Not Just for Christmas

by Cathy Bramley

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Don't miss the festive and romantic new novel from Sunday Times bestselling author Cathy Bramley - available to pre-order now!

When Lucy, Jack and Dylan meet on a beach in Devon, they had no idea that they would be friends forever.

Eighteen years later and Dylan is now a famous popstar, whilst Jack and Lucy have taken over the family farm, with a seven-year-old son, Sam - but then an accident changes everything.

Even with Christmas fast approaching, Lucy is feeling far from festive. Running Merrydown Farm singlehandedly was never in the plan, and she's exhausted.

On the other side of the world, Dylan is burned out and in need of a break - so when an invitation to spend Christmas with Lucy arrives, it seems like the perfect escape.

There's just one problem. It turns out Lucy didn't invite him...

Your favourite authors love Cathy Bramley

'Tender and emotional, just absolutely beautiful' JOSIE SILVER

'Heartbreaking and hopeful' SARAH MORGAN

'Maggie was the perfect protagonist to travel the world with' CESCA MAJOR

'Emotional and evocative, the perfect escapist read. I loved it' ALEX BROWN

'A wonderfully different and uplifting novel - thoroughly enjoyable' KATIE FFORDE

'A gorgeous story that swept me away. I loved it!' SOPHIE COUSENS

Release date: October 8, 2026

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

Dylan hoisted himself onto his surfboard and paddled out towards the horizon, his arms powering through the cold salt water against the tide. Adrenaline pulsed through him as he spotted the peak of a large wave heading into shore. He dipped his head, letting first one, then two smaller waves pass by. To his left, the only two other surfers on the water began to turn as the third wave drew closer. This was it. He was going for it. He turned the nose of the board towards the shore and prepared himself as the energy of the water began to lift him. Gathering all his strength he popped up onto the board, left leg forward, body crouched, arms out, every muscle tensed.

Focus, Dylan, don’t fall … He hardly dared breathe. He was doing it, he was riding the wave!

Then the surfboard went one way, his body the other and the surf crashed over his head. He rolled under the water, feeling the tug of the ankle strap which tethered him to his board. He surfaced again a second later, gasping for air.

He watched enviously as the other two surfers rode the wave, zigzagging like a couple of pros, letting the wave carry them in. He brushed the water from his eyes and heaved himself back on his board. If there was one thing anyone would say about Dylan Wilde it was that he wasn’t a quitter. He could do this. He turned and paddled out again.

He was sitting astride his board, waiting for the next wave when one of the other surfers appeared beside him.

‘Whoo-hoo! No feeling like it, is there?’ the guy shouted, a huge beaming smile on his face.

‘It sure beats working for a living,’ Dylan shouted back over the roar of the water. ‘It would be even better if I could stay on the board.’

The guy laughed. ‘Relax! The wipeouts don’t matter; surfing isn’t about being perfect. Falling off is an opportunity to try again. Just have fun, enjoy the ride.’

Dylan raised a hand. ‘Good tip, thanks.’

An hour later, exhausted and teeth chattering, Dylan hauled himself and his board out of the water. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, and a cold wind whipped his dark curls into his face, but he didn’t care. He’d taken the guy’s advice and had chased every wave, some more successfully than others; he was exhilarated and proud of himself.

He’d heard that the surf in Craggy Bay was meant to be amazing and he’d been dying to get into the water and try out these waves since arriving in Devon a couple of days ago. So far on his travels, he’d done a week at a surf school in Sri Lanka and caught some waves on a beach in Australia, but nothing had prepared him for the power of the water on this tiny beach in North Devon. He loved it.

He jogged up the beach to where he’d left his rucksack and towel. He was buzzing with elation and loving the roar of the ocean, the crash of the waves on the rocks to his right. Who’d have thought that he could have had so much fun at the English coast in winter?

