The Pollyanna Plan Read Online Free PDF

laughed, shaking her head. Alice would be so proud, crowing how external changes reflected what was happening inside.
    Emma froze for a moment. Was she getting too carried away with the Pollyanna Plan? She reminded herself not to buy into Alice’s crackpot psychology. Changing your flat didn’t change your life, no matter what the plethora of property shows insisted. Anyway , she’d been meaning to do this for years. She just hadn’t the time.
    Hurrying into her room to dress, Emma gazed into the closet and its cacophony of black and grey fabrics. What would Pollyanna say about her wardrobe? It was easy to match? Even a colour-blind person couldn’t go wrong, Emma thought as she tugged on her one pair of jeans and a soft, grey cashmere jumper. Slicking back her hair, Emma peered into the mirror as she jammed on mascara and slicked her lips with gloss. Despite the hangover, she didn’t look too bad. Sure, tiny wrinkles sprung from her eyes and creased her forehead, but …
    After thirty, the chances of developing a critical illness increase tenfold. The thought floated into her head, and Emma found it reassuring. She could have a little fun changing her flat, yet still be aware of reality. After shrugging on a thick jacket, she grabbed her keys and handbag, then closed the door behind her.
    Forty-five minutes later, Emma was lost in a maze of high aisles stuffed with every implement known to humankind. It was a weekday afternoon, but Home & Hearth buzzed with men on a mission and harried-looking women. Although it was early November, Christmas paraphernalia was out in full force, and Emma had to duck before an inflatable Santa bopped her in the head. Spotting the sign for the paint department, she threaded her way between three children batting each other with sticks of wood and headed over to where tins of paint sat in tidy rows. A laminated colour book was tethered to a shelf, and Emma opened it eagerly. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to transform the flat from a shell into a comfy, cosy refuge.
    But after flipping through page after page of blues, none of them matched the shade inside her head. Names like ‘Crushed Cornflower ’, ‘Sky at Noon’, ‘Robin’s Refuge’ … all were gorgeous—just not what she wanted. Sighing, she was about to slam closed the book and head for home when a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.
    ‘Can I help you with something? You’ve been staring at the sample book for quite some time.’
    Spinning around, Emma came face to face with the wide brown eyes of a man better suited to a soulful French film than a home improvement centre. About her age and a few inches taller, he was solid without being stocky, with little lines creasing tan skin. Dark, wavy hair curled around the tips of his ears, and his lips were full.
    Get a grip, Emma told herself, aware she was ogling the man in front of her. Anyone would think you’d been single for years, not days! The thought drifted in that although she’d been with George for ages, it’d been more like a partnership than a relationship. Straightening her spine, she forced herself to smile in a businesslike manner, trying not to notice the man’s broad chest as she focused on the name tag reading ‘Will’.
    ‘I’m searching for a particular shade of blue, but I can’t seem to find it here,’ she said, gesturing to the stack of sample books.
    Will lifted an eyebrow. ‘You’ve looked through all of them?’
    Emma nodded. ‘Yes. Nothing matches. I’m after a specific colour, something my father painted my room with when I was young.’ The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and her cheeks flushed as she realised how lame that sounded. A grown woman, looking for a colour from her childhood. Sad.
    But Will’s eyes crinkled up as he smiled encouragingly. ‘I like a challenge. Tell you what, you find the shade here you think is the closest. Then explain to me as best you can the exact colour you fancy—darker, lighter,