Chapter Fourteen
The Fox Bay Winter Wonderland had always been the most lavish of the town’s many traditions, but this year, with the influx of tourists, it seemed like the event committee had really outdone itself.
The whole square was strung with fairy lights, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon from the mulled wine and frying dough.
The fair was also full of Ivy’s own personal ghosts. Everywhere she looked she saw people she knew from childhood, bundled up in scarves and woolly jumpers; there were plenty of strangers too, watching in wide-eyed wonder at the perfect, real-life postcard unfolding before them.
The choir was clustered beneath the bandstand, warbling their way through a slightly off-key version of Winter Wonderland.
A local author, who Ivy vaguely recognised as Serena Woods, who wrote racy romance novels, was signing books next to the mulled wine stall.
She must be the year’s designated celebrity, Ivy thought.
Ivy could see Josie holding forth to Simi with lots of hand gestures, while Fin did a roaring trade in sausage rolls and hand-printed cards featuring The Mariner’s Arms with a wreath above its door.
Mr Hargreaves was talking animatedly to a group of tourists, handing out fliers for the show.
Bethie and Liv twirled by the tree in their bobble hats, while Ivy’s mother darted here and there – handing out change, picking up a brush to help with the face painting, chatting to old friends.
Ivy watched her mother affectionately. How had the ultimate joiner, who believed passionately in community spirit, who never let a local cause go unchampioned, managed to produce such a loner as herself?
‘This is incredible,’ Trip said, as he took it all in. ‘It’s like a Hallmark movie exploded. In the best way.’
‘You haven’t even tried my hot spiced cider yet,’ Lou said, holding out a tray of little white cups, steaming in the cold air. She looked a little tired, Ivy thought. She hoped all the tourists weren’t too much for her.
Trip took a cautious sip and then nodded appreciatively. ‘Dangerously good,’ he told Lou, who beamed. ‘Hey, look Ivy – it’s the guys.’
Ivy followed his gaze to where Mei, Erin and Callum were standing under a lamp post sipping hot chocolate and eating marshmallows, chatting and laughing. Ivy followed Trip over, wondering when her sort-of-schoolfriends had become ‘the guys’.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Ivy!’ cried Erin, enveloping her in a hug. She looked adorable, with fluffy earmuffs over her perfectly tousled hair. ‘Good to see you. We weren’t sure you were coming. You didn’t reply to any messages.’
‘I thought I might have to work,’ said Ivy. ‘But Trip persuaded me out.’
‘Did he now?’ said Erin, eyeing Trip speculatively.
‘She can’t spend all night in the school art room,’ said Trip. ‘Shall we look around?’
They wandered between stalls, Ivy pointing out the best fudge and home-made cake – all the old favourites she remembered, as well as some new entrepreneurs.
It was busier than normal, but it was still full of the usual Fox Bay quirks.
Some of these stalls had been here since she was little – the one with the misshapen knitted jumpers, the one that sold Norwegian-style felt gnomes, the one that – for some inexplicable reason – sold portraits of pop singers painted on rocks.
Ivy bought a rock with Taylor Swift’s face on it for Liv and continued on.
Everywhere she walked, someone came over to say hello.
Fin asked her to help him wrap a seascape he had sold, Simi asked how the coursework was going, Tamsin offered her a free tarot reading and Old Bill called her over to decide the gingerbread-house competition vote.
Kids she had known as babies were running around, giddy with the party atmosphere.
In a quiet moment, as the others browsed, Ivy felt her fingers groping for her little sketchbook.
She pulled it out and, in the lamplight, began dashing off small vignettes – Bethie with her face smeared with chocolate, the serious faces of the judges at the gingerbread-house contest. A dog looking longingly at a kebab rotating temptingly out of reach.
Someone jostled her and spilled hot chocolate on one page, apologising profusely.
Dabbing it off, Ivy couldn’t help smiling.
The impressionists had left sand on their paintings after all; surely a hot chocolate stain conveyed the sticky, imperfect charm of the night.
As the evening wore on, Ivy found herself laughing more than she expected, relaxing in the comfort of knowing nearly everyone; the familiar glow of Fox Bay now gaudily dressed in tinsel. And Trip, as ever, was an excellently appreciative audience.
‘It’s just so nice,’ he kept repeating, looking around, dazed and happy. ‘I love it.’
‘You love everything,’ Ivy told him, but she couldn’t help smiling back.
‘Hey, guys,’ came a familiar voice and they turned to see Brooke, wearing a jumper with the words ‘Yule Be Back’ shakily embroidered on it. ‘I just got this. What do you think?’ She twirled. ‘Shall I wear it to work?’
