Holding onto Hope Read online

  Holding onto Hope

  Nicki Edwards

  Copyright © 2019 Nicki Edwards

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-6487108-0-6

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  HOLDING ONTO HOPE

  First edition. January 1, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Nicki Edwards.

  ISBN: 978-1393981879

  Written by Nicki Edwards.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  Holding onto Hope

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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  Further Reading: Second Chance Christmas

  Also By Nicki Edwards

  About the Author

  To Tim.

  My lover and my best friend.

  You are my everything.

  Holding onto Hope

  Stuck in a stressful job and trapped in a toxic relationship, paediatric oncology nurse Hope Rossi needs to run. When her cousin Courtney begs for her help, Hope is on the next bus to Macarthur Point—the quaint seaside fishing village that was home to her happiest childhood memories.

  Veterinarian Mitchell Davis loves his life in Macarthur Point and loves caring for all creatures great and small at the animal hospital he proudly owns. After a troubled upbringing, he’s finally found peace, people who love him unconditionally, and a place to call home.

  When Hope comes back to town after more than fifteen years away, Mitch has no idea whether she’ll still have feelings for him. Fearful of being hurt, Mitch has never admitted how he feels about Hope to anyone—not even her.

  How can he hold onto Hope and convince her that staying in Macarthur Point doesn’t mean giving up her freedom? Or should he take a risk and give up the life he’s made for himself for a chance of love, even if that means leaving the one place, he feels safe.

  Chapter 1

  The last leg of any trip always dragged. Hope Rossi perched on the edge of her seat at the front of the bus, staring straight ahead as the evenly spaced row of Norfolk pines lining the crescent-shaped foreshore grew closer.

  Nearly there.

  Her heart rate picked up as a shiver of excitement rippled through her. It was followed by a flicker of guilt. She shouldn’t have left it so long since her last visit.

  Beyond the pine trees, where the land rose steep and sharp, million-dollar-view mansions tucked away in the gum trees enjoyed unspoiled outlooks over the ocean. The views weren’t much on a day like today though. The weather was miserable, bordering on nasty and even the grey skies were the colour of cold.

  Hope wasn’t deterred by the weather. She adored this little beachside fishing village overlooking Bass Strait, nestled between Warrnambool and Portland and backed by the Otway Ranges, even on afternoons like this when the wind blew the rain sideways.

  In the distance on the beach, a lone man trudged, head down, shoulders hunched against the elements. He wore a beanie and the ubiquitous black puffer jacket favoured by most Victorians this time of year. In the water, two surfers, seal-like in their wetsuits, sat on their boards patiently waiting for the perfect wave. Hope shook her head. Craziness. The water would be icy.

  Further up the beach, ahead of the man, four dogs romped at the water’s edge, tongues lolling, tails wagging as they splashed in the shallow waves. They kept returning to him before bouncing off again. Through the rain-streaked windows of the bus Hope followed the progress of the man and his dogs along the beach until they disappeared out of sight into the sand dunes. A small smile played on her lips. One day she’d settle down and get a dog.

  Other than the surfers and the man on the beach, she hadn’t spotted a soul, but that wasn’t surprising. In this type of weather sensible people were driven indoors to sit in front of their heaters.

  The pitch of the bus engine changed as Bob switched down a gear.

  ‘Here we are then, love. Macarthur Point. Voted by Wotif as the number one town in the “Top Ten Aussie Towns” for two years running.’

  Hope should have admitted to Bob that she knew Macarthur Point well—probably better than he did—but when he’d cheerfully introduced himself as she boarded the bus at Southern Cross Station in Melbourne and launched into a running commentary about the Great Ocean Road and the Otway ranges, she hadn’t had the heart to interrupt him. He’d nattered on for the first hour of the four-and-a-half-hour trip, and, not wanting to appear rude, she’d kept quiet about her own special history with the place.

  ‘It’s like a ghost town this time of year,’ he continued. ‘But wait ‘til summer. It’s a totally different place.’

  Hope smiled. She had fond memories of childhood summers spent in The Point, but this was the first time she’d visited in winter. In summer, Macarthur Point was a mecca for tourists—not only because of the spectacular views over the ocean and endless white sandy beaches safe for swimming—the entire region had become a foodie’s haven. Over the years, dozens of fine dining establishments and wineries had popped up, seemingly around every bend of every road, each one outdoing the other, offering organic, farm fresh, paddock-to-plate produce.

  Those summer holidays were like an anchor in Hope’s nomadic childhood. Each year at Christmas her parents flew her back to Australia from wherever they were currently serving as aid workers, to stay with Uncle John and Aunt Margot and her cousins, Sam and Courtney. Hope had loved those long, lazy days when the temperatures soared, the cloudless blue skies were filled with the smell of barbeques and insect repellent and the air was full of the sound of laughter and chirping cicadas. The kind of days that ended with Aunt Margot taking Hope and her cousins down the street for ice-creams after dinner. When they were old enough to go on their own, they’d ride their bikes down the street, feeling big and brave with their whole lives in front of them.

