Michelle Vernal Box Set The Guesthouse on the Green Series Christmas at O’Mara’s Bonus, New Year’s Eve with the O’Maras, Short Read A Wedding at O’Mara’s Maureen’s Song Table of Contents Title Page Michelle Vernal Box Set - The Guesthouse on the Green Series, Christmas at O'Mara's, New Year's Eve with the O'Maras, A Wedding at O'Mara's, Maureen's Song Also by Michelle Vernal Christmas at O’Mara’s | Michelle Vernal New Year’s Eve with the O’Maras A Wedding at O’Mara’s Maureen’s Song | By Michelle Vernal Maureen’s Song | by | Michelle Vernal Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 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 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Book 8, The Guesthouse on the Green Series | The O’Mara’s in LaLa Land Pre-Order here: https://books2read.com/u/bW12e1 The Promise | By Michelle Vernal | The Beginning MICHELLE VERNAL LOVES a happy ending. She lives with her husband and their two boys in the beautiful and resilient city of Christchurch, New Zealand. She’s partial to a glass of wine, loves a cheese scone, and has recently taken up yoga—a sight to behold indeed. As well as The Guesthouse on the Green series Michelle’s written eight standalone novels. They’re all written with humour and warmth and she hopes you enjoy reading them. If you enjoy reading The Guesthouse on the Green series boxset then taking the time to say so by leaving a review would be wonderful. A book review is the best present you can give an author. If you’d like to hear about new releases in this series, and other book news you can subscribe to Michelle’s newsletter here: http://tiny.cc/0r27az To say thank you, you’ll receive an exclusive O’Mara women Character Profile! https://www.michellevernalbooks.com/ https://www.facebook.com/michellevernalnovelist/ https://www.bookbub.com/authors/michelle-vernal Also by Michelle Vernal The Cooking School on the Bay Second-hand Jane Staying at Eleni’s The Traveller’s Daughter Sweet Home Summer The Promise The Dancer When we say Goodbye Christmas at O’Mara’sMichelle Vernal Copyright © 2019 by Michelle Vernal Michelle Vernal asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This novel, Christmas at O’Mara’s 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. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder. Introduction Cliona Whelan, Clio for short, had been many things in her fifty-nine years on this earth. A daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, journalist and now a published and, some would say, feted novelist, but there were things she hadn’t been too. Things she’d have liked to have been had fate played her a different hand. If she’d been born into these modern times, perhaps she would have had it all but in her youth, there was no such thing as, “having your cake and eating it too”. She’d had to make choices, hard decisions because she couldn’t have it all. She wasn’t a wife, nor a mother and she would never be someone’s grandmother. ‘I’ve got you though haven’t I, Bess.’ It was a statement not a question and she reached down to stroke the cat’s silky back as she meandered past on her way through from the kitchen where she’d finished her breakfast to bask on her favourite chair. Bess mewled but didn’t pause on her well-worn path. Clio took a sip of milky tea from her china cup. The dancing rose pattern, so delicate against the white, bone china, was beautiful and she paused briefly to admire it as she set it back down in its matching saucer. The Japanese knew the importance of things being just right when it came to drinking one’s tea. They’d understand her refusal to sip her morning brew from anything other than this rose teacup. It was a habit adopted from her mam. God rest her soul. ‘It tastes different when it’s not in my cup,’ Maeve Whelan used to say. Clio had thought her a terrible old fusspot suffering from delusions of grandeur when she was young, but now, she knew exactly what she’d meant. She heard the familiar rattle of the cast iron letter slot being pushed open by Niall. He of the ruddy cheeks and ready grin who’d been the postman delivering to her street for forever and a day. It was followed by the soft plop of mail landing on the mat by the front door. Clio liked this time of year. Oh, she wasn’t a fan of the cold. She’d have been happier banging away on her trusty old typewriter somewhere warm and sunny like Spain. Dublin could be bleak in the depth of winter. What she liked about the month of December though, was the way in which people became kinder and more engaged with one another. Those that would hurry along the streets, heads down, keen to be on their way the rest of the year, would slow a little, look one another in the eye and give a nodding smile in passing. It was as if they’d suddenly remembered what really mattered in life. She enjoyed sifting through the post of a morning too knowing there’d be a pile of cards to open—it was much more enjoyable than eyeing the electric bill while munching her toast. Clio liked to eke out her morning routine, partly because it took longer to wind through the gears and crank into fourth these days and partly because she wasn’t, and never had been, a morning person. She got up and knotted her dressing gown tie before padding through on slipper-clad feet to the kitchen. She slotted her toast into the toaster pushing the handle down before going to fetch the mail. The white envelopes lay scattered on the floor and her eyes flitted over the different handwriting as she scooped them up, but as she registered the postmark on one such envelope her breath caught and her hand fluttered to her mouth. The envelope, as her eyes drifted to