The beach, unsurprisingly, was almost deserted – it was too cold to hang around. But only a few metres from his stuff, there was a girl sitting on her own, sheltered by the rocks. She was wrapped in a blanket, a book in her hand, long auburn curls twirling in the breeze around her face. She looked up, caught his eye and smiled.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ She held her hair off her face; she had the most striking green eyes he’d ever seen, her cheeks rosy and the tip of her nose pink.

‘It was …’ He touched his forefinger to his thumb. ‘Awesome.’

‘You’re American? Wow!’ Her eyebrows flicked upwards. She put down her book. ‘We don’t get many Americans around here.’

‘American and a terrible surfer.’ He grinned at her.

He should really grab his towel and dry off. It was freezing. But that would mean ending their conversation. He did not want that to happen. She was gorgeous.

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, the waves here are enormous,’ she said, hugging her knees. ‘And your feet even stayed on the board for three seconds at one point.’

He laughed out loud. ‘Thanks for pointing that out. Are you a surfer?’

She shook her head. ‘I love swimming, but I like to stay where my feet can touch solid ground.’

She reached into her bag, fetched a packet of Kleenex and handed them to him. ‘You’ve got …’ she gestured to his face.

‘Right. Thanks.’ Great. The cutest girl he’d met since leaving Brooklyn four months ago and he had a booger. He turned away and blew his nose. ‘So this is home for you?’

‘Technically my official home is in Adelaide since my parents emigrated there.’ A dreamy smile spread across her pretty face. ‘But Devon has my heart now.’

He felt a spot of rain on his face and then another. She noticed it too and shoved her book away in her bag.

‘Don’t blame you. I mean the weather here is amazing.’ He held out a hand to catch the raindrops with a teasing smile. ‘And the beach in winter is the perfect place to read.’

He was rewarded with a laugh.

‘When the sun’s out, Devon is heaven, but when it rains and the wind blows, being outside is … a challenge.’

‘It was blazing sunshine when I left Australia last month. You sure you’re not tempted to join your family?’

‘I was supposed to move over to be with them after I finished college but …’ Her gaze drifted out to the ocean. ‘When the time came to sort my visa, I couldn’t do it.’

He grinned at her. ‘Crazy.’

‘I know.’ She took a raincoat out of her bag and pulled it over her head.

He should get out of the rain, get out of his wetsuit, get back to his warm room, but he didn’t want to move. Not yet. Not until he had her number.

‘I’m Dylan, by the way.’

‘Lucy.’ She gave him a smile which showed dimples in her cheeks. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’ His stomach flipped. Her name suited her perfectly, cute as a button. And damn, that English accent was adorable. ‘So I guess you know all the good places to hang out round here?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘There aren’t many, most of the beach cafés close down for winter. The Otter, our local pub, is always fun though, good atmosphere.’

‘Is that close by?’ He already knew where it was; he’d seen it earlier. But he wanted to string out this conversation for as long as he could.

‘In the village – you can’t miss it.’ Lucy scanned the beach before getting to her feet and shoving the rest of her things away. Looked like she was leaving and he should too before hypothermia set in. If he didn’t act quickly he might never see her again.

‘Fancy joining me?’ he blurted out. ‘At The Otter. Tonight? I’m travelling alone and I could use someone to show me around.’

‘Nice idea.’ She smiled at him. ‘But I think my boyfriend might have something to say about that.’

‘Oh sure. Yes. He would.’ Of course she had a boyfriend. He was an idiot to think otherwise. He thumped a hand to his forehead. ‘I mean, I would if it was me.’

‘He’s out there,’ she nodded towards the ocean. ‘I think I saw him speaking to you actually.’

The guy who’d given him the pep talk which had improved his confidence no end. And in return, he had made a move on his girlfriend. Way to go, Dylan.

He nodded. ‘He’s a dude. Totally fearless.’

‘Hmm.’ A tiny frown creased her brow, but then she smiled. ‘But thank you for the invitation, I’m flattered.’

He raised a hand to wave goodbye. ‘I’m going now before I say something else stupid.’

‘Hey, it’s cool,’ she said easily. ‘You weren’t to know.’