  Hope closed her eyes and immediately the sights and scents rushed up to meet her. She could almost smell the coconut-scented oil she and Courtney used to lather on before heading down to the beach to sunbake. She remembered how they’d sit for hours pretending to read, when really, they were watching the boys surf. Sometimes they’d head into the water on their boogie boards, but usually the water was too cold, and they’d just sit in the sun and work on their tans. Every single day of those summer holidays had been full of life, love and laughter.

  Hope’s childhood had been good, but it was unorthodox. Her parents had spent most of their marriage working in foreign aid which meant Hope had been sent off to boarding school in whichever country they were stationed. They’d never lived in one place longer than three years, which had birthed within Hope a problem with settling down. Like her parents, she loved new challenges. She loved meeting new people, tasting new foods, living in new places. She described it once to Courtney that she’d been born with a bug—a tra
vel bug that was as mythical as the man flu, and there was no known cure except to keep travelling.

  But whilst she’d seen and experienced incredible things in far-flung places, she couldn’t deny that nothing came close to the simplicity of summers in Macarthur Point. She was a different person when she was here. More relaxed. More at peace. More at home. When she was in Macarthur Point, she found she could stop long enough to breath. And despite the inner urge to keep on the move, there had been something therapeutic about unpacking her bags and knowing she didn’t have to be anywhere for the whole summer.

  Anticipation built. Despite the gloomy winter, Hope couldn’t wait to get off the bus. It felt like she’d been travelling for a week, not a few hours, and she was desperate to stretch her legs and get some fresh air into her lungs. After the strain of the last month, the salty ocean air of Macarthur Point had taken on almost mythical proportions until she’d convinced herself one breath-full was all she’d need to start the healing process.

  As much as Hope was excited about seeing her family, she was also looking forward to having some space and time alone to catch her breath and regroup before deciding where to go next. The last month had been stressful and this chance to escape and be a nameless, faceless individual in a place where few people knew her was what the doctor would have ordered—had Hope been to a doctor.

  Bob applied the brakes and the bus shuddered as it slowed further before he turned left into the main street.

  More happy memories flooded in as they drove past the ice-cream shop on her left and the bakery on her right. Then there was the post office and the emporium. As quaint as ever and exactly the way Hope remembered.

  The wave of nostalgia was so strong she almost expected to see the “awesome foursome” swaggering down the street and it brought another smile to her face. Hope’s older cousin, Sam, and his mates, Jordan Hill, Lachlan Benson, and Mitchell Davis had jokingly given themselves the title when they were in year eight and it had stuck.

  Hope’s breath caught in her throat and she held it briefly before letting it escape slowly.

  Mitch Davis.

  The boy who’d wriggled his way into her life past the space marked “friends”. She wasn’t sure when her girlish crush on him had turned into love, but it had, around her seventeenth birthday, hitting with surprising force and intensity.

  Her first kiss had been with Mitch, and after that, every other “first” was with him also. A lump formed in her throat and she closed her eyes and allowed the memories to wash over her. Ever since Courtney had asked her to come, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

  It was true what they said: first love was always the strongest. She’d had other relationships since Mitchell, but there was a special place in her heart that would always hold her love for him.

  During the dark years in her late teens she’d often taken the memories of their time together out of that special place and flipped through them in her mind, but she always put them away again before she became too nostalgic and sad. So much had changed over the years and although she desperately wished things had ended differently between them, she couldn’t blame Mitch, or the others, for not staying in touch.

  As time marched on, she’d thought about Mitchell less and less. She’d attempted to stalk him on Facebook once—ostensibly to see if he was married and find out what he’d been up to—but really to check whether he was as gorgeous as she remembered—but he was a social media ghost. He didn’t even have a LinkedIn account.

  All she knew, from Courtney, was Mitch was single and living in Macarthur Point, as were Jordan and Lachlan. Hope’s cousin Sam lived in the UK where he spent much of his time volunteering with Médecins Sans Frontieres—Doctors Without Borders. If Hope was more like her Aunt Margot, Sam was like Hope’s parents—filled with an unshakeable need to help others in other countries.

  Courtney had ended up marrying Lachlan and after they’d finished their respective university degrees in Melbourne, they’d moved back home to Macarthur Point.

  Hope could have asked Courtney to find out more about Mitchell, but it hadn’t seemed important to know.

  Until now.

  The bus came to a sudden stop and Hope grabbed at the railing with both hands to prevent herself from sliding off the seat. Her mind was still on Mitch and she hadn’t been concentrating.

  ‘Crazy weather,’ Bob said, bringing her back to the present. ‘Next week they’ve forecast temps in the high teens, but it dropped down well below zero last night and I’d say tonight will be the same. And there’s snow on the way in the Otways. But I wouldn’t worry. It won’t be cold for long.’ He chuckled. ‘Before you know it the mozzies will be out, and we’ll all be worshipping our air conditioning.’

