Poppy Blake - The Windmill Café - Christmas Trees

“That’s three questions!”

“And here’s another two. How can you even contemplate leaving the Windmill Café? And won’t you miss Matt?”

“Mia, I’ve told you, I love it here, but I’m just the part-time manager of a small holiday site that practically runs itself, and a café that is currently only open on Saturdays and Sundays until Easter. If, and it’s only an if, if I accept Harry’s proposition I will be the legal owner of a successful business enterprise in London. Before I stumbled on Harry and Heidi amongst the roses, I had a kaleidoscope of fresh ideas to take wedding floristry to new heights, you know that.”

“Well, I don’t know how you can even contemplate working alongside that unfaithful, disloyal, lying moron!” huffed Mia, who had spent the remainder of the Autumn Leaves party after Harry’s shock appearance – and very public marriage and business proposal – glaring at him as though he was the Big Bad Wolf personified. Even after he had left, having spent a fruitless weekend trying to persuade Rosie that he was truly sorry for what he had done, assuring her that Heidi was ancient history and that he’d learned his lesson and would never repeat it, Mia had refused to speak about him, apart from labelling him a Dastardly Destroyer of Dreams. “Anyway, Matt misses you.”

“Matt has avoided me for six weeks.”

Rosie experienced the familiar mule’s kick to the stomach when she uttered those pain-filled words. In the months leading up to Harry’s arrival at the end of October, she had grown close to Matt Wilson, the hunky owner of the outward-bound activity centre hidden in the woodland on the other side of Willerby, through their amateur sleuthing activities. More than that, Grace had even invited them both to her wedding on Christmas Eve and Rosie had been delighted to accept, especially as Mia’s meddling had meant she was going as Matt’s Plus One – until Harry had popped up unannounced and thrown a spanner in the works.

“You and Matt are made for each other!” declared Mia, grabbing a mince pie from the wire cooling rack and slumping down onto one of the café’s white leather sofas, holding her palm under her chin to catch any wayward crumbs – a crime punishable by a ferocious glare from Rosie.

“Mia, I’m still friends with Matt. It’s his decision to avoid me and the café.”

But Rosie knew Mia wasn’t listening to her assurances because she was intent on delivering her own agenda.

“You and Matt make a fabulous team. You solved those crimes before the police had even finished slurping their coffee! When you’re together, you are greater than the sum of your parts – and not just in the puzzle-wrangling arena. There’s something almost effervescent about you when he’s by your side – something that’s completely missing when Harry’s around. I watched you carefully when Harry graced us with his presence again at the beginning of December to press his case. Your sparkle was missing-in-action – he snuffs it out with his overbearing personality.”

Mia flicked her fingers to emphasise her point.

“Do you really want to go back to being the old Rosie? Okay, so you were a florist to the stars and that’s amazing, but what you have here is more than just a job. You have a home and you are surrounded by friends who love you – not to mention a guy who thinks the world of you. When Matt, and Freddie, offer their help, they want nothing in return – unlike Harry!”

Rosie couldn’t fault Mia for her impassioned submissions on behalf of Matt. Everything she had said was true. Matt had come to her aid when she had been accused of poisoning one of the lodge guests with her baking, and she had returned the favour when one of his outward-bound clients had been speared with an arrow, an incident that had threatened the future of his business. There had been no expectations of anything in return, simply a celebratory drink at the local pub, the Drunken Duck.

“It isn’t that Matt’s not speaking to you, Rosie. He’s a decent guy, and he just wants to give you the space to make your decision without any external influences. He’s wrong on this occasion, in my opinion. He should be standing right here in front of you, telling you exactly why you should tell Harry to get lost and to stay where you are cherished – if not for your cheerful and generous personality, then certainly for your fig-and-walnut scones and these fabulous St. Clements mince pies.”

Mia did have a point. Harry’s reappearance in her life had sent Matt away. Once she had persuaded her ex-boyfriend that her response to his marriage proposal was a resounding no! she had promised to think about his business proposition, arguing to herself that she would be crazy not to.

When Harry made the return trip to Willerby at the beginning of December, he had brought with him the accounts, as well as a formal legal contract setting everything out in black-and-white that she would be a part-owner of the florist’s shop and business. Harry had been stoical about her rejection of marriage, but urged her not to turn down the chance of financial security for the rest of her life – unlike her position as the Windmill Café manager which, if the last few months were anything to go by, was precarious in the extreme.

However, what had really caused her to prevaricate over Harry’s offer was the fact that if she lost her job at the café, she would also lose her home and she didn’t think she could go through that trauma again. Residing in the dark recesses of her mind was a hard nugget of fear that history would repeat itself, and her dreams were filled with memories of the day her mother had been forcibly evicted from the family home after her father’s death. The incident had changed the path of her life and had been the catalyst for her battle with the cleanliness demons. She had no idea how she was going to make the decision, though, and Harry’s increasingly regular phone calls were not helping.

She had tried to seek Matt out, to reassure him that their friendship was unaffected by the recent turn of events. However, when she had arrived on the doorstep of the wooden reception cabin at Ultimate Adventures, Freddie had explained to her that Matt had jumped on a last-minute flight to Tenerife to climb Mount Teide with a group of his father’s climbing buddies, and since his return two weeks ago he had steadfastly avoided her.

“Maybe there’ll be another mystery for you to solve that will bring you back together,” mused Mia as she drained the dregs of her coffee and went to wash her mug in the sink and return it to its allotted space.

“God, I hope not! All our lodge guests are here for the stag party and then to celebrate the wedding on Sunday. Grace, not to mention, the Rev and Carole, would be mortified if anything untoward happened to them!”

“Oh my God! It’s freezing! I can’t believe the guys still wanted to take part in the cycle race instead of adjourning to the pub for a cosy few pints like most stag party enthusiasts!” said Rosie, screwing up her nose in disgust as she wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to fend off the relentless downpour and keep warm. “More to the point, I can’t believe you managed to persuade me to form part of the welcoming committee!”

A shiver of discomfort shot down her spine as she peered through the gloom into the densely packed woodland at the rear of the outward-bound centre. Ultimate Adventures offered a plethora of activities including mountaineering, gorge scrambling, a treetop zip wire adventure, and even an obstacle course that mixed physical strength with mental agility. She could understand how these pursuits would be appealing in the summer months, but not on a wet Wednesday morning in the middle of December. In fact, there was something almost menacing about the way the naked trees crowded forward, blocking out what little light was left in the pewter-coloured sky.