He jogged over to his rucksack. The rain had stopped as quickly as it had started but his towel was too wet to be of any use. He stuffed it inside the bag, tugged on his hoodie and picked up his rented surfboard.

It was ridiculous to be so disappointed, he’d just met her. But he couldn’t help it; in his head, he’d already imagined their first date: just the two of them; dinner at The Otter, her explaining all the weird English stuff on the menu, followed by a midnight walk on the beach, a kiss under a moonlit sky. God dammit. The curse of the hopeless romantic.

He looked over his shoulder for one last glimpse of her just in time to see a broad guy in full wetsuit, hat and boots run up to her and drop his surfboard on the sand.

‘Whoo-hoo,’ the guy yelled, scooping her up and swinging her around. ‘Did you see me out there? That surf is insane today.’

‘Put me down, you’re all wet!’ she said, squealing.

‘You love it really.’ He set her down on the sand and pressed wet kisses all over her face, making her giggle.

Dylan couldn’t help but smile too; they were obviously happy. He was glad about that, at least he hadn’t lost out to an asshole. She caught him looking and waved.

‘Dylan, come and meet Jack!’ she called.

Dylan hesitated. Was this the moment where he got punched in the jaw by a jealous boyfriend when he learned Dylan had just asked her out on a date?

‘Dylan is American,’ said Lucy, tucking her arm around Jack’s waist. ‘And travelling on his own. This is Jack, a Devon boy through and through.’

Jack pulled off his hat to reveal a tangle of dark blond hair. He rested one arm loosely around Lucy’s shoulders and extended the other towards him. ‘Good to meet you.’

‘You were awesome out there,’ said Dylan, shaking Jack’s hand. ‘I was lucky to get up on the board for more than a second.’

‘Thanks. But I could swim almost before I could walk. I was born just over there,’ Jack nodded to the fields in the distance. ‘The sea is my second home.’

‘I was born in Brooklyn,’ Dylan replied. ‘There isn’t much opportunity for surfing on the Hudson River.’

‘That is so cool,’ Jack whistled. ‘So what brings you to Craggy Bay?’

‘I’m at the end of a four-month trip around the world. Thought I’d squeeze in one last place before flying back to the States.’

Jack groaned. ‘So jealous. I’m a farmer. I’m lucky if I get four consecutive days off.’

Dylan laughed. ‘A surfing farmer – don’t think I’ve met one of those before. What about you, Lucy?’

She glanced at Jack before answering. ‘I’ve always wanted to run my own hotel.’

‘All those guests with their demands and complaints.’ Jack shuddered. ‘Give me a herd of docile cows any day.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Lucy, pouring hot tea from a flask and handing it to her boyfriend; she offered a cup to Dylan, which he accepted gratefully. ‘Jack and I have only been together for a month, but he is determined to convince me that a muddy farmyard is a much better place to work than a smart hotel.’

‘Good luck with that, dude.’ Dylan felt a pang of regret. If only he’d come to Devon sooner, she’d have still been single.

‘Thanks,’ Jack grinned. ‘Early days, but I’ll make a farmer of you yet, Luce.’

‘So you keep saying.’ She laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘And what does Dylan do when he’s not falling off a surfboard?’

‘I’m a musician.’ Dylan forced himself to stand tall. Own it, even if there wasn’t much to own right now. But it was coming, he could feel it.

‘Even more cool.’ Jack unzipped his wetsuit. Lucy helped him out of it and handed him a sweatshirt. ‘Hey, you should come to The Otter in Craggy Bay tonight. There’s a live band on. You’d love it.’

Dylan caught Lucy’s eye and they shared a quick smile. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to gatecrash your date night.’

‘You won’t,’ Jack insisted. ‘Back me up, Luce.’

‘It’s true. There’s a bunch of us,’ Lucy explained.

‘The more the merrier,’ Jack added. ‘Meet you there at eight?’

‘Then count me in,’ said Dylan. ‘An English pub, music and new friends, what’s not to love?’

He enjoyed the independence and freedom that travelling alone had given him, but he’d been away from home a long time and was ready for some company. He hadn’t realised it, but bumping into these two was just what he’d needed.

