Page 53 of Christmas Ever After
‘His legacy was the couples he matched,’ he whispers eventually. ‘That’s what he wanted me to continue. The gift he gave to people was in helping them find each other. People were happy because of him. Peopleexistbecause of him. Literally you, Fran. If he hadn’t introduced your parents,youwould not be here. He always said that after he met Biddy, he could see a spark between people that he’d never been able to see before, but who would’ve listened to a doddery old man claiming he could find your soulmate? He would have been a joke, but the legend he created gave him a chance to do that.’
‘But it’s not real, Raff.’ I stop short of telling him that Iknowthe truth behind the ‘magic’. ‘Whether he could see a spark between people or not, it isn’t authentic, and the one thing you areisauthentic. Your love of what you do comes across in whatyoudo, and you’re obviously struggling to do what he did. The best way you can honour him is by being yourself.Youare his legacy. There’s nothing more magical than that.’
‘I’m going to have to pretend I didn’t hear that, because falling asleep on you is embarrassing enough for one night, I don’t need to start bawling on you too.’ He lets out a shuddery breath. ‘God, I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but I’ve never felt like this before. I feel absolutely laid bare tonight.You could ask me anything and I’d answer you honestly.’ He hesitates and then says pointedly, ‘Anything, Fran.’
An open invitation.
He’s openly saying he’ll tell me the truth behind the snow globes if I ask him. It doesn’t seem relevant that I already know. The only thing that matters is how open he is. Heislaid bare, I can feel it. His walls were down where he hadn’t quite woken up yet, and talking about his grandfather has struck a nerve. He’s hanging onto his emotions by a thread, and the absolutelastthing I want to do is take advantage of that.
Even if I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have asked him in this moment. ‘Anything? Anything at all?’
‘I’m yours. Metaphorically speaking.’
‘Okay. I have a very serious question that I want a very serious answer to… Why did it take three broken fingers for me to see how wonderful you are, Raphael Dardenne?’
His laugh sounds emotional and surprised. I know he was expecting to be quizzed, but all I can think of is what Biddy said about him needing someone he doesn’t have to keep up pretences with and all I want him to know tonight is that his feelings are safe with me, and so are his secrets.
‘Isn’t that a song?’ He starts humming ‘How Wonderful You Are’ by Gordon Haskell and pulls away so he can twirl me around and pull me back to him. I slip my left hand onto his shoulder and he touches my right elbow and leads us in a waltz for a few moments before twirling me around again.
‘Do you ever miss dancing?’
‘Sometimes. I miss the feeling. With the right people around me, it felt like flying when I was up on that stage, but it’s so hard to get to that level, it takes so much discipline that, looking back, I don’t know how I ever did it, and I never would again. I’ve gone feral now.’
He laughs at the analogy, and his hands slip down to my waist, and I lift up onto the balls of my feet and twirl around, letting his strength support me. It’s impossible to feel elegant with one hand that still feels swollen and angry encased in a splint. I haven’t danced in years, but with his hands on my waist, it’s easy to go backen demi-pointeand pirouette, and for one blissful moment, I feel like a dancing snowflake again. I feel like the person I used to be. I would never want to go back but it’s a nice reminder of someone I’ve forgotten.
When I drop back onto my heels, he carefully lifts my elbow onto his shoulder so my injured hand is out of harm’s way, bends until he can slide both arms around my waist and lift me off the floor, holding me tight to him as he spins us both around, and when he sets me down, he does nothing but hold me against his chest, one hand stroking through my hair, the other spread wide on my back, alternating between rubbing his chin against the top of my head and pressing tiny kisses there, and each one makes me melt a little bit more. Never mind not wanting him to be evicted from his shop in January, I never want to step outside of his arms again, ever.
16
The Ever After Street castle is a winter wonderland. When Raff and I walk along the walled stone walkway in daylight the next morning,Christmasis shining out at us, inviting us into the grounds like a physical being. The castle itself is open to show the event space and hopefully gain a few more bookings for the owners, Witt and Sadie, but the outside has been given over to the Christmas market.
They’ve created a circular walk through the grounds, starting at the entrance and winding through the gorgeous gardens, looping around fancy topiary hedges that have been trimmed into festive shapes, passing every stall on the way, and ending up back where you came in.
