Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SASHA
Christmas Eve brings three inches of snow and an influx of last-minute customers.
I staple on a smile, throw on my grandmother’s favourite red apron with Mistletoe & Mine printed across the chest, and circle the shop to help. My new gift-wrapping service is a big hit, and I’ve made more sales in a few hours than I had some weeks earlier this year, but it’s not enough.
I can admit that now.
Unless a Christmas miracle happens, it won’t be long before I’ll have to close permanently.
Not for the first time today, I glance at the picture of my grandparents taped up beside the cash register. It was supposed to be a reminder of how far we’ve come, hope for all we could be, but all I feel is the pressing guilt and sadness that I’ve let them both down.
My eyes sting, and I gasp a breath, shuddery with unshed emotion.
I try to imagine how everyone will react then, how the village will look without the year-round joy the shop brings. I lost my way for a while there, let my grief twist and fester, but I can’t imagine Walmsley without Mistletoe & Mine. It’s incomprehensible.
I’m sorry, Nan.
I’m so sorry.
The bell chimes above the door, and Angela steps inside, followed by an icy burst of air that makes me shiver. She hurries to close the door to keep the heat inside, and stomps her snow boots on the mistletoe mat while I pull myself together and discreetly swipe under my eyes.
No one can see me like this.
I know they’ll have to find out sooner than later, but not now.
Not yet.
“Afternoon, Angela.” My tone must be a note or two off, a bit too bright most likely, because she blinks in rapid surprise.
“Oh. Afternoon, Sasha.”
“Last-minute Christmas shopping?”
“God, no. I do mine in October, even the wrapping.”
I huff out a laugh. Maybe the A in Type A stands for Angela. “Of course you do.”
“Actually, I came to check if you received your money back. We’ve had a couple of issues with some bank transfers and I’m making a note of everyone affected.”
“My money back?”
“Yes, your contribution to the Christmas committee,” she intones slowly. “Did you get it back?”
“Why would I get it back?”
“Oh. I assumed you knew given your relationship with Sebastian.”
Somehow I manage to hold myself steady, even though my heart swoops at the mention of him. It’s only been a couple of days and I miss him. His strength. The weight of his gaze on my skin. The feel of his body wrapped around mine. The list is endless.
“Sebastian? I’m sorry but you’ve lost me.”
“Maybe I wasn’t supposed to say anything.” Angela fidgets on the spot, appearing uncertain. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”
“What wasn’t?”
“The King family, well, Sebastian. He graciously offered to pay for the village Christmas decorations for the next five years. In fact, he said that if ever we have a budget problem like that again, we just have to ask for his help and he’ll pay. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Wonderful?
It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, and my heart knows, for as much as he did this for Walmsley, he did this for me too. Perhaps even more so. Sebastian is the only one who knows how much I’ve struggled, how reluctant and embarrassed I’ve been to ask anyone for help—even if those feelings seem so trivial now.
Oh my god!
“Yes, that’s… Wow. It’s incredibly generous of him.” I swallow around the ball of emotion wedged in my throat. “Give me a second to check my business account.”
Angela nods, glancing around absentmindedly while I grab my iPad and log into my bank app. Sure enough, right there on screen is a much-needed five hundred pounds.
A Christmas miracle.
It doesn’t save the business by any means, but it’s a buffer for a couple of bills due, and helps more than Sebastian will ever know.
No.
That’s a lie.
He’ll know because I’m going to tell him, and thank him, and afterwards ask him to never let me go.
“It’s all there, Angela,” I tell her.
“Oh, that’s a relief.” She takes two steps towards the door and halts. “By the way, I wanted to ask you to join us for a last-minute Christmas committee meeting tonight in the village hall.”
“Uh, I’m not a member of the committee, remember?”
“I know, but it’s a little village get-together thing. Some updates and such. I’m serving tea and mince pies too. Bob said he’d bring mulled wine. What do you say? It’s something Rose would’ve loved.”
My eyes narrow. “That’s very manipulative to use my dead grandmother to get me to do something.”
“It is, but it worked, didn’t it?”
I sputter a laugh because goddamn, she’s right. “What time should I be there?”
“Five. It won’t run on for long as everyone has families and parties and such to get to afterwards.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great. I’ll be seeing you. Five o’clock, remember? Merry Christmas!”
The bell tinkles and I scan the shop slowly, taking in all the festive details—things that have been around since the beginning, and those added in the years since. The working train set circling beneath the British-themed Christmas tree, and the snow globe displays glittering in the front. The hand-carved nativity nestled in the window, and the hand-painted wooden Advent calendar at the back. It’s tradition to fill each door with gifts and treats, and whoever’s the first child to visit the shop that day gets whatever’s inside, and I’m going to miss it and the echoes of memories we created over the years, the memories we could’ve created for years to come too.
“Merry Christmas,” I say quietly, though Angela is long gone.
The steady stream of customers dwindles by mid-afternoon, so I spend the rest of the day cleaning, ringing up the cash register and trying not to cry.
