Page 76 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Petula rushed at Kate and manhandled her to the craft area.
“Here she is!” Petula trilled. “Our very own Liberty designer.”
Kate flushed as twelve curious crafters turned their eyes expectantly upon her. She was surprised to find that none of the faces were familiar; Petula must have been advertising her classes farther afield.
Kate surveyed the paraphernalia on the tables and added her own greenery to the mix. Some of the crafters were already inspired and concentrated on their projects, while others sifted through the festive bits and bobs with expressions of mild panic.
Matt brought her coffee over.
“I really enjoyed the other night,” he said. “We ought to do it more often.”
Kate felt the inquisitive ping of ears suddenly standing to attention all over the café.
“You can’t say things like that,” said Kate. “People will gossip.”
“Let them.” He grinned. “I’m well used to being sport for idle tongues; gossip is the Blexford currency.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Kate.
“By the way,” said Matt, raising his voice for the audience. “How’s that love bite from the Aussie surf dude coming on?”
He lifted her hair and inspected the mauve bruise near her throat, making interested noises as he did so. Kate could swear she heard a collective intake of breath from the café. She slapped his hand away.
“There are times when I don’t like you at all,” she hissed.
Matt flashed her a wicked grin and went back to work. Kate pulled off her coat and jumper—leaving her scarf on—and fanned herself with a blank Christmas card from the table.
Kate pulled a chair to the end of the middle table and sat down. Sheplucked three large bay leaves from the middle of the table, positioned them together by their stalks in a fan arrangement, and tied the stalks securely with a piece of thread.
“The great thing about using nature for decorations is that Mother Nature has done all the hard work for us,” said Kate. “And all we need do is add the slightest embellishments to make something that looks like we’ve got bags of style.”
Kate took a length of raffia, wrapped it twice around the stalks, and knotted it. Two women at the table scrabbled about for bay leaves and followed suit, as did a man seated at the next table, craning his neck to see what Kate was doing.
Kate threaded a gold jingle bell onto the raffia lengths and pushed it up to the knot; she followed this with a small tartan bow and then another bell and then a slice of dried orange, before tying the raffia into a big bow to secure them all in place. She took a gold pen and wroteMinain curly script along the length of the middle bay leaf.
“One place card,” said Kate, holding the decoration up. “Or a fancy gift label,” she added.
Kate went on to produce variations on this theme, using cinnamon sticks, star anise, dried apple slices, and sprigs of rosemary and trailing ivy. The crafters quickly caught on and produced their own adaptations.
Matt brought Kate over a piece of roulade and a gingerbread latte.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked.
Kate ate a forkful of roulade.
“Just,” she said.
Ben and Mina came over to say good-bye. Mina’s face was now chocolate free, but her jumper looked like the victim of a dirty protest.
“Laura’s going to kill me!” said Ben.
Kate laughed.
“I’d say that’s a fair assessment,” she said.
Kate gave Mina her handcrafted name tag.
“You can put this outside your door on Christmas Eve so that Father Christmas knows which stocking is yours,” said Kate.
