Chapter Fourteen
‘Okay, what do you want to do first?’
They were standing in the courtyard of Fairholme Farm, the empty Tupperware boxes stored in one of the Bookworm Boutique ’s fancy tote bags, while Mitzy investigated a fascinating clump of grass next to the gate that led into the orchard. It was almost six o’clock, the sun had long since bid farewell to the day, and the temperature held a distinctly chilly feel.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it seems like we have an ever-lengthening list of things to tackle: deciding which of my uncle’s ciders to showcase at the panto-promo night, coming up with a potential cider-based cocktail, devising a theme for the Christmas tree decorating competition, and I need to brush up on my very scant knowledge of what a Foley artist does.’
‘That’s a long list.’
‘But before we do any of that, we should eat. I don’t know about you, but a diet of biscuits isn’t enough to sate my hunger, so I vote we heat up a couple of pizzas and finish off with a dish of my aunt’s home-made apple and ginger ice cream.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
While Nick fed Mitzy and dealt with the pizzas, Chloe set the table and opened a bottle of wine. She marvelled at how normal it felt to be sitting in the cosy farmhouse kitchen, surrounded by the mouthwatering aroma of baking pizza dough, with a man she had only just met, in a place she hadn’t known existed three days ago. As she devoured her pizza, with Nick doing the same by her side, she felt as though she’d known him forever, and she wondered if he felt the same about being with her.
‘It’s a great idea of Liz’s to add my uncle’s cider to the cocktail-tasting night,’ said Nick, leaning back in his chair to finish of his glass of wine. ‘I think he’d be delighted that it’s being put to such good use. You know, it was a dream of his to win an award for one of his ciders. I remember him telling me about a competition that’s held the week before Christmas that celebrates new innovations in Cornish craft ciders produced during the preceding year.’
‘Hey, why don’t we enter one of his ciders on his behalf?’
‘We can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Uncle Martyn was a hobbyist. The competition’s for commercial ventures.’
‘But he sold his cider at the Dog every detail had been designed with practicality and efficiency in mind, and she was even more determined to create something similar when the insurance money for her beach hut gin distillery finally came through. Despite all the setbacks over the last year, there was no reason why she couldn’t still dream big.
‘So, how many cocktails do you usually demonstrate at a party?’
‘Usually between four and seven, depending on how many guests there are. I think for the panto-promo night, we should do three gin cocktails, three of your uncle’s ciders, and perhaps one cider-based cocktail, if I can come up with something suitable. What do you think?’
‘Sounds perfect. I vote we put your Mince Pie Martini on the list.’
‘And I’ll add a cranberry gin sour with elderflower liqueur and a dash of lime, which is a wonderful red-pink colour, and a green mint julep with pomegranate seeds, which is always popular because it’s so refreshing. So, red and green; perfect for Christmas cocktails.’
‘What about the ciders?’
‘Well, we’ve already tried the Pig’s Snout and the Pendragon, so we just need to choose one more. Let’s search the crates and see what we come up with.’
They spent the next few minutes opening various wooden crates and inspecting the labels.
‘What about this one?’
‘Yellow Willy? Oh, I’m not sure about that.’
‘Why not? It’ll be a great icebreaker.’
‘Maybe. I like the sound of this one, though.’ Chloe held a bottle of Cornish Gillyflower aloft. ‘Why don’t we taste both of them and then decide which we like the best?’
‘I thought you’d never ask!’
Nick flicked off the lids of the two bottles, poured an inch of each into four glasses, and they proceeded to follow the ritual devised by wine connoisseurs: assessing first the colour, then the bouquet, and finally the taste of each one.
‘I like this one best,’ said Chloe, relieved that it was the Gillyflower.
‘Me, too.’ Nick grinned. ‘So all we need now is a cider cocktail. Want to experiment?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want to waste your uncle’s artisan cider.’
‘That’s no problem. There’s a couple of kegs over there that are used to store what my aunt calls his “cooking cider”, which is made from a mixture of different apple varieties that aren’t suitable to sell to the orchard’s customers. Sort of like a blended whisky rather than single malt. We can use that.’
