Page 19 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘That you need a funny, gothic love story to read?’
Imogen swallowed. ‘Yes. That.’
Birdie frowned, the clack-clack of her needles relentless. ‘I seem to remember a couple of other villagers were gifted books like this last Christmas. Some sort of Secret Santa. Maybe someone starting a new tradition?’
‘I’m honoured that I’ve been given one.’ Imogen clutched the book to her chest, her nose prickling with emotion. She thought of the people she’d met: Sophie and May, Harry. Dexter and Lucy. Maybe, once she had read it, she would be able to work out who had given it to her.
She settled back in her seat, content to be with her gran and the crackling fire, and opened the first page of her beautiful new book.
Chapter Eight
‘Mistletoe is a parasite,’ Lucy announced, as they laid out bundles of it on a large plastic mat. They were in the village hall, which still had Halloween bunting strewn up – inside and out – and on this cold November evening the heaters were having a job getting any warmth to reach the middle of the room.
‘I know.’ Imogen moved the sprigs so they all had a good amount of space around them. ‘It clings to the trees and feeds off them, taking their water and nutrients.’
‘So it’s a bit shitty.’
‘Are you allowed to say shitty?’ Imogen sat back on her heels. ‘As a ten-year-old?’
Lucy gave her a beatific smile. ‘Of course I am.’
‘Maybe you’re not the person I should be asking.’
‘Dad will be here soon. He said he’d bring snacks, and not crisps or sweets, but something he’s made. Pastries or cakes.’
‘That sounds amazing.’
‘But you don’t need to ask him if I can swear, because he’ll just say what I’ve said.’
‘You think I’ll be taken in by that?’ Imogen waggled some mistletoe at Lucy, but it was an ineffectual threat. She was trying not to be overwhelmed at the thought of Dexter turning up to her spray-painting session, but she’d corralled his daughter into helping her, so what did she expect?
‘Birdie says butter wouldn’t melt about me, and that means I’m really sweet, doesn’t it?’
‘It means you give theimpressionof being sweet. And I bet you are, some of the time.’
Lucy laid out the bottles of spray-paint that Imogen had bought off Amazon, which had been delivered the next day. ‘It’s sad that Artichoke can’t help.’
‘I know, but mistletoe is poisonous to dogs, which might be the one downfall of my plan.’ She rubbed her forehead, wondering if she’d made a mistake.
‘Not to mention that your puppy would probably finish the evening covered in gold paint,’ said another voice, and Imogen turned to see Fiona, owner of Hartley Country Apparel, walk in, her arms full of mistletoe. ‘Hello, chaps.’
‘Hi Fiona,’ Lucy said with a wave.
‘Lucy.’ She smiled. ‘And you must be Imogen, the runaway bride.’
‘That’s me.’ Imogen got to her feet. ‘It’s lovely to meet you. Birdie’s told me a lot about you.’ She’d pointed her out on their walk the day before, and Imogen was braced for someone formidable, but with her coiffed blonde haircut, wide smile and tweed waistcoat, Fiona seemed brisk but friendly.
‘And I’ve heard snippets about you from various places,so it’s good to put the jigsaw together. I hear you came up with this plan of spreading Harry’s extra mistletoe liberally around the village.’
‘Now I’m wondering if it was the wisest idea. Everyone has dogs here.’
‘We’ll have to keep the mistletoe away from them,’ Fiona said easily. ‘In door wreaths and hanging from ceilings. It’s not the first mistletoe Mistingham has ever seen. Besides, better we do something useful with it than Harry ends up dumping it on the estate and risking Darkness and Terror getting hold of it.’
Imogen frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Darkness and Terror are …?’
‘His retrievers.’ Fiona’s eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘You should ask him next time you see him. It’s a story he loves telling.’
‘OK,’ Imogen said with a smile. ‘Now, which colour are we going to spray first? We have gold, silver, rose-gold and shimmering white.’
