Page 38 of Christmas Ever After
‘Marnie made me watch when Ali and Imogen came in,’ she says when I beckon her inside and introduce her to Raff.
‘The carousel is quiet. Let’s go now,’ Raff says when I’ve explained about our chat earlier and whisper that when I did a bit of due diligence with Joshy afterwards, he thought that Nina was way out ofhisleague andshe’dnever say yes to a date withhim.
Raff chooses a snow globe with a couple sat on a sofa reading, a Christmas tree behind them, surrounded by books, and with a cat curled up between them.
‘Oh, I have a cat. So does Joshy,’ Nina says when she sees it.
He’s made a perfect choice again, even though I’m almost positive he had no way of knowing that.
Quentin stays in the shop this time as the three of us go over to the carousel, and Joshy shyly looks at Nina. Between them, they set up a date for next week, and Raff puts the snow globe box down, positions their hands again and takes a quick snap on his phone as they lift it out of the box. This time I don’t see it move, although Nina and Joshy’s eyes light up like they have.
We leave them chatting and walk back towards the shop. Raff moves to my left side and offers me his arm, and I’m not going to ignore that thoughtfulness so I slip my good hand through his elbow and give his forearm a squeeze.
‘You’re so good at that. Choosing the snow globes. You instinctively know what will mean something to each person.’
‘Years of practice, I guess. I pick up on little things that give away what people might like, just nothing onwhothey might like. In years gone by, we were more like you with your nutcrackers. People would come in to order custom snow globes as gifts, they’d tell me about what the person liked, what their favourite things were, and it was like a little challenge – to design a snow globe perfect for this stranger’s loved one who I’d never met. My granddad did his matchmaking, but I was happy doing that. Granddad was genuine, but when I was younger and even more cynical than I am now, I saw it as an opportunity to make money, and now I regret it. It shouldn’t ever have become what it has.’
I see exactly what he means. The matchmaking snow globes have become a weird publicity stunt that takes away from what Raff really does – make the most beautiful snow globesand somehow know exactly which one will be perfect for each person.
And that is what Love Is All A-Roundshouldbe celebrating.
12
‘What’s this?’ I ask, watching in amusement as Raff comes into my shop with a large box under one arm and a Christmas tree over his other shoulder.
‘This is a Christmas tree. They’re quite common. You may have seen them here and there in December time…’ He pats the trunk as he drops the box onto the counter and gives me a sarcastic grin over the top of it. He’s out of breath with his hair sticking to his forehead in a way that hasnoright to be that sexy, or make me want to reach over and brush it backsomuch.
He hefts the tree off his shoulder and leans it against the counter too. ‘I’ve been thinking…’
I groan. Sentences that start like that rarely end well.
‘It’s competition time.’
‘You win a prize for guessing it’s a Christmas tree?’ I fire back at his sarcastic comment and then realise which competition he probably means, and it makes unease settle inside me. ‘Wait, between us?’
‘No. For you. Because you’re making matches for me, but I’m doing nothing to help you.’
I glance towards the workshop out the back. ‘You’ve taught yourself woodturning in less than a fortnight, made over twenty ordered nutcrackers so far, and have got many more on the go. That’s not “doing nothing”, Raff.’
‘Honestly, it’s been the greatest privilege. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed anything so much, but it’s nothing to do with that. We both have these silly goals to reach. Five couples, five social media posts. The only way we can both win is if webothdo what the council has asked of us. We must draw even. We have to make it so theycan’tchoose between us. You’re helping me with matches, and you need social media posts and customers who are invested in your nutcrackers, and no matter how many orders I fulfil, you’re still not getting that.’
He’s not wrong there, and I know he knows his stuff when it comes to social media. Dardenne Snow Globes have got a huge following, and he’s responsible for most of their online presence, and I haven’t the foggiest clue where to start. The Nutcracker Shop has social media accounts, but most of the followers are bots or scantily clad women whoreallyaren’t interested in nutcrackers, and the only person who ever comments is Cleo for moral support.
‘We need an amazing prize.’ Raff’s eyes flit around the shop and he eventually settles on one of my giant nutcrackers and walks towards it with his hand outstretched. ‘This one.’
I raise an eyebrow at the six-foot tall sceptre-holding nutcracker he’s selected. ‘You want to give away one of the most expensive nutcrackers in the shop for free?’
‘Nope, butyoudo.’ Raff stands next to the nutcracker and slings his arm around its shoulders like it’s an old friend. ‘It’s a bit late in the year, we could’ve done with more time to build momentum, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. It’s about customer engagement and getting people talking about you.’
The whole idea makes me uncomfortable. I’ve tried not to think about my part in this contest between us, because if I do well, then he fails. ‘Have you seen how many viewers the video has had now? Ninety thousand. Enough people are talking about me, thank you.’
‘So you’re just going to sit back and let me win?’ He drops his arm from around the nutcracker and folds them instead, giving me a defiant look. ‘Or, like with Ali and Imogen and Nina and Joshy –helpme win?’
‘I don’t…’ I make a noise of frustration. This is awful. It’s unthinkable to have gone from hating Raff so much, to liking himthismuch, to thinking that next week, one or the other of us is going to lose our livelihood.
He sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. ‘I know,’ he says quietly, his voice full of understanding. ‘I don’t… either, so let me help.’
That loaded pause makes me feel sick. Neither of us can think of a word for it, but in that pause is the possibility that my plot won’t work. What if it’s not enough? What if the council stand by their plan, no matter what?