‘Great. Let’s take a few litres back to the kitchen. I have a couple of ideas in mind.’
The next two hours were spent in harmonious production as they mixed the “cooking cider” – which Chloe thought was delicious on its own – with a variety of flavourings, herbs and spices. Chloe’s favourite was the one with a pinch of cinnamon, although the one with a measure of her mince pie syrup worked well, while Nick’s crushed lemon-mint cider definitely did not.
‘This tastes like washing up liquid,’ said Nick, grimacing. ‘Hey, I’ve had an idea!’
‘What?’
Nick disappeared into his aunt’s pantry and returned with the jar containing the “sunny smile” herb they’d considered using in the romance biscuits before settling on the fairywand herb instead.
‘Why don’t we try this?’
‘Great idea!’
They poured out a fourth jug of Martyn’s “cooking cider” and Nick added a generous sprinkle of sunny smile, then stirred the concoction, inhaling the spicy, appley aroma with a satisfied smile.
‘Okay, let’s leave the cinnamon one and this sunny smile one to infuse overnight, then taste them both again in the morning and add the best one to the repertoire,’ said Chloe, pouring away the mince pie cider and the lemon-mint cider. ‘My money’s on the cinnamon cider; it’s a match made in Christmas heaven. You know, if your aunt was considering diversifying, she could branch out into cider-flavoured products, like Cornish cider cake or Cornish cider biscuits, or cider ice cream.’
‘No point,’ said Nick, shaking his head. ‘My aunt… wouldn’t be interested in that.’
‘Why not?’
Nick opened his mouth to say something but hesitated.
‘Because it’s just not her thing,’ he eventually offered with a shrug that looked a bit forced. ‘Okay, shall we move on to the Christmas tree competition? I assume my aunt stores her decorations upstairs in the loft, and I don’t suppose she’ll mind if we ransack the tree in here.’
Nick indicated the Christmas tree in the corner of the kitchen, then disappeared up the stairs with an inquisitive Mitzy in his wake. Chloe made herself useful by tidying up the mess they’d made, wiping down the surfaces, and cracking open the back door to disperse the potpourri of aromas that lingered in the air and were causing her nostrils to tingle. She was about to put the kettle on in the hope of eradicating the fuzzy head the extended bout of cider-tasting had caused, when there was a loud crash, followed by a cry of alarm from upstairs.
‘Is everything okay?’ she called from the hallway
‘Fine. Fine. I just dropped an old sewing machine on my foot!’
A few seconds later, Nick appeared carrying a large cardboard box marked “Christmas decorations”, and made his way back down the stairs, trying valiantly not to limp as he headed into the library where, instead of unpacking the box, he simply tipped the contents onto the floor.
‘Hmm, I’m not sure there’s… Hey! Stop!’
The cornucopia of shiny items was clearly too much for Mitzy to resist. After taking a moment to assess the unexpected bounty, she selected a garland of frothy green tinsel and took off at speed.
‘Mitzy! Come back!’
Nick scrambled to his feet and ran after her, with Chloe on his heels.
‘Oh my God, who left the kitchen door open?’
‘That was me, sorry.’
Mitzy dashed through the door and performed an impromptu lap of the courtyard,trailing the tinsel behind her like a long, green snake. Feeling responsible, Chloe rushed after her, eventually catching up with her underneath the yellow-and-white striped canopy that was protecting the Range Rover from the elements.
‘Mitzy, you—’
A random gust of wind chose that particular moment to lift the canvas upwards, taking with it a reservoir of rainwater that had collected on its upper surface and depositing its contents on the unfortunate person who was standing in its shelter. Chloe gasped in horror as the icy water hit her, drenching her from head to toe.
‘Argh!’
It was a moment frozen in time.
As she stood there, spluttering in shock, her arms aloft as water dripped from her fingertips, it took several seconds for her stunned brain to absorb what had happened. She saw Nick sprint towards her, his eyes dancing with unconcealed amusement at her unscheduled cold shower as he hooked his arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the door to the loft, with a remorseful Mitzy joining them.