I people watch from the window for a while—tourists and locals trudging through the still-falling snow desperate to get home. As usual, there’s still a bit of a queue outside the butcher’s, waiting customers drinking hot chocolate to keep warm, some swaying to the carol singers performing “Carol of the Bells” in the square.
Slowly, the sky darkens, but there’s a touch of pink in the distance, a sign of more snow to come.
A white Christmas.
Nan would’ve liked that.
I’m not sure why I feel her everywhere today, but it’s giving me a permanent lump in my throat.
I close the shop at four, but it’s pointless going home to come back out again, so I sit on the shop floor and think about the memories, and the mess I’ve made of everything.
By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’m in no mood to be festive or sociable, but I made a promise, and it’s that and the possibility of seeing Sebastian that has me plodding through the snow to the hall at the edge of the village.
I’m surprised to find it packed when I arrive, the room filled with the murmuring hum of locals and business owners huddled in groups, chatting and laughing and brimming with Christmas cheer.
I stuff my bobble hat in my pocket, unbutton my coat, and head to the refreshments table to grab a disposable cup of mulled wine to chase the chill from my fingers.
“Right.” Angela steps up onto the small stage, a red-curtained backdrop behind her, a rope of sparkly silver tinsel draped around her neck. “Now that we’re all here, we can get started.”
I frown at that. Does she mean they were waiting for me?
I’m only half listening while Angela rattles off a thank you for coming and tells us all about the Christmas committee’s success this year, her hopes and plans for next year too. She goes on to thank Sebastian for his generous donation, and everyone claps while I nearly break my neck searching for him.
He’s not here though.
I swallow down my disappointment with a sip of wine.
“And lastly, Sasha, will you join me up here, please?”
What?
Startled, I snap my gaze to the stage, certain I misheard. “Are you… are you talking to me?”
Everyone laughs, Angela included. “There aren’t any other Sasha Smiths, are there?”
I glance around, confused and unsure what the hell is happening, and make my way to the stage.
Violet, the owner of The Tea Rooms , pats me on the shoulder as I pass by, as does Bob from the Post Office. I offer them strange sort of smiles, feeling all kinds of awkward from the weight of everyone staring at me.
“Come stand by me,” Angela says, and I do what I’m told, sure I’ve entered some bizarro upside down.
“Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve bought you up here…”
“Just a bit.”
“Well, let’s cut to the chase.” Her shoulders lift in an excitable little wiggle as she hands me a piece of paper.
It’s a cheque.
In my name.
For fifteen thousand pounds .
I stare at the crowd, the cheque and back again. “What is this?”
Everyone is smiling, and a couple of people have tears in their eyes, and I don’t understand anything.
“It’s for you, silly,” Nia calls out, prompting a wave of chuckles.
“I-I don’t understand.”
Angela pats my forearm, the gesture so at odds with the smug busybody who walked into my shop eight weeks ago. But if I’ve learned one thing this season, it’s that sometimes we’re not who we think we are, or who we present to the world, and maybe the same can be said about Angela too. Maybe I’ve only seen half of her story.
“I think I speak for everyone here when I say Walmsley wouldn’t be the same without Mistletoe & Mine ,” she says, to the murmured agreement around us.
“Here, here!” Bob shouts.
“Some businesses have come and gone, but your grandmother’s shop—your shop—has been a pillar of our community for nearly sixty years. It’s not just her legacy. It’s Walmsley’s too. When we heard that it might have to close, well, we couldn’t let that happen.”
“What?” I breathe out, eyes brimming with tears. One breaks free to slide down my cheek.
“We know it’s not much, but hopefully this will keep the lights on and things ticking over for a while at least. Think of it as a thank you for everything your grandmother has done for our village over the years. And before you say that you can’t accept, I think we all know it’s what Rose would’ve wanted.”
My laugh is watery and raw with emotion. I peer at the cheque again, then at the audience before me. My mouth opens but no sound comes out, no words magically appear. I blink back the tears, then let them flow free, deeply, achingly moved by the kindness and generosity of the community I call home.
I’ve been searching for my Christmas spirit, and it was right here all along.
“I don’t quite know what to say,” I choke out, though I’m not sure how. My throat is tight, and I need to sob for a good long while to loosen it.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Angela says.
“No, I do. There’s so much to say. Thank you. All of you. Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me. What this would mean to my grandmother if she was still here. Just… Merry Christmas.”
On impulse, I give Angela a hug, the breath leaving her with a rush. She looks stunned and slightly uncomfortable but smiles anyway, and everyone takes that as a cue to clap. Someone switches the music back on, halfway through the chorus of Slade’s “Merry Christmas Everybody”.
The chatter restarts, and I make my way around the church hall to thank every single person, sharing hugs and gratitude and Christmas wishes. It’s the kind of schmaltz I would’ve eye-rolled two months ago, but now I want to embrace it. No amount of words can adequately describe what I’m feeling, and as my nan used to say, sometimes a simple thank you is enough.