Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy by Katey Lovell (best autobiographies to read .txt) 📕

sorrow known. Norma looked exhausted, bless her, and seeing her trying to hold herself together for the sake of everyone else set me off crying again.

As I turned away I noticed a figure standing underneath the central archway on the other side of the garden of remembrance. The silhouette was familiar; the fair hair reflecting the brilliance of the sun, which seemed too joyous for such a sombre occasion.

The figure raised his hand in a wave, and I raised mine back, then we were heading toward each other, pulled by a force greater than gravity. When we were face to face Max pulled me into an embrace, an embrace he realised I needed before I even realised I needed it myself.

A lot of talking and a lot of tears later, we curled up together on Max’s bed. Even though his mattress was hard and his bedding smelled strongly of an unfamiliar fabric softener, it had felt right snuggling up to him, fully clothed and on top of the covers. As we cuddled and talked, I felt safe.

Max told me everything he knew about Darius from his brother’s business partner. Words like manipulative and controlling were used as he filled me in on how Darius had been bragging about how he was going to win me back, especially after the festival.

“He was using you, and I hate him for that,” Max said, brushing a stray hair out of my face. “How could he take advantage of your love for Summer like that? Especially when you were in the depths of grief.”

“I nearly didn’t give him the money. But in the end I couldn’t not, not when I thought it was going to keep him and Summer together. I don’t understand why he’d spend so much money on going to Vegas if Nadia’s threatening to take her away. I’ve tried texting him, ringing him, everything… but he’s not replied.”

“I hate to say it, but he doesn’t need you now he’s got what he wanted. He’s a bastard, Sophie, a heartless bastard.”

“I trusted him.” My voice was meek, barely there. “I ignored all the warning signs and didn’t listen when people tried to tell me what he was like. I was a fool.”

“We’re all capable of being a fool when we’re in love,” Max said, stroking my hair. I closed my eyes, enjoying the relaxing sensation his touch brought to me. I was halfway between wake and sleep as he added, “And I should know.”

He wrapped an arm around me and I shuffled sleepily until my body was pressed against his, succumbing to the exhaustion. I fell asleep, and it was the best sleep I’d had in a long time.

“Hiya.” Max’s croaky voice told me that he was only just waking up – that and the dusting of sleep that nestled in the corners of his eyes.

“What time is it?” I squinted, turning to look at the small blue alarm clock on the bedside table, shocked to discover how late it was. “It’s almost eight!”

“Which sounds like a good excuse to go out for tea,” Max said, although he made no move to get out of bed. In fact, he pressed his lips against the spot behind my ear and proceeded to plant delicate fluttery kisses down the back of my neck. I tilted my head at the tickle of his stubble, turning to fully face him.

“You could give me the guided tour of the house before we go,” I suggested.

It would have been impossible not to have noticed the sheer size and grandeur of the house. It wasn’t in an area of the city I knew particularly well, but I did know it was expensive, and I wondered how Max could afford to live here on his wage.

“Ah,” he said, pulling his arm away. My body cooled instantly at his release. “There’s something I ought to tell you.”

The sheepish expression he was wearing seemed out of place on his normally open face, and he turned away from me as he climbed off the bed, stripped off his shirt and pulled on a fresh plain black T-shirt.

Dread filled me. I knew it was too good to be true. Nothing in my life went smoothly, so why did I expect it to with Max? In one single second a million thoughts rampaged through my head.

He was a murderer.

Secretly married.

A drug addict.

He liked Status Quo.

None of them was feasible, except the Status Quo one as an outside bet, but it didn’t stop me fearing the very worst.

“This isn’t my house,” he said finally.

“O-kaaay,” I answered slowly.

I began to wonder if it was a repeat of what Tawna had gone through in one of her pre-Johnny relationships. A man she’d been seeing had borrowed the keys to his friend’s penthouse apartment in the hope that it’d charm her pants off. His own abode was far less impressive – a shared house riddled with damp.

“I do live here,” he explained, “but it’s my parents’ house.” He was still facing away from me. “They’re away for the weekend visiting my grandad.”

“You still live at home?” I did a poor job of disguising my surprise.

“Yep,” he admitted, embarrassment in his eyes. “I know it’s not exactly a turn-on. You probably think I’m a real mummy’s boy.”

“I don’t think that at all. I just don’t get why you’d keep it a secret.”

He paused to pull a hoodie out of his wardrobe. “I did move out once. I had a place of my own, but two years ago my dad was diagnosed with MS. He’s doing well at the moment, but when he has a flare he can hardly move. He was reliant on a wheelchair for a while and he was too heavy for my mum to lift or push in the chair. I moved back to help.”

“I’m so sorry.” I knew through Eve how hard it was caring for a parent, the emotional and physical burden. “That must be tough.”

“It is what it is. Thankfully