She wanted to say something, to tell Nick that it wasn’t nice to laugh at another person’s misfortune, but she was too traumatised to form the necessary words. Once she was in the loft, a bout of uncontrollable shivering threatened to overwhelm her, and she gratefully accepted one of Ruth’s fluffy white towels from Nick, using it to dry her hair and her arms before heading into the bedroom to change out of her wet clothes.
As soon as she pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a fresh tee-shirt, she felt better – and warmer. She tied her hair into a ponytail, and when she emerged from the bedroom, Nick handed her a coffee, his earlier amusement replaced with concern.
‘I’m sorry for laughing.’
‘It’s fine. I’d have done the same if the roles were reversed.’
‘Mitzy told me to say sorry, too.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Banished to her basket in the kitchen.’
‘She was only having a bit of fun, and the cold shower treatment was hardly her fault.’
‘I know it might not help to hear this now, but apparently, cold showers are good for your health.’
‘Well, forgive me if I don’t repeat it.’
Chloe heaved a sigh and dropped down onto the sofa next to Nick, taking a gulp of her warm, fragrant coffee, then coiling her fingers around the handle and hugging the cup to her chest.
‘Oh, you’ve got a bit of…’
Nick leaned towards her and removed a piece of straw from her curls. His sudden proximity caused Chloe’s heartrate to increase and a coil of desire began to rotate through her body, sparkling out to every extremity, which had been frozen a few minutes earlier but were now pulsating with heat.
She caught a waft of Nick’s cologne and had to force herself not to close her eyes to better enjoy the tantalising scent, and when she finally met his gaze, she realised with a zip of pleasure that his lips were mere centimetres from hers. All she had to do was lean forward and she would be kissing him, something her heart was screaming for her to do, but her head won the argument, and she – reluctantly – pulled back, giving Nick a quick smile to signal that she wasn’t ready to take that step.
She was attracted to him, there was no doubt about that, but as she was unlikely to see him again when she left Perrinsby, what was the point in complicating what had turned out to be an enjoyable friendship?The next few days were packed full of events they’d agreed to assist with, which would be made all the more difficult if they added navigating the twists and turns of a romantic relationship to the mix.
‘Want another coffee?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Nick, relaxing back against the sofa.
Chloe pushed herself up from her seat and, on her way across to the kitchen area, she turned on the TV in the hope of diffusing the highly charged atmosphere, smiling when she saw it was playing the final few scenes of Elf .
‘Oh, I love this film.’
‘What is it?’
‘What? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Elf ?’
‘No, I don’t think I’ve seen any Christmas films.’
‘What? Not even Home Alone ?’
‘No.’
‘Oh my God, you’re missing a real treat!’
Nick laughed as he sipped the coffee Chloe had made for him. ‘I doubt it.’
‘Is there a reason you dislike Christmas so much?’
Chloe regretted her question as soon as it left her lips. She had clearly caught Nick off-guard because for a split second he looked like she’d slapped him in the face before he rearranged his expression into something more neutral.
‘No, not really. It’s just the constant hype, the in-your-face commercialism, the expectations that the festive season will be a happy one, filled with family, friends, food and fun, when more often than not it’s marred by disapproval, disappointment, and familial conflict.’
Silence rolled around the room, and it was several moments before Chloe spoke.
‘Nick, I—’
‘I’d better go.’ Nick jumped from his seat on the sofa as though he’d been bitten by a tiger. ‘I’ve got a friend coming down from London first thing tomorrow morning. I haven’t seen Dan for a while, and I thought it was a perfect opportunity for us to catch up before he joins his wife and her family in St Ives for Christmas. Good night, Chloe.’
‘Good night, Nick.’
To Chloe’s dismay, the earlier mellowness that had infiltrated their evening evaporated, and it was clear that Nick couldn’t get away fast enough. She’d thought they were growing close – hadn’t they almost kissed? – and felt like they’d known each other forever. Obviously she was wrong, although she had to accept that she was in no position to criticise.
She, too, was guilty of avoiding conversations that involved revealing painful truths.