Page 71 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
The hill was steep. The snow on the sidewalks covered a layer of icebeneath that was impossibly slippery, but the road itself was a white crisp layer and Kate’s walking boots had good grips. Safe in the knowledge that no driver would be insane enough to drive up or down it, Kate walked up the middle of the road.
By the time she reached the first bend she was sweating inside her coat despite the cold, and breathing in the freezing air made her head hurt. On either side, lamps were being switched on in houses and curtains were being pulled tight against drafts. The snow was coming down so fast Kate could hardly see where she was going and her face was sore from the wind. She wished balaclavas didn’t have such a negative reputation.
THE EIGHTH DATE OF CHRISTMAS
•••••
Wine Me, Dine Me...
It was dark by the time she reached the village square, quiet except for the hum of voices coming from the Duke’s Head. The snow danced in the haze of the streetlamps. Kate was headed toward Potters Copse when she heard her name called from across the green.
“Kate?”
It was Matt. Kate turned and waved. Matt beckoned her over. The van was parked at the side of the café, lit dimly from the light spilling out from the kitchen. She sighed. She was about to become free labor again. What she really wanted to do was go home and get the kettle on. She struck a reluctant gait as she trudged over, in the hopes Matt would get the message.
“How was hiking?” asked Matt.
He was chirpy. Either he didn’t notice Kate’s effort at disinclination or he chose to ignore it. He held out a crate filled with jars and Kate took it with a look of resignation.
“It was lovely,” she said. “Until snow stopped play. The Mini is still in the forest.”
Matt stacked three crates and heaved them up. Kate followed him into the kitchen.
“How did you get home?” he asked.
“Train and taxi,” Kate replied. “The hill is out of action, though.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Matt. “The Christmas market was really slow this afternoon; everyone wanted to get home before the roads closed.”
They dumped the crates and went back out for the rest.
“Did you do all right, though?”
“Yeah,” said Matt. “Not bad and it’s good publicity for the café.”
They finished emptying the van and Kate helped Matt empty the crates.
“This looks good,” said Kate, holding a jar of mincemeat up to the light. The thick treacly mixture was bejeweled with whole crimson cherries.
“Cherry brandy mincemeat,” said Matt. “A French lady was selling it; homemade. She didn’t want to take them all home again, so I bought what she didn’t sell at cost.” He grinned at her. “Wanna help me make some mince pies with it, ready for the morning?”
“Ah, Matt,” said Kate. “It’s been a long day and I’m hungry and I’ve got to get myself organized for work...”
“Come on,” said Matt. “Please. It’ll be fun. I’ll fire up the coffee machine. And I’ve got a bottle of Irish cream...”
“Where’s Sarah?”
“She’s staying at hers,” said Matt. “She couldn’t risk getting stuck up here and not being able to get to school.”
“I really need to get back,” said Kate. “And I’m hungry and...”
Matt held up his hand to stop her and delved into a cardboard box on the work surface. From it he produced two large jacket potatoes and a plastic tub of chili con carne. He switched on the oven and put the potatoes in.
“I picked us up some dinner from the market,” he said. “The spuds will be reheated to perfection in twenty minutes, and the chili can goin the microwave! And we’ll have boozy coffee as a starter. Pudding is anything you like from the chiller!”
Kate frowned.
“What do you mean you pickedusup some dinner?” she said.
