Chapter 30
thirty
CLAIRE
The village was abuzz as I locked up Rose cottage, popped the keys into my bag and headed for the square. There wasn’t an inch of Otterleigh Bay that didn’t scream Come have Autumn fun with us!
I’d done all I could to help the Harris family. My skill lay far more in Public Relations than in marketing, and I only hoped it was enough to bring Owen and Isla the peace they needed moving forward in a new direction.
While I hoped Owen and I would make things work, somehow, I’d be glad to leave Otterleigh knowing I’d made a bit of a difference at the very least.
The idea of leaving put a sour taste in my mouth.
It wouldn’t only be leaving Owen, but everyone else, too.
A village full of strangers who had become friends.
Who didn’t care how much money I made, or who I knew.
Who didn’t blink twice if I picked up milk, looking like I’d rolled out of bed, or turned up to the pub covered in paint.
It felt like a part of me I’d always tried to hide was free to just be.
And I wanted to just be with Owen. Yes, Becky had planted doubts, but I was an idiot to let them take root. I’d spoken about it with Eilidh, and she verified the way Becky and Owen really met.
The minute I turned into the square, my soul ejected out my ass. I did a double-take at my outfit.
Green checked trousers. Maroon jumper. Trainers. Ponytail.
And then there stood Owen Harris. Green checked trousers. Maroon jumper. Boots. Fuck me, all he was missing was the ponytail.
‘No,’ I whispered, dipping behind one of the towering straw bales that ringed the square to cut off traffic. ‘Absolutely not. We’ll look like an autumn-styled boy band.’
I turned to change. Too late. Eilidh clocked me first and half-choked on the cinnamon bun she ate.
‘Oh my God,’ she wheezed, pointing between us and attracting attention from half a dozen villagers. ‘Look! Twins.’
Emma clapped with glee. ‘Man, he must be good in bed if you start dressing like him. Someone get a picture for the paper.’
I flushed a deep red.
Lola held up her phone. ‘Already got it.’
But none of them were mean. They teased and giggled, just like siblings do.
‘Calm down. It’s a coincidence.’ I rolled my eyes.
‘Aye,’ said Jeff from behind a line of bunting that he wrestled into place. ‘And I’m a bloody polar bear.’
Owen looked up from the distillery stand, still currently surrounded by boxes. His eyes grazed my outfit, and he broke into a huge grin.
‘Well now,’ he said, strolling over with the breeze in his hair and those thick shoulders making him look like he’s fallen right off a catwalk. ‘Did we plan this?’
‘We did not,’ I hissed. ‘I was going for Autumn chic.’
‘Nailed it. Me too, obviously.’ Not caring who saw, he planted a quick, yet swoon-worthy kiss right there in the middle of the square. A ripple of delight swirled through the square.
‘Owen!’ yelled Isla from somewhere beyond the tower of crates. ‘Less canoodling, more lifting crates. The fair opens at eleven, and if I’m photographed for the magazine looking like I’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards, I will hold you personally responsible.’
Jean appeared with a no-nonsense expression. Behind her, Jim was attempting to shift a barrel with all the stealth of a horse raiding the apple cart.
‘James Elliot Harris, don’t you dare,’ Jean said through clenched teeth, looking every bit ready to breathe fire. ‘Sit your backside down before I send you home.’
‘I’m only tidying,’ Jim muttered, snatching his hands back and looking the picture of innocence. Colour had returned to his cheeks, but he still looked frail.
‘Sit,’ Jean repeated, pressing him onto a seat and slapping a granola bar into his hands. He looked at it as if it might poison him. ‘Eat. Do not move.’
‘Aye, okay.’ Jim’s shoulders sagged in the chair, clearly uncomfortable with being sidelined.
The square bustled with busy charm. Pumpkins in ridiculous sizes huddled in little packs, strings of festoon lights and bunting creating an interspersed, swaying set of beams across the square, gazeboes dancing in the breeze.
Jeff stood atop a ladder, holding an instruction leaflet upside down, looking puzzled.
I handed Isla the updated cocktail menu cards from my purse.
And took her arm to calm her for a moment.
‘Tell me the stall doesn’t scream manly whisky stuff here,’ she begged.
‘The stall is perfect.’ I said. ‘And you’ll have your lovely brother mixing cocktails to butter everyone up. With him as tartan eye candy, and you as the excellent salesperson you are, it’ll be great.’
‘Bless you, Claire,’ she said, briefly smiling before Jeff’s struggles caught her eye. ‘Oh, honestly, that husband of mine.’
She scurried off, clipboard flailing.
‘Hold this,’ Owen said, bracing the banner pole as the wind buffeted. I grabbed the other end. ‘I’m changing after set-up, by the way.’
