Page 84 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘Just make sure everything you sell on your stall is pre-owned,’ she was saying. ‘We don’t want to see a pile of ex-catalogue or warehouse clearance goods. This Fayre is for people who are clearing out their attics, not for professional sellers.’ She waggled her eyebrows at Owen and blew him a kiss. Owen blew her one back and tried to ignore his libido, which had perked up at the sight of her luscious, full lips.

When she came off the phone, she said, ‘That’s another one who wants a pitch. I think not charging them is a definite draw. I still can’t believe you managed to get Aled to agree to letting us have his field free of charge.’

‘I appealed to his better nature,’ Owen said. What had really happened was that he had promised the farmer thirty hours of unpaid work in exchange. Aled had the worse end of the deal, in Owen’s opinion. The man was a real tight-fisted git, though. Everyone else in Foxmore was pitching in with enthusiasm, willing to give up their time to make a success of the Fayre, but Aled had wanted payment.

‘I didn’t think Aled had a better nature,’ Harriet joked, then became serious. ‘With this latest caller, we should have more than a hundred stalls, plus the food outlets and the craft displays. There should be something for everyone.’

‘I quite like the idea of giving edibles as gifts,’ Owen said, nicking a slice of carrot and popping it in his mouth before Harriet could object. ‘I don’t mean boxes of supermarket chocolates,’ he clarified. ‘I’m talking about local, home-grown, home-prepared produce. People have got to eat and drink, so a present like that should never go to waste.’

‘Is that what I’m getting?’ she teased. ‘A jar of chutney from the deli stall?’

‘Don’t knock it. I like chutney.’

‘That’s your present sorted, then.’ She tossed a piece of carrot at him and he caught it in his mouth. ‘Show off.’

‘Seriously, we don’t have to get each other anything. Christmas is supposed to be for kids,’ he said, swallowing the carrot.

‘Who says?’ Harriet was indignant. ‘And on that note, can you help me get the tree down from the attic? It’s the first of December today and we always put it up on the first; it’s a tradition. I won’t decorate it until after tea, but we can get everything down ready.’

‘Point me in the right direction,’ he said.

‘Um, the attic is upstairs?’ she teased, and he rolled his eyes, exaggerating the gesture.

‘You think you’re so funny,’ he drawled.

‘That’s because I am.’ She simpered at him, and he worked hard to restrain himself. He wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs and have his wicked way with her, but the children would be home from school any minute.

Owen loved their banter and flirting. She was so easy to be with. ‘You’re not as funny as you think you are,’ he argued, with pretend haughtiness. ‘However, you are adorable.’

‘I am?’ She dropped the last slice of carrot into the saucepan and swilled her hands under the tap. ‘What else am I?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

‘What if I am?’

‘OK, then… you’re thoughtful, and loving, and cute…’ He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. ‘You’re also incredibly beautiful and very sexy.’ He punctuated each word with a kiss.

‘Ew! Owen and Mammy are kissing!’ Bobby charged into the kitchen at warp factor nine and skidded to a halt.

Laughing, Harriet pushed Owen away. Owen didn’t mind. At least Harriet was no longer hiding her affection for him from the children, although he had yet to stay the night.

All in good time, he told himself. There was no rush. He was perfectly happy with the rate at which their relationship was developing. They were building it on mutual respect and friendship, as well as stolen passionate encounters and lots of snuggles in front of the telly.

‘Did you win?’ Harriet asked as Bobby flung his school bag on the floor. ‘He had a match this afternoon,’ she explained. ‘They’ve been playing on the floodlit pitch at Sara’s school. Talking about Sara – where is your sister? I thought you were supposed to be catching the same bus home?’

‘We won 7–3 and I scored a goal,’ Bobby announced, opening the fridge and peering into it hopefully. ‘Can I have a piece of cheese and a cracker? I’m—’

‘Starving!’ Owen and Harriet chorused, exchanging smiles, and Owen could feel a lump in his throat. He was beginning to feel part of this little family, and it gave him a warm glow deep in his heart. Not since he had been a child had he felt such a sense of belonging, and he revelled in it.

‘Sara?’ Harriet reminded her son.

‘She was behind me.’ Bobby looked over his shoulder, as though he expected to see Sara standing there. ‘She must have gone upstairs. She was crying on the bus.’

‘What?’ Harriet’s heart sank. ‘Why didn’t you tell me straight away?’

Bobby had a hand to his mouth and he looked worried. ‘She said I wasn’t to say anything.’

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Harriet said, and hurried out of the kitchen.

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