Cressida McLaughlin - The Canal Boat Café Christmas - Starboard Home

He kissed her. It was soft but passionate, and she pulled him closer, holding onto him tightly. She didn’t want to admit to herself – and definitely not to Mason – how much seeing Tania had scared her, how ungrounded she’d felt while the other woman had Mason’s full attention. His kiss and his touch were bringing her back to life, too.

‘Shall we go and see how Archie and Latte are getting on?’ she asked, once the kiss had ended, their faces close, the snug bar seeming to shrink around them. She had a lot of baking to do between now and opening time, but that seemed unimportant now that she’d got Mason back. She hadn’t lost him, not literally, but for a couple of hours her whole world had shifted, and she needed to right it again. Mason was the best way of doing that. Luckily, he seemed to agree with her.

‘Yes,’ he murmured. His fingers traced a line slowly and deliciously down her neck, making her tingle, then he scooted backwards, out of the booth, and held his hand out for her to take. ‘Let’s go home.’

Summer dragged herself out of bed before dawn, her limbs stiff and weary after the previous day’s cold journey, followed by an afternoon working in the café. Mason was asleep, his curls in disarray on the pillow. She was reminded of Ryder’s dig at him, which she’d seen as a compliment. She was more than happy with his Byronic curls, could understand why he’d been propositioned at the hatch yesterday, and why someone like Tania would have been attracted to him. Who wouldn’t?

Even their local boatbuilder in Willowbeck, a huge, burly man called Mick, had fuelled Summer’s doubts when she was first getting to know Mason by referring to him as Lothario. When she’d got the explanation out of him, it was because everyone – even unapologetically heterosexual men like Mick – could see he was a catch, not because he spent his nights taking scores of different women to bed.

She left Mason sleeping, took the handful of clothes she’d left out the night before, and snuck out of the cabin. She couldn’t spend her day ogling her boyfriend; she had to put her focus into the café. It wouldn’t be long before the punters started banging on the door for coffee and bacon sandwiches.

She dressed hurriedly, prepared breakfast for Archie and Latte, who were still blinking awake on the sofa, and boiled the kettle. With an instant coffee slowly waking her up, she got to work. She took some of Harry’s chocolate and mince pie twists out of the freezer, and prepared the mix for a batch of Christmas brownies with chunks of hazelnut and glacé cherries, and three trays of her festive-flavoured macarons. She’d bought a batch of floury baps from a bakery at their last stop before Little Venice, but would need to find a new supplier while they were here, so she could continue to make bacon rolls.

She opened the door into the café, letting the luxurious smells waft inside, and switched on the coffee machine. The towpath lamps glowed, but the canal was dark. At this hour, even Claire’s boat had no lights on, no wintry soundtrack drifting out of the speakers.

Summer stood, clutching her coffee mug, and soaked it all up. There was something mesmerizing about the early morning, the water a black nothing, lapping gently against the sides of the boat. She switched the Christmas tree lights on and they punctuated the dark with soft, rainbow colours. Latte and Archie, fed and watered, pattered into the café, exploring it, checking for any new smells that had appeared since the day before. Summer crouched and stroked her Bichon Frise, and Latte let out a squeak of delight.

‘This wasn’t a mistake, was it?’ she asked her dog. Tania, and the effect the encounter had had on both her and Mason, played on her mind. He had said that it wouldn’t ruin their trip, and it was up to her to put it aside, to make the most of being in Little Venice. But Tania was going to socialize with them, and she couldn’t imagine there wouldn’t be any lingering awkwardness.

Latte looked up at her adoringly, and Summer smiled. ‘You’re right,’ she said, with more conviction than she felt. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’

She returned to the kitchen and checked on her bakes. She lined up the next lot of trays, cleared up and filled the dishwasher. Daylight made a slow, sleepy appearance, a streak of lighter sky showing above the buildings, the landscape of Little Venice being revealed as if from behind a theatre curtain. It was cold, the bow deck sparkling with a thick frost, and Summer was relieved to see the water wasn’t frozen, however much Mason had told her it would never happen. A man in an orange fluorescent work-suit was gritting the towpath, his breath clouding into the air like smoke.

By the time Mason emerged, Summer had unlocked the hatch and written her menu of Christmas specials on the blackboard.

‘You should have woken me,’ he said, putting his arms around her. His hair was damp from the shower and water droplets landed on her shoulder.

‘You needed the sleep. Now, what do you think – bacon roll and a coffee or tea, three pounds. That’s still a bargain in London, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a steal,’ Mason said. ‘What can I do?’

‘Cut open and butter the rolls. You could put the bacon on too, if you like.’

Mason gave her a cheeky smile. ‘Have you had any breakfast? Shall we sample them first?’

Summer narrowed her eyes. ‘There must be a monumental health risk to having bacon every day.’

‘I don’t have it every day ,’ Mason protested. Summer stared at him, and his cheeks coloured. ‘I’ll get started.’ He rubbed his hands and disappeared into the kitchen.

She could hear him singing softly to himself as he prepared the rolls, something by Frank Turner, and she felt a stab of guilt that she had been worrying about Tania. She had to remember that, while the circumstances hadn’t been ideal, talking to Tania and getting her forgiveness would have lifted a weight off his shoulders. There was nothing, now, stopping them focusing on their future. Summer’s heart skipped as she thought of New Year’s Eve, the ideas that were swirling around in her head, even more excited now that Claire was on board and was helping her firm them up.

Mason’s voice was drowned out as the first chords of ‘Don’t You Worry’ by Lucy Rose drifted out of Claire’s speakers, the lights of Water Music flicking on. Mason’s singing immediately changed to match it, and he popped his head around the kitchen door.

‘Your favourite song,’ he said. ‘It’s almost as if Claire’s done it specially for you.’

‘It’s just coincidence. I don’t think she knows this is my favourite.’

‘But I do,’ Mason said. ‘I’ve heard it so often, I could probably recite the lyrics backwards. Don’t you worry, I’m staying here ,’ he whispered, and Summer realized how apt the words were right at that moment. She started singing along to crush the lump in her throat, and Mason joined back in, although Lucy Rose’s voice was much too high for him, and they quickly descended into laughter. She stopped when she noticed two men in their forties, dressed in smart coats and suit trousers despite it being Sunday, walking towards them on the towpath.

‘Coffee and a bacon roll three pounds this morning, if you’re interested?’ she called. They were, and Summer waved them towards the hatch.

Sunday in Little Venice was as busy as the Saturday afternoon had been, but Summer thought that everything was moving at a slightly slower pace. The trees that overhung the canal, almost as if they were eavesdropping on the conversations of the liveaboards, were skeletons, the thinnest branches shivering in a light breeze. But the winter scene could never look anything other than festive, because of the brightly coloured narrowboats. Even first thing, there was a couple wrapped in blankets having a loud conversation on their deck, their laughter drifting down the canal. A woman dressed in dark jeans, knee-high burgundy boots and a taupe, woollen coat that looked impossibly soft, walked two miniature schnauzers and a pug down the towpath, her strides long and purposeful, her pets scurrying to keep up.