Page 103 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

More silence. The sounds of the Fayre ebbed and flowed around them, but he and Harriet might as well have been in a soundproof box for all the notice he took of the rest of the world. The only thing he could concentrate on was her.

He said, ‘You might not want to hear this, and if you want me to leave afterwards, I’ll leave. But I’ve got to tell you, so…’

‘What?’

Gosh, she wasn’t making this easy for him. ‘I love you.’

‘I know. Pen told me.’

‘Your boss is a force to be reckoned with,’ he said. ‘She ordered me to get my backside to Foxmore because she was worried you were fading away.’

‘Do I look as though I’m fading away?’

‘You look beautiful. Youarebeautiful. I meant it when I said I love you.’

‘I know,’ she repeated, and he felt like crying.

Pen had got it wrong; Harriet didn’t love him after all.

‘And I love you.’ Harriet whispered it, and it took Owen a heartbeat to realise what she had said.

He closed his eyes, relief sweeping through him, followed by the most exquisite happiness he had ever felt. He opened them again slowly, hoping he hadn’t dreamt it.

She was still there, love in her eyes and a smile on her gorgeous, luscious, kissable lips.

‘Come here,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion, and he held out his arms.

When Harriet stepped into them and he wrapped her in his embrace, he knew he was the luckiest man on the planet.

Chapter 23

Owen would have loved to have woken up in Harriet’s bed on Christmas morning, but they hadn’t quite got to the stage where he spent the night with her. It would be soon, he knew, but Christmas Eve wasn’t the ideal time for such a momentous event. For one thing, he suspected the kids would be up at the crack of dawn, bounding into their mother’s bedroom, eager to open their presents and get the day started. The last thing they needed was to see a big hairy bloke in their mum’s bed. Instead, Owen had spent most of the evening with them, staying until after the children had gone to bed, bleary-eyed and filled with overtired excitement (the children, not him). He and Harriet had shared a long, passionate kiss before he had turned the collar of his coat up against the cold, shoved his hands into his pockets and headed off into the darkness.

Even before he’d swung his feet out of bed and slid down the ladder this morning, he could hear his phone trilling with a message. Several messages, in fact: two from Harriet, one from Sara, via Harriet, one from Bobby – not via Harriet, because the boy must have stolen her phone and typed the message himself – one from his parents and one from his brother.

His brother had sent him a photo of the whole family sitting in the living room, with the children on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, and for a second he felt quite homesick, until he saw the time the photo had been sent. Four thirty-seven a.m. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as homesick after all… Anyway, he had a whole day in Harriet’s company to look forward to, and he wouldn’t swap that for anything.

Sorry guys, he thought, as he studied the picture. His parents had been disappointed when he had told them that he wasn’t going to be spending Christmas with them, but his mum and dad fully understood his decision, and were totally behind him. His mum had been relieved and thrilled when Owen had phoned to say that he had arrived in Foxmore (he hadn’t mentioned the hairy driving conditions) and that he and Harriet were an item once more. She had been excitedly prattling on about meeting her two new grandchildren, and the possibility of more on the way – commenting that he and Harriet should get a move on if they wanted to try for a baby together, because neither of them was getting any younger – when he had hung up on her. Having a baby was not something he and Harriet had talked about, and they might never do. He was perfectly happy with being a stepdad to Harriet’s two, without feeling the need to have a biological child of his own. His family was already complete.

He hadn’t left his presents for Harriet or the children under their tree, because he wanted to be there to see their faces when they opened his gifts, so he had the quickest shower in the world, hastily got dressed and hurried out of the door. Although he had slept like a yule log last night, he had missed Harriet and he couldn’t wait to see her again. Ten hours was far too long to be without her.

He scuffed through the remains of the snow (Foxmore might have got away lightly the day of the Christmas Fayre, but later that night there had been a heavy snowfall) as he skidded along the road, earning himself some smiles and quizzical looks from those people already out and about, and soon he was on her step.

Before he had a chance to ring the doorbell, Sara flung the door open and dragged him inside.

‘Owen, Owen!’ she cried.

Shucking off his coat and hanging it on the peg behind the door, he followed the excited girl into the living room to see Harriet and Bobby crouched over an intricate train set that Harriet was trying to put together. Etta was looking on intently, with a new toy between her paws. The scene was so perfectly Christmassy that it made his heart swell with love.

Harriet looked up. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ she said. ‘Can you finish this off, while I get the children some breakfast? Honestly, you need a degree in mechanics to put this thing together.’

Owen knelt on the floor and studied the train set. Wow, it did look complicated.

‘Would you like some breakfast, or have you eaten?’ Harriet asked.

‘I’d love some, please. But before you make it, come here, all of you. I want to take a photo.’

‘I hope this isn’t for your blog?’ Harriet chided. ‘I thought you were done with that.’

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