I wink at her, just for boldness, and when I turn away, pleased with what I’ve picked up so far on my travels, I spot someone waving at me in the distance under a sign that reads: Marion’s Mince Pies.
She looks very excited to see me, which is a relief after her swift departure from the cottage last time.
I suppose I should go and say hello.
Chapter Nineteen
Rose
I make my way down to the village hall for the Christmas Fayre, leaving George in the cottage with Max for the first time, which I hope doesn’t cause carnage when they’re home alone.
The fayre, just as I’d expected, is packed with families and couples from near and far, some queuing up at the far end of the hall for Santa’s Grotto and a lot of children running amok, weaving their way in and around pretty little stalls that are bursting with Christmas cheer.
‘Some mulled wine, Rose?’
I turn to see the smiling face of an older lady. I’ve never seen her before.
‘I hear you’re staying at the cottage? Oh, you’re the picture of your Granny Molly. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind being cooped up withhimif I was thirty years younger.’
She hands me the paper cup of warm red wine and nods in the direction of a rather dishevelled Charlie, who appears to be overseeing a stall across the hall. He’s the last person I expected to bump into here.
He’s made his feelings very clear about how much he wanted to hide away from Christmas, yet yesterday I found him listening to ‘O Holy Night’ and now this? I pretend I don’t see him as I browse around the other stalls, but then he catches me looking his way. If I’m not mistaken, his face brightens when he sees me.
I wave across to him, wondering if a wave in public counts as breaking the rules.
He raises his eyes upwards to indicate the sign on the wall behind him and I nod slowly when I see that he’s been roped into looking after Marion’s stall. He sends me a text.
Help.
I look his way and can’t help laughing.Marion’s little helper, I write back.
Please buy one. My sales skills are nil.
I laugh out loud again and make my way over to him.
‘Before you ask, I’m only looking after it while she goes and sorts out some sort of crisis that has arisen at the children’s art corner,’ he explains, leaning his strong, muscular arms on the table. I try not to look at them. ‘I think some kid got a bit carried away with the glitter.’
He smiles. Those dimples.
‘Ah, I see,’ I say, feeling the weight of the huge elephant in the room. In fact, a small herd of elephants, to be precise.
He knows I was a mess yesterday, but he doesn’t know why.
I know he was upset earlier, and although I did pick up on the fact that he has a young daughter who he is breaking his heart over, I don’t know any more than that.
And then there’s the small matter of how we walked home together last night, shared a moment under the stars and texted each other ‘goodnight’ for the first time, which made me feel like something had changed between us.
I don’t know what it was, but it was something.
‘Wine,’ he says, as if he’s been reading my mind.
‘What?’
‘Too much wine, beer and emotion last night. No need to overthink things.’
Well, that’s the ice well and truly broken in that department.
‘Of course,’ I say, running my eye over the mince pies in a bid to avoid his face. My own, I fear, might be flushing.
