Eve Devon - Christmas at the Little Clock House on the Green - An enchanting and warm-hearted romance full of Christmas cheer

Get what? Why did he need to get away?

Darn it, she had absolutely no reason to feel disappointed that he wouldn’t be around for Christmas. It wasn’t like she’d be here on the actual day, anyway. Not if her Dad did what she was pretty sure he would do and invited her to spend the day with him and his wife and children.

Jake was just disappearing through the doors when she realised he’d left his jacket on the back of the chair.

Gathering it up, she called out, ‘Hey, Sir Knightley.’

She watched him pause at the doorway, stiffen slightly, and then turn around.

Wow, he really wanted to leave, didn’t he?

‘Your jacket,’ she said and performed a little curtsey. She’d meant to make him smile but felt silly when he strode back to her and took it without looking at her.

A tinkling sound could be heard as something fell onto the floor between them.

‘Oops, I think something’s fallen out of your pocket.’ Automatically she bent down to pick up the sparkly bead of glass. Holding it out in her palm she watched Jake frown down at it.

‘That’s definitely not mine. It must be from the—’ he broke off and glanced up at the chandelier.

There was an audible gasp as Kate and Juliet glanced from the chandelier to the droplet of glass and then to Jake and Emma.

‘It’s like a sign,’ Kate exclaimed and then shut her mouth quickly and after a strange look at Juliet carried on an entirely non-verbal conversation with her cousin.

With more head-turning than a tango on the Strictly final, Emma asked, ‘What’s a sign?’

‘Forget it. It couldn’t be less of a sign,’ Jake bit out, his expression murderous as he snatched the glass out of Emma’s hand and handed it to Kate. ‘It’s a bit of glass that fell off the chandelier because it was loose.’

‘Um, what he said,’ Kate mumbled, taking the glass droplet and holding it to her chest. ‘I’ll reattach it safely.’

‘Could have had someone’s eye out,’ Jake muttered, putting his plans on the floor so that he could shrug into his jacket. ‘I’ll be back later with the revised quote.’

In silence four pairs of eyes watched him bend down to pick up his plans, turn on his heel and walk towards the doors but before he disappeared completely from sight, Juliet dragged in a breath and called out, ‘Hey, Jake?’ He paused and didn’t turn around. ‘Stop by the salon after you drop the quote off. I’ll give you a couple of different choices to the man-bun.’

‘Appreciate it,’ he murmured and walked off.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ Emma said as soon as she heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel outside.

‘I felt bad for him,’ Juliet said.

‘I think she meant about the chandelier,’ Daniel said, grinning as he started loading up the tray with empties. ‘Could you two have been more obvious?’

‘About what?’ Kate asked, doing a really bad impression of appearing mystified.

‘What do you mean, “about what”?’ Emma asked. ‘A bit of the chandelier drops off and suddenly Jake’s setting his engines to warp and scarpering.’

‘Oh that. That was nothing. A bit of village folklore fun that is in no way serious.’

‘You two are the worst actresses in the world.’ Emma eye-balled the both of them until Kate gave in.

‘Okay, okay. It’s just that Jake is a bit sensitive at the moment.’

‘About folklore?’

‘About the chandelier,’ Juliet said.

Emma looked up at the light radiating sparkly warmth over the room and then looked at Kate.

‘And about other stuff,’ Kate supplied.

She wanted so, so badly to ask what the other stuff was, but she didn’t.

Kate and Juliet were obviously trying to protect Jake and from a couple of conversations and some observation, Jake was a proud and private man and, if that flash of pain was anything to go by, definitely feeling humiliated about something.

She realised she didn’t have the right to know.

She was the newcomer and needed to earn that right.

Double darn.

It was going to burn her up inside not being able to ask questions about him without coming across as being ‘interested’.

Which she wasn’t.

In the slightest.

Emma

‘Sheila, these are so good, they should be illegal.’ Emma bit into another of the bite-sized mince pies with the little star and little Christmas tree sweet-pastry toppers and told herself this would absolutely be the last thing she ate seconds of during Sheila’s visit.

Kate’s mother’s face lit up at the compliment. ‘Bootleg mince pies. I like the sound of that. Perhaps I should deliver them under the cover of night.’

‘We’ll set up a code and a secret handshake,’ Emma joked alongside her, delighted to discover where Kate got some of her sense of humour from. ‘Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I ate a mince pie this good.’

To be honest, she wasn’t sure she’d had one since she’d left the UK, and as the rich fruit flavours burst on her tongue and the sweet buttery pastry melted in her mouth, the vault containing Christmases past burst wide open.

Suddenly she was six years old again. Valiantly trying to stay awake on Christmas Eve and waking in the early hours with the feel of a pillow case filled with treats, against her feet, signalling that Father Christmas had been. With excitement she’d feel her way past the small wrapped toys, and the dreadfully squishy Satsuma, hunting for her favourite present, a book. Tearing off the wrapping she’d clamber out of bed, read the title by the dull hallway light and rush into her parents’ bedroom to climb in between them and fall asleep, happily clutching it to her chest.

As the carousel of Christmas memories sped up there were more books but it was harder to steep herself in the stories with her parents hurling recriminations at each other until her father would inevitably decide to go for a drive.

Feeling a little sick, Emma quickly tugged on the reindeer reins, jumped off the carousel and fled the vault, slamming the door shut behind her. Picking up her clipboard she concentrated on putting another tick in a column.

‘Well,’ she said, forcing a smile for Sheila. ‘These are definitely going on the menu. As is the triple layer chocolate-fudge cake. Also, the Tiffin brownies and, oh, I don’t suppose you could do mini Yule-logs with white frosting to look like snow?’

‘I think I could do that.’ Sheila jotted the request in the notebook beside her. ‘What if I dust them with a pistachio crumb in the shape of a holly leaf and add a couple of cranberries for the berries?’

‘That sounds yummy. They’d need to be small enough to fit on these cake stands,’ Emma said, pointing to the pretty mismatched ones she’d laid out, so that Sheila could get an idea of what would go into each festive afternoon tea. ‘Is that going to be possible? I don’t want to make your life too fiddly.’

‘Oh, I can handle a little fiddly.’

Emma heard the determination in Kate’s mother’s voice and looked up from where she’d been adding notes to her order sheet. ‘Do you not get busy at the B&B at Christmas?’ she asked.

‘Not during the lead-up. That’s why I’m so happy to be doing this.’ Sheila fussed with the napkin she’d laid across her lap. ‘It’s a strange time of year,’ she confessed.

‘Because of Bea?’ Emma couldn’t believe she’d come right out and said that and reached a hand out in automatic apology. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Somersby. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.’

‘Actually it’s fine. Everyone always tiptoes around it, not wanting to make it harder on me, I know.’