Raff and I got lucky that our stalls are just to the left of the entranceway. After the festive food and hot mulled wine station, we’re the first sellers that customers will reach when they enter, and the gorgeous old stonework of the castle is right behind us, silhouetting our cabins and shielding us from the worst of the December chill.
The market stalls are open-fronted wooden cabins, and Mitch has very kindly decorated mine for me. Each stall has amatching pre-lit garland stapled in a triangle along the eaves of their cabin, and under it is a ribbon-shaped wooden sign displaying our shop name, and each one has a chair and a counter, and is lit up inside with enough fairy lights to brighten even the darkest day.
There are mini Christmas trees lining the walkway, interspersed with old-fashioned lanterns with wreaths and red ribbons tied around them, and shooting star lights where their tails form an arch fill the space above us, and somewhere further along, there’s a Carollers’ Cabin because, even at just after nine on Saturday morning, there are the voices of a children’s choir singing ‘O Holy Night’.
Last year, the Christmas market was occupied only by the traders of Christmas Ever After, so the usual suspects are all here. Mrs Bloom has got a Coming Gnome For Christmas cabin, Thelma has got a variety of mugs displayed all around her A Very Muggy Christmas cabin, and Mrs Coombe at the All You Need Is Gloves stall has got her festive jumpers with matching doggy jumpers displayed on soft toy dogs. Jorge has been relegated to further around the walkway with his freshly baked gingerbread and mince pies, and Imogen is here with her Once Upon A Dream bath bombs and soaps, but this year, it’s been thrown open to other local crafters as well. There’s an artisanal cheese cabin, gourmet chocolates, a homemade toffee and fudge shop, many handmade decoration stalls selling everything from fused glass keepsakes to hand-painted baubles, along with a candle cabin, and someone who makes little wooden Christmas toys, and there’s a Santa’s grotto where Mitch and a couple of other gents are alternating shifts of playing Santa, and right near the end, Mandy is offering her gift-wrapping services. I want to go over and ask her how the escape room date with Cedric went last night, but she’s concentrating fiercely on whatever she’s wrapping and doesn’t look like she wants to be disturbed.
I look up at Raff walking beside me. He’s wearing dark jeans and a Dardenne Snow Globes branded T-shirt with a red and black flannel shirt over the top of it, the buttons done up so they hide most of the logo. It would have been so easy to kiss him last night, but nothing went any further. It was 1a.m. when he drove me home and although I lingered in the car for a while, I stopped short of inviting him in, which is probably a good thing. It takes a lot for me to want to get involved with someone because I know firsthand how bad relationships can get, and I’m already fearing how tangled up I’ve got with Raff. Him helping me out was supposed to be temporary, but when Christmas is over and my hand is healed, I can’t imagine him not being in my life in one way or… another.
He stops at the festive coffee booth and gets us a winter spiced latte each, and we mooch along to our own stalls.
One thing I’ve always loved is shelves full of nutcrackers, so many nutcrackers that people look around in awe, overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. The giant ones are standing like sentries on either side of the cabin, and the shelves inside are crammed with my wooden soldiers. There’s a booth to sit at, and behind it are the boxes of carefully packed custom nutcrackers, labelled with order details, ready to be matched to receipts when customers arrive to collect.
Raff’s stall is right next to mine – a pitch engineered by Mitch or Mrs Bloom, I’m certain. There are no matches being made at the Love Is All A-Round stall this weekend – it’s all about the snow globes themselves at the Christmas market, and Raff seems much happier about it.
Cleo and Bram have got a Wonderland Teapot refreshment area, and it’s late morning when she bounces up, bringing me a cup of her glittery Wonderland tea. ‘Got a minute?’
‘Oh, I can’t, I?—’
‘Go!’ Raff interrupts before I can finish. ‘I’ve got it covered here. Take as long as you like.’
He pulls his stool out and positions it in the gap between our cabins, showing me he can handle both for a few minutes, and itwouldbe nice to stretch my legs…
I’ve got quite close to Cleo since she took over The Wonderland Teapot earlier this year. She’s become a friend rather than just a colleague. We spend too much time sending each other funny memes on social media when we should be working, and I’ve helped her out at the tearoom a few times when she and Bram have been overwhelmed and The Nutcracker Shop has been quiet.