Jack picked up his surfboard. ‘So, are you famous? Are we in the presence of an undercover celebrity?’

‘Not yet,’ Dylan grinned. ‘But I’ve got an audition with a record label when I get back to the States, so watch this space.’

‘I believe in you!’ Lucy said quietly.

His chest swelled with pride, and in that moment, he felt like he could conquer the world.

Together they packed up their things and made their way off the beach. Each of them totally unaware that this chance meeting on a cold December day in Devon would become the most important friendship of their lives.

Text from Dylan

Hey Jack, I finally made it home to the States and wanted to say thanks for everything. I had the best time in Devon, and it was great spending time with you. Thanks for all the surf lessons, inviting me to stay on the farm, educating me on English beer, and obviously, I’ll never forget that night in your pub – I can’t believe you made me borrow a guitar and play with the band! But most of all thanks for all your help when my stuff got stolen, lending me money, helping me to organize a new passport, booking flights – I’d probably still be there trying to earn enough to pay for a flight back to NYC if it wasn’t for you. Say hi to Lucy and if you guys are ever in the States, you will always have a place to crash. You’re the best, Dylan

Text from Jack

It was great hanging out with you. And don’t mention it, always happy to help out a fellow surfer. We couldn’t let you miss that audition with the record label, could we? Honestly, mate, just play like you did at The Otter and you’ll ace it – everyone’s still talking about how amazing you were that night. Lucy sends her love. Come back and see us soon.

Text from Dylan

Hey Jack, so … the record label said YES! I’ve got myself a new manager and a deal with Phoenix Records! Dylan Wilde is going to be HUGE!

Text from Jack

OF COURSE they said yes – you’re brilliant! Well done, mate. PS You should see the waves down here at the moment, the surfing is off the scale. I got caught in a rip tide this morning and couldn’t break the surface to breathe for ages – didn’t dare tell Lucy or she’d kill me.

Text from Dylan

You crazy adrenaline junkie – be careful! I want you alive to listen to my first album!

Text from Lucy

So, so proud of you, Dylan! Don’t forget us when you’re famous! Luce x

Text from Dylan

I’ll never forget you. That’s a promise. X

Text from Jack

I downloaded your album and have been playing it non-stop while doing the milking. Wow. Seriously. Just wow. I think even the cows probably know all the words by now. I’m super proud of you, mate, well done. You’ll be playing Wembley before you know it!

Text from Dylan

Keep this to yourself for now, dude, but I’ve just had confirmation that I’m going to be playing on Saturday Night Live. That is like THE best TV show in America for launching music careers. I can’t believe it, it’s really happening.

Text from Lucy

Hi Dylan, THIS IS CONFIDENTIAL! I’ve planned a surprise trip to New York for Jack’s birthday. How exciting is that?? Will you be around for dinner? Would love to meet up. x

Text from Dylan

Hey Lucy, no way! That’s such a cool birthday present! He’s a lucky guy. Of course we can meet up, and we can go one better than dinner, I’ll get my PA on it. D x

Email from Dylan Wilde’s office

Dear Lucy, this is Dylan’s PA. I’m sending you two tickets to his concert in Madison Square Garden. You will be collected to join him backstage in the green room after the gig for drinks. I’ll send you dinner reservations nearer the time.

Warm regards, Janet

Text from Jack

Dylan, just wanted to say thank you for the tickets. Best birthday of my life – best night of my life! Promise me, if you get any time off when your tour comes to the UK this year, that you’ll come and stay with us. Jack

Text from Dylan

You’re so welcome, dude. It’s the least I could do. And Lucy masterminded the whole thing. You guys are great together. And you bet I’ll come visit; save me a place on the beach! Dylan.

