Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm. Jaimie Admans

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Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm - Jaimie Admans

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       About the Author

      JAIMIE ADMANS is a 32-year-old English-sounding Welsh girl with an awkward-to-spell name. She lives in South Wales and enjoys writing, gardening, watching horror movies and drinking tea, although she’s seriously considering marrying her coffee machine. She loves autumn and winter, and singing songs from musicals despite the fact she’s got the voice of a dying hyena. She hates spiders, hot weather and cheese & onion crisps. She spends far too much time on Twitter and owns too many pairs of boots. She will never have time to read all the books she wants to read.

      Jaimie loves to hear from readers, you can visit her website at www.jaimieadmans.com or connect on Twitter @be_the_spark.

       Also by Jaimie Admans

       The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters

       The Little Wedding Island

       It’s a Wonderful Night

       The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea

      Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm

      JAIMIE ADMANS

Digital HQ Logo

      HQ

      An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

      First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

      Copyright © Jaimie Admans 2019

      Jaimie Admans asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      E-book Edition © 2019 ISBN: 9780008331214

      Version: 2019-08-28

      Table of Contents

       Cover

      About the Author

      Also by Jaimie Admans

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Dedication

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

       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

      Acknowledgements

      A Letter from the Author

       Extract

       Dear Reader …

       Keep Reading …

      About the Publisher

       For my Little Bruiser Dog.

       Thank you for making me smile every day for fifteen years.

       I will miss you every day for the rest of my life.

       Chapter 1

      I am never drinking again.

      Please tell me that pounding, throbbing sound is not coming from inside my own head. I peel one eye open and severely consider not bothering to open the other one.

      I’m slumped on the living room floor and propped upright by the coffee table, with my face smooshed against the keyboard of my open laptop. My movement jogs the mouse and the dark screen comes back to life, and my eyes hurt at the sudden brightness. I wince and push myself away, instantly regretting it when my stomach rolls at the movement.

      When I can bring myself to peer blearily at the screen, there are loads of new emails in my inbox – and most of the subject lines say ‘congratulations’. More spam, no doubt. ‘Congratulations, you’re the sole benefactor of a millionaire Nigerian prince, give us your bank details and we’ll pop a million dollars straight into your account. Totally legit, honest.’

      There are three empty bottles of Prosecco beside me, and my phone is worryingly nearby. Why do I remember squealing ‘thank you, luffly robot voice,

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