Page 89 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘And maybe,’ Birdie said, ‘your spirit is a little bit broken, after standing up to Stella Rowsell and getting only the vaguest of emotions in return.’
‘She doesn’t really care about me. She was only worried about whether Edmund would be all right.’ She knew she was being petulant, but she couldn’t help it.
‘She is a very particular creature.’ Birdie wrapped her in a hug. ‘You have done the right thing; I’m proud of you for following your heart. Dexter will be there tomorrow, and you’ll be less exhausted. Right now we need more wine, a beef stew, and the curtains open so we can watch the snow fall. Send Dexter a message to put your mind at ease.’
Imogen returned her gran’s hug, feeling so fiercely grateful that she didn’t know where to put herself. ‘I’m so lucky to have you,’ she said, and went to change into her pyjamas while Birdie lit the flame under the stew she’d made earlier.
In her bedroom in the eaves, Imogen sent Dexter a message:
How are the ovens? I’m so sorry about today. Please can we talk tomorrow? Xx
His reply came moments later, her heart leaping at the sound of a new message. But when she read it, she couldn’t help being crestfallen at his politeness.
Oven was stressful, but it’s sorted now. I hope you’re OK. Tomorrow would be good. Dx
Imogen tried to put aside the niggling worries that she hadn’t been fair to him, that, on the day she’d made the decision to stay in Mistingham, she had already ruined one of the very best parts of her new life here. She went downstairs to spend the evening with her gran, to watch the village she had come to love turn into a perfect, Christmas snow globe. This was her home now, and she was going to enjoy all it had to offer.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The twenty-second of December was not the best time to be planning a grand romantic gesture, especially when the object of your affections ran the village bakery, was up to his hairline in mince pie and yule log orders, and also might be a bit pissed off that, the day before, you’d gone to talk to your ex-fiancé when you were supposed to be rehearsing with him.
‘Why can’t you just talk to him?’ Birdie asked, as Imogen sat at the kitchen table, Sellotaping pieces of paper together, a large box of Sharpies in front of her. ‘You’re both adults.’ She picked up a neon-pink Sharpie and held it up to the light, as if it was some sort of precious gemstone she could use in one of her rituals.
‘I want to do something impressive, to show him that I’m staying, and that I care about him. I spoke to Nikki last night, and I told her I was officially moving here. She’s got the lead role in a play starting after Christmas, so I’ll have to go back and see her being brilliant in that, butwhen we were talking about Dexter, she said grand romantic gestures are the way to go.’
‘And your grand romantic gesture is a … banner?’
‘People hold up banners at airports and races and things, don’t they? To express their feelings.’ She had mulled it over in the middle of the night when she should have been asleep, thinking about what Nikki had said, worrying that justtalkingto Dexter wouldn’t be enough. Actions spoke louder than words, and this was … going to be a whole lot of words. Fuck. But she persevered, Sellotaping the next bit of paper, catching the large sheet when it started to slip off the table. ‘Where are you going to put your banner?’ Birdie’s tone put Imogen in mind of a parent placating a toddler.
‘I haven’t got that far. Maybe across the front of the village hall?’
Birdie looked out of the window. They hadn’t had any flurries for a few hours, but there had been more snow overnight and the sky was heavy with clouds.
‘Do you have a laminating machine?’ Imogen asked hopefully.
Birdie scoffed.
‘Fair enough.’ She drew a holly leaf, then started to add berries with a bright red pen.
‘You could just talk to him,’ Birdie said again. ‘Wait until he’s finished at the bakery, so you’re not trying to compete with a hundred Christmas order queries. Go to his house, sit him down, and explain that you needed to speak to Edmund, to get things squared away; that you had meant to tell him you were staying before your ex interrupted the rehearsal.’
‘I could do that.’ Imogen wasn’t entirely convinced. ‘Whatare we taking to Harry and Sophie’s for Christmas Day?’ It was a blatant change of subject, but she needed more time to think.
‘Cinnamon cookies, damson jam and a glut of veggies. Do you have presents?’
‘I was going to go to Sophie’s shop, to see about something for Lucy, and maybe Dexter too.’And you, she added silently, because her gran used notebooks for her tincture recipes and to keep track of her vegetable patch, when things were planted and when they needed harvesting. ‘Does everyone in Mistingham get each other notebooks and posh scarves for Christmas?’
‘You’ve already discovered that online orders can make it all the way to Mistingham.’ Birdie sounded amused. ‘And Norwich isn’t that far away.’
‘So going to Sophie’s won’t be too unoriginal?’
‘She sells beautiful things,’ was all Birdie had to say, so Imogen put on her green coat and her wellies, and went out into the snow.
The ice rink was open again, after the first heavy snowfall had closed it, and the soundtrack was subdued, instrumental versions of ‘Santa Baby’ and ‘Last Christmas’ accompanying the chatter of children and the whoosh of blades. It felt like the calm before the Christmas storm, everyone getting their last-minute preparations done before the big day, when revelry would take over.
The Stationery Emporium was aglow, its fetching window display calling to Imogen with the promise of perfect pens and notebooks, but when she reached the door, she hesitated. Were Sophie and May angry with her? She could see them inside, chatting animatedly, but they were Dexter’sfriends. She dithered, about to turn away, when Sophie caught her eye.
‘Imogen!’ She waved and beckoned her inside.