Text from Lucy

Wow, what an amazing summery week that was! Can’t believe you turned up at the farm to surprise us. Jack was so pleased to have a surfing buddy – in the rare moments he actually stopped working – and Heather is still raving about the ranch dressing you made for the beach barbecue. And THEN JACK PROPOSED!!! So glad you got to share that moment with us. A week I’ll never forget. Luce x

Invitation For Dylan

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Lucy Loverage and Jack Oakley on 31st July at Merrydown Farm, Craggy Bay, North Devon. RSVP by 31st May.

PS Dylan, will you be my best man? Jack

Text from Dylan

Congratulations on getting hitched, you guys! Your relationship gives me hope. I never seem to make it past six months with anyone! Thank you, Jack, I’d be honoured to be your best man. The date is in my diary.

Text from Lucy

Hey Dylan, I can’t believe I’m going to be a farmer’s wife! Still not totally giving up on my dreams of running a hotel … it’ll happen one day!

Text from Dylan

Good news and bad news: I wouldn’t miss your big day for the world, but I’m gonna have to leave straight after the speeches. Sorry it’ll be so short, but my schedule is crazy right now. I’ve rented the penthouse in The W hotel in Barcelona for a weekend in August as my wedding gift to you, hope that makes up for my fleeting presence. Love and peace, Dylan

Text from Lucy

Dear Dylan, thank you for being part of our wedding ceremony and thank you, thank you, thank you for performing that gorgeous song for our first dance!!! Such a special memory to have. As for the night before our wedding, that may be a memory to tuck away and not think about. I’ve chosen a wonderful man to be my husband and know I’m going to be happy for the rest of my life. Come and see us again soon and we’ll bore you with a million photos. Love, Mrs Oakley x

Text from Jack

Dad passed away last night after a heart attack. I can’t believe he’s gone. He was my rock, and my role model. He worked hard all his life and then only got one year of retirement. It’s so bloody unfair. Mum is in pieces and I’m burying myself with work on the farm. Lucy is organising the funeral, I don’t know what we’d do without her.

Text from Dylan

Jack, I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Lucy. Anything you need, anything I can do, count on me. Love you, man.

Email from Dylan Wilde’s office

Dear Lucy and Jack,

Dylan’s record label is throwing a party for him at Soho Farmhouse in the Cotswolds to celebrate ten years in the music industry. Dylan knows how hard it is for you to get time away from the farm now, but hopes you can make it. Let me know and I’ll make all the reservations for you.

Best wishes, Janet

Photo message from Jack

It’s a boy! Samuel Dylan Oakley arrived yesterday weighing a respectable 8 pounds. I AM A FATHER! Lucy was brilliant – obviously, and my son is the most amazing tiny human ever to grace the earth. We’d like you to be Sam’s godfather.

Text from Dylan

Hey guys, thank you for asking me to be Sam’s godfather. I’m deeply touched. It’s an absolute honor and I accept. Thanks for being flexible with the dates for the christening. Janet is trying to rearrange a couple of things so I can make it. It’ll only be a quick visit, one night max, but hope to see you then. Dylan

Text from Lucy

Hey Dylan, just to say thank you for coming to spend our first Christmas as a family with us. And thanks a million for getting up and doing the night feeds for me while you were here, you definitely earned your godfather stripes for that favour. Jack has to get up so early to see to the herd that I don’t like to ask him. I felt human again after some proper sleep. Thank you so much xxx

Text from Dylan

It was a pleasure, thanks for having me. And spending time with Sam was awesome. I love babies, and I loved seeing the smile on your face after a good night’s rest. x

Photo message from Jack

Hey Dylan, here’s a picture of Sam in his first school Nativity dressed as a sheep. I know I’m biased but he is already so clever. Let’s skip over the tantrum he had when he found out that he wasn’t going to be Joseph. Haha! Fingers crossed he gets his turn to play a main character one day. We live in hope! Have an amazing Christmas on tour Down Under. Jack, Lucy and Sam

Voicemail from Lucy

Dylan, this is urgent. Please call me as soon as you get this message. Lucy x

Text from Dylan

My darling Lucy, I’m sitting here reeling in shock after talking to you. I can’t believe he’s gone. He was a good man and although I didn’t see as much of him as I’d have liked, I was proud to call him a friend and I’m really going to miss him. My grief will be nothing compared to yours, you two were such a good team. He loved you and Sam with all his heart, and I know he’ll always be watching over you. If there’s anything I can do, anything you need, please ask. I’m here for you. Stay strong and give Sam a big cuddle from me.

