At First Sight by Hannah Sunderland (latest novels to read TXT) 📕

AT FIRST SIGHT

Hannah Sunderland

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperCollinsPublishers

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Dublin 4, Ireland

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2021

Copyright © Hannah Sunderland 2021

Cover design by Caroline Young © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com

Hannah Sunderland asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of 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, down-loaded, 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.

Source ISBN: 9780008365721

Ebook Edition © April 2021 ISBN: 9780008365738

Version: 2021-01-08

PRAISE FOR HANNAH SUNDERLAND:

‘Told with huge warmth and heart from start to finish’

Miranda Dickinson, author of Our Story

‘A love story with a difference … uplifting and unusual’

Gillian McAllister, author of How to Disappear

‘A delightfully romantic and endlessly enjoyable love story’

Isabelle Broom, author of Hello, Again

‘Beautiful – I am a tiny bit broken’

Lisa Hall, author of The Perfect Couple

‘Real and raw – I struggled to put it down’

Anna Bell, author of We Just Clicked

Author’s Note

This book deals with loss, grief, depression and suicide. If any of these subjects are sensitive for you then please approach with care. I hope I have dealt with these important issues delicately.

Dedication

This book is for Matt, Mom, Dad and for all of those whose light at the end of the tunnel has ever seemed dim.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Hannah Sunderland

Author’s Note

Dedication

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

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Hannah Sunderland

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Is there any time more stressful than your lunch break? That small span of time that evaporates so quickly while you’re standing in a queue behind someone loitering at the till, who chooses their coffee at snail’s pace while you bob, impatiently, on the balls of your feet. All I wanted from life was a sandwich and to not receive a disparaging look from my manager when I returned to the office, sweaty and red-faced.

I stood, fourth in line, in a queue that hadn’t moved in over three minutes. The person on the till was clearly new and, while I sympathised with his wide-eyed and panicked expression, my patience was running low. I jostled my packet of crisps and paper-wrapped hummus and red pepper sandwich around in my arms until I managed to get a hand free to check my phone. I shuffled a little closer to the till as the woman at the front of the queue received her coffee and trotted off to a seat. The café was filling up quickly and if this rookie employee didn’t hurry the hell up, I wasn’t going to get a seat.

I caught the eye of the newbie’s supervisor who stood behind him, patiently watching, although I could see that his patience was wearing thin too, and he nodded a look of recognition my way. We’d never really spoken more than the usual niceties. I didn’t even know his name, his badge simply bearing the word ‘supervisor’ in worn black print, but I’d been coming in here for years and so we knew each other by sight. He had a shaved head, although the stubble that was always trying to creep through showed that his baldness was a choice and not a curse, and he wore thick-rimmed glasses, held in place by a silver nose stud.

There was one table free in the corner over by the window and three people in front of me. The man at the front of the queue had a plastic KeepCup ready in his hands for the barista to fill, so it was fair to say that he wasn’t sticking around. The man in front of me already had a seat because the woman who was with him had darted off when a seat had become free a minute or two ago. So that left one other person, my rival for that one remaining seat. This café was my place to come for lunch, had been for years. But ever since they’d been featured in that issue of The Birmingham Mail a few months ago, it’d been getting busier and busier until there was no longer room for loyal customers like me who’d stuck with them through their experimental turmeric latte and chai tea scones phases.

KeepCup man took his freshly replenished cup back from the dazed-looking employee and headed for the door. My one remaining rival for that coveted final seat ordered his drink, paid and stood to the side as the man before me moved to the till and ordered two teas. I gave a little inward whoop as he said it. Tea was easy, quick. I might just have a chance at that chair. As I’d predicted, his teas were served quickly and he turned away to the table claimed earlier by the woman I assumed was his wife. I quickly ordered my Americano, a swift and simple choice, and tapped my card against the reader. I sent the poor overwhelmed boy a cheerfully sympathetic smile before stepping to the side and standing beside my rival.

I could see the barista in the