  Hope smiled. Typical southern Victorian coastal weather.

  She stood and prepared to get off the bus. She was one of only four passengers remaining—the majority had exited in Warrnambool.

  ‘Watch your step love, it’s slippery out there with this rain.’ Bob reached for her hand. ‘Here. You go on down first and I’ll carry your backpack for ya.’

  She smiled her thanks, handed him her bag, and held tightly onto the rail as she made her way down the steps, careful where she placed each foot. Even though she hated accepting help, the last thing she needed to do was slip and fall on her backside and embarrass herself.

  Outside, the cold wind whipped around her face, stinging her skin and she tugged the hood of her jacket over her head. ‘You’re not kidding,’ she said with a shiver. ‘It’s freezing.’

  Bob returned her backpack to her, shuffled his way to the side of the bus and opened the luggage compartment.

  ‘Macarthur Point is usually a beautiful little town. Shame you won’t see it at its best. Forecast isn’t looking too good.’

  He hoisted her two suitcases onto the footpath.

  ‘I’m not worried,’ she said. ‘It’s Victoria. Four seasons in one day.’

  Bob laughed. ‘Yeah. Wait long enough and the sun will be out again.’

  ‘The weather doesn’t bother me,’ she replied with a smile.

  ‘Atta girl. Good attitude.’ He grinned. ‘You have a good weekend then.’

  ‘You too.’

  She lifted the handles of her cases and stared up the hill. It wasn’t going to be an easy feat wheeling them, but she’d manage. She hadn’t wanted to trouble anyone by asking them to come and pick her up and although there was a taxi service in Macarthur Point, it had always been notoriously unreliable, and she doubted Uber had made it here yet.

  She’d taken less than a dozen steps along the street when it started to drizzle again. A car slowed, and the passenger side window rolled down.

  ‘Want a hand, love?’ a man’s voice called out.

  ‘I’m all good thanks. I don’t have far to go,’ she replied with a wave.

  Someone in a car behind them tooted their horn, urging the driver to hurry up and move along.

  ‘I’m happy to walk, honestly,’ Hope assured him. The suitcases weren’t heavy, just cumbersome, and if she didn’t snap a wheel, she’d be fine as soon as she got up the hill.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  The window slid back up and the car rolled forward.

  Hope took off at a steady pace along the path towards the steep road leading up to the town, acutely aware there was nothing she could do to hide her slight limp. No wonder the guy had stopped to help. People often assumed she needed assistance when they watched her walk.

  The drizzle turned into rain and the air was so icy it bit her cheeks and cut through the thin material of her jacket, digging into her skin like pins in a pincushion, but she didn’t care. It was invigorating. In Melbourne the rain always tasted like exhaust fumes and stale food. Here, the rain held the scent of eucalyptus and pine mixed with salt and seaweed and she inhaled deeply, wanting to fill her lungs with it.

  Head down against the wind, she made it to the top of the street, slightly out of breath. She stopped fo
r a moment and sucked oxygen back into her lungs, taking in the picture-postcard main street in front of her. Behind her, the beach curved gently inwards, and through the pines she glimpsed the bus making its way onto Portland. Turning right she headed past the stately homes positioned on the prime real estate lining the cliff top. None of these homes were holiday rentals and they rarely changed ownership, including the family home now owned by Courtney and Lachlan.

  The rain stopped as swiftly as it had started, and Hope quickened her pace. Five minutes later she paused at the gate of The Anchorage to admire the magnificent home. The iconic heritage-listed property, proudly in the family for over a hundred and fifty years, looked like something that would grace a magazine cover. The house was so stunning strangers often stopped out the front to take photos of it.

  Situated on nearly an acre of grounds housing a pool and tennis court, The Anchorage had breathtaking panoramic views over the ocean. Wide wraparound verandas shaded the limestone exterior and neatly trimmed lavender formed a thick hedge which bordered the front of the property. From the street, it looked modest compared to some of its modern neighbours, but once you stepped through the front door and walked to the back of the property and saw the views, it was clear to see why the home would easily fetch a price tag well into the millions if it was ever on the market.

  The Anchorage was the very different from the types of houses Hope had lived in growing up, but she’d never been jealous of her cousins growing up in the house, instead she’d relished the fact she got to stay there whenever she wanted.

  Margot and John had handed over their ownership of the home to Courtney when she’d married Lachie, then they’d knocked over the old house on an adjoining property and commissioned an award-winning architect to design their forever home.

  Her aunt and uncle’s plan had been to retire and live there until old age, but the dream didn’t eventuate. Less than six months after they’d moved into their new house, John tragically died in his sleep, leaving Margot and Courtney and Sam in a world of grief. That had been four years ago–the last time Hope had been back to Macarthur Point—for John’s funeral. It had been a flying visit and she hadn’t seen either Jordan or Mitchell at the funeral. There would have been a reason they weren’t there, but Hope couldn’t remember what it was.