With love, Dylan x

‘OK, OK, ladies,’ I said, nudging two curious cows away with my broom. ‘I know I’m not normally here at this time of day, but give me a break, all right?’

It was a cold afternoon in early December at Merrydown Farm on the North Devon coast – one hundred acres of glorious hills and valleys overlooking the picturesque village of Craggy Bay.

The farmhouse had all the quirks and charm you’d expect of a fifteenth-century building. The stone flags in the kitchen, pitted oak floorboards, wonky walls and rattling window frames. The décor was heavy on shabby and light chic, but one day, I’d been telling myself for the last decade, it was going to get the makeover it deserved.

In the meantime, it was home to my seven-year-old son, Sam, and me, and although I loved it, today I had lurched from one unfortunate incident to another, and bedtime could not come soon enough.

Before I’d even got Sam up for school, I was outside, defrosting the pipes with a hairdryer, while Pete, my farmhand, ferried buckets of water from the kitchen sink to the troughs for the animals.

Jack had always put the farm first. It was the only major bone of contention between us and it had got worse once Sam had come along. Deep down I knew he loved us fiercely, but sometimes it hadn’t felt that way. I wanted Sam to feel that I was his mum first and a farmer second, but now, as I scraped out the cubicles at three o’clock when I should have been collecting him from school, I wondered if I was fooling myself.

I’d had to rope in my mother-in-law to fetch him and I hated not being there myself.

I raised my eyes to check on Pete’s whereabouts. He’d been on our small tractor a few minutes ago, but now the chug of the diesel engine had gone quiet.

Finally, the tractor started up again and Pete drove it across the yard towards me.

‘This buggering thing is buggered,’ he shouted, jumping down from the cab. ‘It’ll be the bloody death of me.’

In his late sixties, Pete was tall, wide and hairy; his language was colourful and a great source of entertainment to my impressionable son. Jack had rated him highly, and I relied on him completely.

‘Don’t say that.’ I brushed my forearm over my face to dislodge a piece of straw stuck in my hair. I hated any mention of death, even in jest.

‘Sorry, love.’ Pete scratched at his beard. ‘Right. The good news is, I’ve bedded the heifers down.’

I groaned. ‘Please don’t tell me there’s more bad news today?’

He winced. ‘Yep. My daughter’s slipped on ice and buggered her ankle.’

‘Not Beth?’ She was eight months pregnant and already mum to a toddler.

‘Beth,’ he confirmed with a nod. ‘I’m going to have to leave work early and go over there to help out. And there’s still the calves to clean out.’

‘Bugger,’ I said, borrowing Pete’s favourite word, and mentally adding that job to the list too.

Pete had only been gone ten minutes when a buzzing from the depths of my coat alerted me to a phonecall. I reached inside my pocket and stepped out of the shed. First rule of dairy farming: do not take out your phone when up to your ankles in cow shit. It would never end well.

‘Hi Mum!’ I said, seeing my parents’ number flash up on screen. ‘This is a nice surprise, it must be late in Adelaide.’

It could have been Dad calling, obviously, but in the twenty years they’d lived in Australia, I could count on one hand the number of times he’d called me.

‘Hello love.’ Mum sounded a little flat. ‘It is late. We’ve had a busy day, haven’t had chance to catch our breath.’

‘I’m going to make sure you have a proper rest when you get here. Only three weeks to go!’ I said, a warm sense of relief flooding through me.

One of the cows pushed her head through the bars of the feed barrier, her nose nuzzling the sleeve of my coat. I held out my free hand and let her lick me, her rough tongue tickling my palm. Another cow did the same and soon they were barging each other out of the way, vying for attention.

I smiled, thinking how much my dad always wanted to help with the farm chores b. . .