be sorry—I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you liked Isaac so much.”
“Neither did I at first.” More sobs. “Mum?”
“Yes, love?”
“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone in six days?”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s possible. The phrase ‘love at first sight’ had to come from somewhere.”
“Should it hurt this much, though? Shouldn’t I still be in the shallow end of love after so short a time?”
“Love is love, my darling girl. Time is no measure for the depth of it. Do you want Dad to come and get you?”
Nory managed a weak laugh. “No, Mum, I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine. But if you do see Isaac, can you tell him . . . can you tell him that I’m sorry?”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
Nory climbed into bed and messaged Andrew while watching Antiques Roadshow, the BBC’s most soothing Sunday program. She began her message with Please don’t reply tonight, I’ll see you in the morning because she couldn’t face another phone call this evening.
She sent one more message before putting her phone on silent and trying to concentrate very hard on the television program in which people brought old heirlooms from their attics to show experts.
I don’t know if you got my note, or any of my other messages. But I’ll say it again just in case: I’m sorry. My intentions were good, if misguided. Guy means nothing to me. But you mean everything. My heart belongs only to you. xxx
Nory pressed Send, not knowing if Isaac would bother to read it; for all she knew he may have already blocked her number—she probably would have if the roles were reversed.
