Page 45 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘What?’ Harriet was curious. He couldn’t leave her hanging.

‘Enjoy your company,’ he finished, looking anywhere but at her.

Harriet was amazed. Did he really…? Or was he lonely? As far as she knew, the only people he interacted with were herself, her children and Aled. No wonder he wanted to spend time with her, if mean and miserable Aled was his only other option. ‘Why don’t I go home and drop these off—’ she held up her bags ‘—fetch Etta, then come back?’

‘You don’t mind? I mean, if you’ve got something else planned…?’

‘You’re saving me from having to tackle the laundry,’ she told him, knowing full well that all she was doing was delaying the inevitable. It would have to be tackled at some point. ‘I’ll be back in about half an hour, if that’s OK?’

‘Great!’

He looked so pleased, Harriet was glad she had accepted his invitation and she guessed her assessment that he was lonely was right.

Now, if she could keep a lid on her growing attraction to him and treat him like the friend he so clearly wanted her to be, everything would be fine.

Owen hurried back to his van, wondering what to make for lunch. He didn’t want to look as though he was going out of his way to impress her, but he wanted to impress her nevertheless.

This past week he’d done little else other than think about her. It didn’t help that she was constantly on his mind because ofPlanet B, but even if he weren’t writing a weekly post about her, she would still have claimed centre stage in his thoughts.

Owen had come to a decision – one he hadn’t taken lightly and had thought long and hard about – he was going to stay in Foxmore for the foreseeable future.

He liked the village immensely (he supposed he could even say he’d fallen in love with the place) but he liked Harriet more. And it was his growing attraction to her that was the main reason he didn’t want to move on.

He was lucky he could work from almost anywhere, and although he might have to go to where the story was or do some research on site, that didn’t mean he couldn’t return to Foxmore. And to Harriet.

Shoving the key in the lock, Owen tripped up the steps and into the van, welcome warmth enveloping him. He had fired up the log burner last night and had fed the hungry black beast again this morning, not wanting the interior of the van to become too chilly, and the first thing he did now was to shove another log into its mouth.

A root around in the cupboard and the fridge gave him an idea for a tasty, quick and filling lunch, so he set about gathering the ingredients together to make creamy mushroom and spinach penne pasta, with freshly baked scones to follow. He had been planning on baking a loaf of bread anyway, so he’d make scones instead, with the idea that he could eat any leftover ones for breakfast tomorrow. They would go well with the jam he’d bought, and he could use the oat-based crème fraîche that he had originally planned to have with fresh fruit. Instead of the traditional sultanas, he had some dried cranberries, so he would put those in, along with a pinch of cinnamon and the zest of a whole orange. If he added a handful of flaked almonds, he could legitimately call them Christmas scones, although there was Halloween and Bonfire Night to get through first before Christmas arrived. Harriet was clearly in the mood for Christmas already, as her purchases today showed, so he hoped she’d like them.

He stared around his tiny kitchen area, wondering where to begin.

Scones first, he decided, as they would take the longest.

Owen loved cooking, and because he had been vegan for many years, he had become a dab hand in the kitchen. When he was a young chap, people used to look at him sideways when he said he didn’t eat animal products – and there wasn’t the variety of vegan products available now, so wanting to stick to his vegan guns and still eat well, he’d had to learn to cook for himself pretty sharpish. He often still baked his own bread, cakes and biscuits, and in the past he had been known to make his own hazelnut flour, although these days he preferred to go out and buy it.

The scone dough made, he rolled it out and cut it into circles, before lining a baking tray with parchment and popping it into the fridge for a quarter of an hour.

Then he set about making the sauce for the pasta, humming to himself as he worked.

His heart did that skipped-beat-thing again when he was abruptly reminded of watching Harriet at the stove. She had been singing softly along to the radio, and he remembered the way she had tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing the soft, pale skin of her neck. He also remembered how he’d wanted to kiss that skin and nibble that ear, and he pushed the thought away.

He might think Harriet extremely lovely and sexy, but he didn’t for one minute believe she felt the same way about him. She was just being friendly, and maybe she was a little bit grateful to him as well. He doubted she regarded him as anything more, so he knew he’d have to take things slowly. Even then, she might not be interested in him like that – but he intended to give it his best shot.

Owen didn’t want a quick fling and he most definitely didn’t want a one-night stand. For the very first time in his life, he wanted a proper relationship. He felt ready for it. Or… had he been ready all along but he simply hadn’t met the right woman?

He would probably never know the answer to that, and it didn’t matter anyway. What did matter were his growing feelings for Harriet, and that he seemed unable to keep them in check.

However, it wasn’t justhisfeelings he needed to consider. How would Harriet feel about having another man in her life? She didn’t seem to have had much luck with her ex-husband, and it might have put her off men for good. And there were her children to take into account: he understood that if he wanted a relationship with her, he would also have to have a relationship with Sara and Bobby.

As he poured boiling water on a handful of cashew nuts and a small amount of dried porcini mushrooms (a favourite of his and a staple which was always in his cupboard), he took a moment to reflect.

Did he really intend to stay in Foxmore and get to know Harriet properly?

It seemed so.

He heated oil in a pan and added a handful of halved chestnut mushrooms that he’d been planning on making soup with, along with a clove of garlic, but when the smell of frying food hit his nostrils, his stomach churned.

It wasn’t too late to change his mind. He could leave right now, if he wanted. In three minutes he could be on the road. In ten he could be turning onto the A470 and heading towards the Llyn Peninsula, as he’d originally planned. He could forget Foxmore, forget the challenge and forget Harriet.

---