‘Into what? A menace to my loins?’
‘My kilt. Legs out is practically my job title these days. But I’d happily match with you any day. I think it’s cute you want to copy me.’
‘I did not copy you.’ My city self, who once colour-coded her life, would sooner die than wear the same jumper as a boyfriend. But when the man was as charming as Owen, I guess I could live with the twinning.
‘I bet you looked out of your window, spied me, and rushed to dress just like me.’ Owen grinned, two little dimples appearing on his cheeks. I nearly passed away on the spot. How did he become more attractive every day?
We heaved the banner up, ‘KILTS AND COCKTAILS WITH OTTERLEIGH BAY WHISKY’, with a series of grunts from my end, and barely a sweat from his.
The wind, being a disrespectful cow, chose that exact moment to flex her muscles.
It yanked the canvas backwards. Owen held his side; I, however, lost my battle with mine.
‘I’ve got it!’ I lied, as the banner rocked, flinging me back, my feet discovering flight. I staggered back, let go of the pole, and tripped right over a crate of whisky bottles.
The world slowed so I could really wallow in my despair. The crate groaned under my weight. I windmilled my arms like a cartoon character. Bottles clanked and I feared that I’d destroy hundreds of pounds worth of stock.
Owen lunged for me, dropping the banner.
‘Claire!’
Too late.
I lost my fight with gravity and tipped back, landing square in Jim’s lap. His granola bar went flying. So did my dignity.
Silence.
Then the square with laughter.
‘The English have fallen.’ Jeff yelled before slapping his knee in delight with himself.
‘I’m fine,’ I said from Jim’s knees, breathless, maroon jumper now accessorised with a tasteful dusting of granola bits. Inspector Meowrse stared from under a trestle table like I’d disgraced him.
‘Oh my god, are you okay?’ I asked Jim, worried I’d just flattened Owen’s frail father.
Jim hooted. A proper belly laugh that made us jiggle. He patted my thigh, utterly delighted. ‘Most fun I’ve had all week. Jean’s been treating me like I’m made of eggshells, and here you are, sitting in my lap like I’m Father Christmas.’
‘I fell.’ My face felt like it matched the maroon of my jumper. ‘The wind… the bottles… I… Sorry, Mr Harris.’
‘Jim’s fine. No need to go getting all shy,’ he wheezed, wiping his eyes. ‘Now up you get, lass, before Jean strings you up for making me laugh.’
Jean, to her credit, only looked a little murderous. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Only my pride,’ I said, scrambling upright when Owen held out a hand. I lowered my eyes when Jean stared. ‘I’m so sorry—’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Jim said. ‘Best bit of the morning so far.’
‘Nobody move.’ Isla barked. She sprinted over with a handful of cable ties.
Her eyes fell over the intact bottles, the banner that had fallen and wrapped itself around a bench, Jim grinning ear to ear, and she sighed.
‘Jeff and Owen, secure that banner. Claire, stop using my dad as a seat. Come on, folks, get your fingers out of your arses. Let’s go. ’
Morag stumped past with arms full of paper cups, printed with leaves, spying our matching outfits. ‘Look at the two of you, you’ll be married by Christmas.’
Alastair nodded. ‘At the very latest.’
A tingle crept up my spine at the idea of Owen and me promising each other a life together. It was certainly too early to be thinking about that before Christmas, but maybe one day.
Hopefully.
Owen squeezed my hand. ‘You all right?’
‘My arse is going to get me in trouble one of these days,’ I said.
He tucked a strand of unruly hair from my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. ‘I’ll happily help you tame it...’
‘Now’s not the time for spanking talk. I just sat on your father.’
‘Highlight of his year.’ Owen lifted a brow.
The square settled back into a hive of preparation. Excitement rippled through the village, filling me with a warm glow. All around, neighbours helped one another, smiles and chatter abounded.
Jean handed me a steaming coffee with the Coffee & Crumbs logo on the side and pressed Jim back into his chair when he dared to try to resume helping.
‘Can I help with anything?’ I asked Owen.
‘Got anything for reducing stress?’
‘Nothing I can do in front of your mother,’ I said with a wink. ‘But later I’m more than happy to assist you with your… kilt.’
‘Aye?’
‘Aye.’ I slid my hand through his elbow and sneaked a kiss.
‘It’s a date.’ He captured my jaw and turned my stolen peck into a sultry kiss that set my temperature soaring despite the cool morning.
‘Right!’ Isla shouted, looking like a tiny, angry drill sergeant. ‘Fair opens in T-minus forty minutes, Cosy Country will be on site in an hour, get those last-minute bits sorted and get ready to sell your wares.’