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 A Season for Love   Cover   Title Page   Dedication   Prologue   Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three   Chapter Four   Chapter Five   Chapter Six   Chapter Seven   Chapter Eight   Chapter Nine   Chapter Ten   Chapter Eleven   Chapter Twelve   Chapter Thirteen   Chapter Fourteen   Chapter Fifteen   Chapter Sixteen   Chapter Seventeen   Chapter Eighteen   Chapter Nineteen   Chapter Twenty   Chapter Twenty-One   Chapter Twenty-Two   Chapter Twenty-Three   Epilogue   A letter from Ally   Acknowledgements   About the Author   Copyright       Cover   Table of Contents   Start of Content              Dedication For the Naughty Kitchen. All the caseum, all the love.   Prologue  Once upon a time… This was it. Two years after they’d started planning for Emma’s mother and stepfather to retire and hand the business over to Emma, one year after her stepfather had collapsed with a heart attack while jet-washing the blockwork driveway, and six months after her stepbrother had turned up on the family doorstep, newly separated and unemployed, Emma’s mother decided that it was time for her to take the first steps into her new life. The taxi was outside. The apartment in Torre Del Mar, forty minutes’ drive from the airport at Malaga, had been rented for a year to give Emma’s mum time to look for somewhere permanent. Emma would stay in the family house in Richmond until her mum was ready to sell, and, given the four bedrooms available, there was really no way she could morally object to her step-bro, Josh, having moved back in as well. None of which was her mother’s main concern as she stopped on the kerb and clutched Emma’s hands. ‘Now you’ll email me your full proposal as soon as possible, won’t you?’ Emma nodded. The plan for the next phase in the development of Love’s Love, her parents’, and soon to be her, business. ‘With proper costings. No back of an envelope nonsense.’ ‘Of course.’ Emma wouldn’t dream of putting in a poorly costed business plan. Her mother had raised her better than that. Everyone had agreed that Love’s Love couldn’t continue to stagger on as a traditional dating agency. The world had changed. They’d kept up as far as having a website and letting people register online, but her mother, Emma senior, was a matchmaker of the old school. She liked to look people in the eye and find out what made them tick. She had a database of clients, but most of her matches were made by knowledge and an instinct for how two people would spark when put together. It was an instinct Emma liked to think she’d inherited. ‘It’s time for me to move on.’ Emma nodded. ‘People don’t want a widowed matchmaker. They don’t want the ghost at the feast. They want to see a picture of how perfect their lives will be when they find The One.’ Her mother frowned. ‘I didn’t mean…’ ‘I know.’ ‘I mean you’ve got plenty of time to find someone. You’re young.’ Not that young, Emma thought. ‘And I’m focused on the business at the moment.’ ‘Quite right. Well, you can dip into Trev’s life insurance if you need to.’ ‘I won’t.’ Emma was adamant. That money was for her mum’s retirement. Trevor would be turning in his grave at the idea of it being invested in the business. The cabbie cleared his throat. ‘Could be forty-five minutes to terminal five this time in the morning, love.’ Emma’s mother nodded. ‘Average driving time at this hour on a week day is thirty-eight minutes.’ If it were possible to roll one’s eyes loudly, the cab driver would have managed it. ‘If you say so.’ Mrs Love released Emma’s hands and moved to hug her step-son. Emma pretended not to be listening to the whispered instructions to keep an eye on his sister and make sure she ate properly and not to let her work all hours. Emma bit her tongue on that one. Her mother had never been off duty for a moment in her life. Then it was Emma’s turn. Her mum was actually leaving. Emma put on her smile. No place for glum faces in the business of love, she told herself. ‘Have a good trip. Let us know when you land.’ ‘I will.’ She wrapped Emma in a hug. ‘I know that you can do this. My little girl won’t let me down.’  Emma stood on the pavement and watched the taxi all the way to the end of the street. Once it was out of view she stayed a moment longer watching the empty space being filled by other cars, other people, other lives going on as normal. ‘Come on, Stilts.’ Emma had been 4 ft 8 as a thirteen-year-old, when she and her mum had moved in with Josh and Trevor, and her much anticipated growth spurt had taken her all the way to the heady heights of 5 ft 1. ‘Stilts’ had been the fifteen-year-old Josh’s idea of high comedy. And it had stuck. She followed him back into the house. ‘Do you want to do anything with the house?’ he asked. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Nothing major. Maybe paint a bit before it goes on the market?’ ‘Why?’ The décor was perfectly neutral – cream, pale oatmeal and light grey throughout – and there was not a spot of clutter anywhere. Her mum’s love of organisation had found its perfect partner in Trevor’s ex-military precision and everything always had a place. It was perfect. ‘No reason. Just something to do.’ She frowned at him. ‘We