Free Love on the Rocks by Veronica Henry

the house just as he wanted it. It had been an incredibly hard slog; he had put his heart and soul into the project. The very last tile had only been laid two months ago. Did he want to enjoy the fruits of his labours? Or did he want to profit from them and move on?
    Fate, he thought, was a strange thing. If Colin hadn’t fallen off his ladder, he wouldn’t be debating this upheaval.
    ‘Let’s give it a go,’ said Lisa. ‘The least we can do is make an offer.’
    ‘A sealed bid is legally binding,’ George warned. ‘You can’t just pull out.’
    ‘For goodness sake, George. When will you stop being the harbinger of doom? Let’s just get on with it.’
    Just over three weeks later, with the phone clamped to his ear, George held his breath and looked round at the others waiting in his kitchen.
    Justin’s brow was furrowed under the wispy blond fringe that had fallen over his left eye ever since George had known him. His anxiety was tangible, which was rare. Nothing usually fazed Justin. His disquiet was unnerving, and George wondered what the reason was behind it. He wasn’t to know that Justin felt sure that this project was going to be the making of his friend.
    Lisa was chewing on her plump bottom lip. Neither had discussed what they would do if the deal fell through and George felt a sudden twinge of responsibility. He didn’t need to, of course. Lisa had her head more than screwed on. He hadn’t talked her into it, by any means. It had been her decision to leave the agency, after all.
    In the line of duty, George had been involved in sealed bids countless times – on behalf of clients. He had it down to a fine art, guesstimating rival offers, working out exactly how much was cost-effective to lose, when to be bullish and when to be cheeky. He’d learned never to get emotionally involved. Only this time, it was different. This time it was him. As he awaited the outcome, his heart was hammering, his mouth was dry, his stomach was flipping over and over like a pancake being tossed by an exuberant chef.
    He listened to the estate agent’s verdict, and carefully put down the phone.
    ‘Right,’ he said flatly. He paused for a moment for dramatic effect, then as the others looked at him uncertainly his face broke into a broad grin. ‘You’d better go and pack your buckets and spades. We are officially the proud new owners of The Rocks.’
    Seconds later, George found himself enveloped in Lisa’s flying embrace. Justin paraded the room, his arms held aloft as he stabbed the air in triumph.
    As George bent to pick up his briefcase, he reflected that the estate agent had been rather cool in his congratulations on the telephone. But then maybe they didn’t take kindly in Mariscombe to out-of-towners trumping locals with their cash. They’d be grateful in the long run, thought George. Between them they were going to put Mariscombe back on the map. George felt a tingle of excitement and drew out the bottle of champagne he’d put into his fridge earlier.
    ‘How did you know?’ exclaimed Lisa.
    ‘I just did,’ smiled George, peeling away the foil and easing the cork out gently. It had all been worth it. Three weeks of adrenalin, sleepless nights and number juggling. The legwork, the surveys, the legal work, the lengthy debates with the council, the maths, the meetings with the bank for the hideous bridging loan in case the sales of their houses didn’t correspond with the completion of the purchase. And most important of all, the design: the breathtaking, radical renovation that was going to turn The Rocks from a gloomy, old-fashioned seaside hotel into a chic beachside retreat.
    His boss, Richard, had been surprisingly sanguine when he had gone to tell him that he was going to hand in his notice. George had expected him to be peevish, but he’d seemed almost more excited by the project than George was.
    ‘Best of luck to you. I can’t pretend I’m not envious.’
    ‘We haven’t got it