Love and Lies at The Village Christmas Shop: A laugh out loud romantic comedy perfect for Christmas 2018. Portia MacIntosh

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ it down in front of me.

      I can’t help but wonder if he actually wants the snow globe, or if he’s only buying it because he feels sorry for me, for seemingly having no customers. I can appreciate that, to an outsider, a Christmas shop that is always open might not seem like the kind of place that would get much custom, but things will pick up in the run-up to Christmas. Either way, I appreciate him buying something. Along with his cheeky smile, Seb has a glimmer of kindness in his eyes, a glimmer that I can’t help but notice twinkling when I look at him.

      ‘That’s £9.99, please. Would you like me to wrap it up for you?’

      ‘That’s OK, I’m going straight to my car,’ he says, before furrowing his brow. ‘How did you know I drove a Porsche?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You know what kind of car I drive…’

      ‘Oh, just a guess.’

      Seb laughs. ‘Is that your party trick? Guessing what kind of car people drive?’ he asks.

      ‘Is it even possible for anyone to be able to do that?’ I reply.

      ‘Sure,’ he tells me. ‘Hold out your hand.’

      I place my hand out in front me, which Seb takes in his hands, examining my palm. It’s amazing, just how warm his hands are compared to mine.

      ‘Let’s see…you drive…a Honda HR-V,’ he says.

      Spooked, I snatch my hand back.

      ‘A gold one,’ he adds with a smug grin.

      ‘Ahh, you saw it outside,’ I say, suddenly self-conscious that he’s seen my 1998 plate Honda. It might be old, but it’s an amazing car that never lets me down. It’s no convertible Porsche though, that’s for sure.

      ‘How could I miss it?’ He laughs. ‘It’s the only car for miles.’

      I step out from behind the counter and walk Seb towards the door. He stops in his tracks to say something to me, stopping when he notices the mistletoe hanging above us.

      ‘How seriously do you take Christmas tradition?’ he asks with an awkward laugh.

      ‘Pretty seriously,’ I say cautiously. ‘I pretty much live Christmas every day…’

      ‘Hmm,’ he replies.

      There’s an awkward silence between us, but only for a few seconds. I glance around the room awkwardly until I notice Seb’s face just inches from mine. He plants a quick peck on my lips, immediately seeming surprised at himself for doing so. Maybe, as cool and as confident as he seems, he doesn’t do this sort of thing often. I guarantee this sort of thing happens to me even less.

      ‘OK, well,’ he says, a little flustered, but with a smile on his face. ‘See you around, Ivy.’

      ‘Bye,’ I call after him, running my fingertips over my lips, where Seb’s lips touched them even if it was only for a second. As I sit back down behind the counter, I look at my book. For the first time – maybe ever – something happened to me in real life that was fresh out of a romcom, and I can’t quite believe it.

      He said ‘see you around’ when he left – it would be great to see him around, but what are the chances I’ll ever see him again? He’s not about to need another snow globe anytime soon, is he? He’s got a posh, southern accent, and we don’t have too many men like that in Marram Bay. We have farmers, fishermen – we even have a guy who makes snow globes, but no well-spoken southern men in flashy suits.

      Nope, I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. But if I do, I really hope I’m not dressed as a reindeer.

       Chapter 2

      ‘I need a 110-millimetre hex head bolt,’ I say.

      ‘What did I give you?’

      ‘A 35-millimetre hex head bolt.’

      ‘What’s the difference?’ she asks.

      ‘Exactly 75 millimetres,’ I joke. ‘Are you OK?’

      My sister, Holly, doesn’t seem herself today. She never really seems herself around Christmas time – more so now than ever. Growing up in a Christmas shop, with a Christmas-crazy mum, Holly quickly became sick of all things festive. My sister and I are best friends, but around this time of year, she becomes insufferably miserable. She’s antisocial, short-tempered and goes into her shell until New Year’s Eve, when she’s as far away from the festivities as she’s ever going to be, when she can draw a line under the year and start afresh. At least I know this though – that fun-loving Holly will be back by January, and it makes it easier to endure, knowing that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. I just need to give her the space she needs, and take over the festive duties, and everything will be fine.

      My mum’s passion for the holidays is one that predates my sister and me – either that, or it’s just a huge coincidence that we were named Holly and Ivy. She opened Christmas Every Day so that it could feel like Christmas every day, and as a result we’ve lived our lives in a snow globe. I think it’s more than that these days though. I don’t think Holly is just sick of Christmas still; I think it reminds her of Mum. I always miss her so much more at this time of year too.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she assures me, brushing the longer side of her freshly cut asymmetrical bob behind her ear.

      With Holly’s latest short, brown hairstyle, we couldn’t look less alike. I still have the long, blonde hairstyle I’ve had my whole life – I don’t like change, or rather, I’m too scared to pull the trigger.

      Despite the fact that now, more than ever, Holly and I look absolutely nothing like sisters let alone twins, I think it really suits her. It’s her annual ‘it’s December, I should do something reckless’ stunt out of the way, at least.

      My sister hands me the bolt I think I need.

      ‘Erm…’

      I hesitate, only for a second, and the two pieces I’m trying to connect fall to the floor.

      ‘Ergh, just leave it,’ my sister snaps.

      ‘Hey, are you sure you’re OK?’ I ask, putting down the bolt, taking my sister’s hand.

      ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’ She mellows a little. ‘It’s just – and I would hate for Chloe to hear me say this – but I think we need a man.’

      ‘Can’t you do it?’ Chloe asks from the doorway.

      Holly jumps. ‘She’s always sneaking up on me, listening to everything.’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure her. ‘She’s too young to think her mum is a bad feminist.’

      Chloe, my 7-year-old niece, joins us and sits on my lap. ‘Do we need Daddy?’ she asks.

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