Publication date 1st July 2018
About the book
Poignant, heart-warming and gorgeously romantic, this is a love-story with pure, unadulterated happiness at its heart. A Year of Finding Happiness shows you that the little things in life can make you smile, even when you think you might never laugh again...
Happiness doesn't factor on the deliciously rugged but utterly heartbroken Greg's radar much these days. Only his beloved Labrador Angus seems to understand his search for a way to make sense of tragedy, until he meets new neighbour Mallory Westerman...
Instantly they know that the other understands how they feel, and over time, as romance blossoms, they dare to wonder if they might, one day, be truly happy again...
There are two sides to every story, and A Year of Finding Happiness is Greg's journey back from the darkest depths to happiness...
A Year of Finding Happiness was previously published as Bridge of Hope.
My Review
A Year of Finding Happiness is such a beautiful romance story. From that very first chapter this story just captures your heart. It is a real feel good story that will brighten your day. I loved this, the characters were so perfect and I just loved reading about them.
This book will make people see that no matter how tough times can be for you things do get better and you do get your happy ever after.
Extract from the book
It had been the same damned nightmare again.
I’d been experiencing what the doctor called night terrors ever since receiving the news that Mairi had been declared dead. The love of my fucking life… dead. There were no words to describe the physical pain knotting my insides every time I realised it was true and not just a cruel dream.
There had been no body to bury. But apparently that’s not uncommon when people are lost up the side of a mountain like K2. People can lie undiscovered for years up there, so I’m told.
Sobering thought.
Over and over I asked myself why she couldn’t just be satisfied with bagging Munros here in Scotland. It’s not as if there’s a shortage. But of course that wasn’t enough of a challenge for her. She was a free spirit; an adrenaline junky.
The stupid thing was that I wasn’t even there when her accident happened, but for some bizarre reason my psyche had built up its own series of events and insisted on torturing me with the movie of Mairi’s death every time I closed my eyes.
What I wouldn’t give for a peaceful night’s sleep.
I’d taken on extra work whenever I wasn’t on the water. The boat was only a seasonal thing anyway. And although tourists loved the area surrounding the bridge over the Atlantic, taking a trip out on Little Blue on choppy water wasn’t for faint-hearted, unseasoned sailors. So I’d taken on work as a handyman. I was fixing taps, sealing sinks, unblocking drains. Oddly, all the jobs seemed to be water related. Maybe that was because I had a combination of water and single malt running through my veins. Who knows?
Keeping busy was my intention. Being occupied was the only thing stopping me from slipping into a deep depression, and I knew all too well how easy it would’ve been just to let go and fall into the abyss as Mairi did in my nightmares.
I’d met her when I was out walking. I’d pretty much given up hope of ever falling in love for real. I’d had a shot at it before – Alice was her name, but the less said about her right now, the better. But life likes to throw in curveballs every so often. And so there I was up by the Buachaille, aka the Buckle, Etive Mor in the Highlands, taking in the finest scenery my home country has to offer and the freshest air you could ever wish to breathe, when this fiery-haired girl tripped over her laces and into my arms. She had the most stunning smile I’d ever seen. And her eyes… Let’s just say when she gazed up at me she melted my heart.
We chatted for ages and it was just… so natural. It turned out she and I shared a passion for the great outdoors. The rugged expanses of moorland that stretched out around us in their palette of browns, russets and gold were a pull for both of us. Only her sense of adventure outweighed mine ten to one. Where I loved to saunter along appreciating the warm musty smell of the bracken and heather, she loved to climb anything that had stood still for over a hundred years. And here in Scotland there’s plenty of that around.
It was clear to me from that first meeting that I was never going to be the same again.
Our relationship progressed quickly and was very physical. I was a fair few years older than her but I had no trouble keeping up, if you know what I mean. I loved every inch of her body with a passion I’d never experienced before. It was raw and real. I’d sit watching her as she studied maps and reference books about climbing. Every so often she’d glance up and catch me staring and she’d just smile, climb into my lap, and kiss me.
After Alice and I split – I won’t bore you with the details yet, let’s just say that she was a nasty piece of work who messed with my head and broke my heart, more than once – I swore off love and all it entailed. I didn’t need a woman in my life. Or so I thought. But when I lost Mairi, it was as if someone had ripped out my heart and stamped on it whilst I watched. The pain was excruciating.
Physical, gut-twisting pain.
I felt sure they’d got it wrong. She went to K2 with experienced climbers. She was an experienced mountaineer too. It’d been her dream for so long. I wasn’t about to stand in her way, and the thought that she might not come back never even entered my head.
Not being able to say goodbye was the worst thing. The small memorial service held by her parents was strangely devoid of emotion. It was as if her friends and family were in some kind of denial.
I think I was too.
Thinking back to the morning she left for the trip broke my heart, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was just like those recurring nightmares, only more painful.
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