Page 44 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
My face contorts as I try to stop myself chuckling but fail magnificently. This time I do smack his hand. ‘Will you stop it?’
His other hand comes up and brushes my long hair aside so he can lean down and whisper in my ear. ‘Every time you say that, it makes me want to make you laugh even more.’
If my grip on his hand tightens with that delicious Scottish accent so close that every word moves my hair against my skin then it’s completely coincidental, and it’s absolutely not connected to the way I close my eyes and lean into him for a moment.
I can feel Fergus and Fiona’s eyes analysing every movement we make. I know I should move away from him, but he’s solid and his body heat is warm through his olive plaid shirt and I can feel the flex of his forearms against my back.
‘Fiona’s right, you know,’ he says loudly. ‘Every time you speak, I find myself saying ‘why have we never done that?’ You’re exactly what Elffield needs.’
‘Exactly what someone else needs too, hmm?’ Fergus waggles his eyebrows.
This time, Noel steps away and his cheeks are as red as mine when I glance up at him, and I try not to think about how much I liked that arm around my shoulders.
‘You two should pool your ideas for the Christmas tree campaign. Why don’t you both pop off for a cuppa and we’ll watch the stalls before we leave for the day?’ Noel offers.
Fergus and Fiona don’t need telling twice.
‘Don’t forget to talk to the other traders and see what they make of the idea,’ he calls after them as Fiona slips her arm through Fergus’s and they hobble away.
‘You’re meddling again.’ I point an accusatory finger in his direction once they’ve disappeared around the corner towards the hot drinks counter and seating area.
‘Me? Meddle?’ He manages to look so simultaneously innocent and affronted that it makes me grin again. ‘Oh, come on. They’re head-over-heels. I know you see it too.’
‘Yeah, of course. They’re adorable together. They spend most of their time making eyes at each other across the aisle. I’ve never seen someone put away as much gingerbread as Fiona gets through from all the times she wanders over to see Fergus, and he must be the nicest smelling man in all of Elffield with the amount of bathbombs and bubblebath he buys.’
That soft smile plays across his face again. ‘Let me put it this way – I’ve been to Fergus’s house and he doesn’t own a bath, only a shower. He has no need for bath products.’
‘Aww.’ I can’t help the noise that comes out of my mouth. ‘That’s so sweet.’
‘And you wonder why I meddle.’
‘Speaking of meddling …’ I start. ‘The main thing they’re head-over-heels for is village gossip, and you’re only making it worse.’
‘I’m not doing anything!’ He holds up both hands with a grin, and even though I’m trying to be annoyed, I can’t help grinning at the cheeky glint in his eyes.
‘Are youtryingto get them to talk about us so they stop trying to set you up with pigeons or something?’
‘Yes. On my list of possible matches, you are marginally above a pigeon. Only marginally, mind. And only because I think you’re slightly more likely to share your chips.’
He makes it impossible for me to frown at him.
He must notice the expression because he sighs. ‘Look, they’re romantic old sods who believe people need a relationship to be happy. I’ve told them I’m not interested about fifty million times and it doesn’t make any difference. They’re determined to see something that isn’t there. If we have a laugh together, they think it’s the start of something, but equally, if I ignored you and we didn’t speak to each other, they’d convince themselves that we were playing hard to getbecausewe liked each other.’ He winks at me. ‘And where would be the fun in that when there are the drunken antics of trees to discuss?’
‘Maybe they’re trying to get you back for all the meddling you do?’
‘I don’t meddle. That makes me sound like a crotchety old bat twitching the net curtains all day. I don’t even have net curtains. I’m just trying to help two elderly singles enjoy their twilight years together before the pair of them bankrupt themselves by buying each other’s gingerbread and bathbombs that they don’t use.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘So it’s retaliatory meddling then?’
‘They’re always worried that I’m lonely. A beautiful girl moving in next door to me is the nosy pensioner’s equivalent of all their Christmases coming at once.’
I ignore that. He’s seen me snotty-nosed and mid-ugly-cry, as well as first thing in the morning having vaulted out of bed at 6 a.m, and up to my elbows in rubber gloves, cleaning products, mud, and then the facepaints at his farm on Halloween.No onecould think I was beautiful after that. I’m plain and forgettable at the best of times. The only thing anyone’s likely to remember about me is that my hair’s so long I can almost sit on it. In his case, the snot bubble has undoubtedly made me unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.
‘So I’m sorry, but you’ve unwittingly walked into the middle of a powder keg of gossip. It’ll fizzle itself out next time someone accidentally eats tinsel or gets their head stuck in a Christmas stocking.’
‘Areyou lonely?’
‘You’re never lonely with a Chihuahua,’ he says without missing a beat. It sounds like a line he’s said many times before.
