The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip (Cherry Pie Island - Book 2) by Jenny Oliver

step-sisters and brothers, the good and the bad. That his mum had lived off money that those men had earned. And that that dependence had infuriated him. She remembered the planning that had gone into the Cherry Pie festival. Him and Emily and Jack all working out the logistics. She remembered watching with admiration this cool young eighteen year old who was going to make it on his own.
    And he’d succeeded. He was part of the founding group who owned restaurants such as Gosfords in Sloane Square. The Petite Kitchen just off Regent Street. The Octopus Diner in the City, the New York Deli in Shoreditch. Everyone had heard of them. They were the kind of places that people were queuing up for as soon as they opened. On-trend and serving guaranteed good food. She remembered her mum taking her to Gosfords for her eighteenth birthday. The decor was American diner meets the Orient Express, with cosy chocolate leather booth seats and gold luggage racks, a shiny floor of multi-coloured chequerboard tiles and big glinting chandeliers suspended from the vast ceiling arches. The taste of the eggs Benedict there was better than any photograph of happier family times.
    The night Holly had slept with Wilf was like the night he’d kissed her at the festival. There had been no moment when she’d thought he would be the person she would tie herself to for life. As she said, he was too good-looking. He was too lose-able. Too transient. He had heartbreak written across him. But he had this quality. Like an addiction that made being near him thrilling. He was like his sister in that way, his life-blood, his energy was infectious. And in that moment, as he looked at her across the picnic table, all cheeky grin and pleased-with-himself wink, she knew the road ahead was going to be near impossible.

Chapter Nine
    As they got back into the van it was dark. Night was edging in around them. Headlights were at full beam and shops and supermarkets all shut up. Holly pulled her scarf around her shoulders and yawned.
    ‘I think we should try and get to Chaumont,’ Wilf said as he jumped into the driver’s seat. ‘Then we’ll be about halfway.’
    Holly made a face, she was ready for bed. ‘But it’s getting dark. Everything’ll be shut.’
    ‘Nah, we’ll get somewhere. Hotels stay open.’
    ‘I don’t know, Wilf. I’ve been stuck in France before with nowhere to stay. I think maybe we should pull off sooner.’
    Wilf shook his head, ‘I think let’s just get a few more miles done and then stop in a bigger town. Come on, we’re more likely to find somewhere to stay in a big town than one of these tiny ones.’ He glanced at her, eyebrows raised as if assuming compliance. Holly shook her head. ‘Well,’ Wilf went on, ‘I’m driving so I get final say.’
    She could see his grin in profile, really pleased with himself.
    ‘I told you,’ Holly said, pulling down on her rucksack straps, kicking a bit of gravel with her foot, feeling like one of her sulky teenage rowers.
    Wilf ran his tongue along his lip. ‘The woman in there said there’s another place up the road. I’ll go, you stay here.’
    Holly sighed and sat down on a bench in front of the lavish town hall building. The first hotel they’d asked in had told them there was a conference on in the town and the likelihood of finding a room available was slim. Wilf had thanked her and, once outside, rolled his eyes as if she had no clue what she was talking about.
    An hour later, they still had no room. It was really dark, getting cold and even the restaurants had started to stack their tables and drag sandwich boards inside. Wilf had made a joke about sleeping in the van and from the look on Holly’s face, realised it wasn't very funny.
    Pretty much alone in the square, bar a couple of people walking their dogs, Holly got her phone out and texted Annie.
    Waiting for Wilf to find hotel. Anything interesting happening at home?
    Same as always. Builders still taking forever to fix