‘Absolutely,’ Trip said, slinging an arm round his sister’s shoulders. ‘Isn’t this amazing? It’s just like a Winter Wonderland should be.’
‘I knew you’d love it,’ she told him. She looked cheerful and relaxed, and Ivy remembered that Brooke loved Hallmark movies. ‘Glad you made it after all, Ivy,’ she added. ‘Embracing tradition. I had you down as a Scrooge.’
‘Actually, I used to love Fox Bay’s weird events,’ Ivy retorted. It was true. The thrill of marching in the Easter Bonnet Parade with her handmade creation on her head, the excitement of the summer pie-eating competition, the Valentine’s postbox in Wildest Dreams. ‘It just seems a bit silly now.’
Both siblings gave a gasp and turned to her, eyes wide.
‘Tradition seems silly?’ said Trip, staring at her.
‘Well, yeah … It’s all just a bit … over-the-top and – and unnecessary,’ Ivy finished lamely. That line sounded good in her head but faced with Trip and Brooke’s astonished expressions she began to wonder if she was Scrooge.
‘I love holidays,’ declared Brooke. ‘Always have.’
‘Our gran always made a big thing of them,’ Trip said wistfully.
‘Our parents would be busy working, so we’d go to hers.
For Christmas dinner, we didn’t have anything boring like turkey.
She’d invite all her friends and they’d all bring a dish.
Thai, Persian, Mexican … we had all the cuisines.
And at Easter, she’d leave a trail of chocolate eggs from our door all the way through to the backyard where she’d hidden our treats.
We had to work for them, she said.’ He sighed. ‘It was great.’
‘That sounds nice,’ admitted Ivy. ‘But you know, you were kids. We’re older now.’
‘So?’ said Trip, looking bewildered.
‘So …’ Ivy trailed off. Suddenly she wasn’t sure exactly what her point was.
Brooke shook her head at her sadly. ‘Ivy, as you may have guessed, I’m a realist,’ she said. ‘I don’t like kittens or babies or bubble bath or anything remotely whimsical—’
‘Unless it’s within the pages of a Kathleen Lee novel,’ teased Trip, and Brooke glared at him.
‘But come on, Ivy,’ Brooke went on, ‘this time of year is great. This …’ she extended her arms to take in the fair, ‘this is great.’
Ivy looked around the fair, the chattering, bustling crowd of people she had known her whole life, all wearing bobble hats and eating mince pies.
It was kind of great, she thought. Maybe she had been too close to it to see it properly.
And now, through the excited gaze of these newcomers, she was seeing it for what it was: one of Fox Bay’s entirely unnecessary and yet brilliant traditions.
A microphone squawked and the crowd began to gather round the darkened tree. Ivy could just make out the usual lopsided tinsel star on the top, now almost bald.
‘Time for the countdown, everyone!’ Simi called into the mic. ‘Everyone, please welcome Serena Woods!’ There was a smattering of applause as people assembled. ‘Serena, can I ask you to do the honours?’
Preening, amber beads jangling, Serena Woods took to the little stage and made one of her speeches about how much she loved this sweet town and how delightful it was to be back and that she had copies of her latest book, Desert Heat, for sale at her stall.
Then she called, ‘Fox Bay, are you ready to welcome the holiday season? Then let’s get this tree lit! ’
There was a cheer and Selena cleared her throat dramatically. ‘Ten …’
Like everyone else, Trip and Ivy turned towards the wonky tree, shoulder to shoulder in the crowd.
Around them, people cheered and raised their phones to capture the moment, cups of hot spiced cider sloshing alarmingly.
Ivy and Trip were close, enough that Ivy caught the warmth of him, along with the faint clean scent of his shampoo.
‘Eight!’
Ivy watched Trip, watching the tree. His grin was wide, and his face had that same awed expression she had seen a thousand times since he had arrived in Fox Bay, as though each of these mundane moments was something incredibly special.
The light caught his cheekbones and his eyes were warm.
He really was handsome, Ivy thought, startled by the revelation.
It had crept up on her. He was so doggedly cheerful, so entirely un-brooding and unlike a tragic artist in every way, that she had somehow missed the full force of it.
But now, she understood what everyone had been making such a fuss about.
‘Seven!’
She tore her gaze away from Trip’s cheekbones and tried to focus on the lights.
‘Six!’
Tried not to notice how the crisp night air had flushed his cheeks, or how his chestnut hair was curling slightly beneath his beanie.
‘Five!’
Or how his eyes were especially caramel-brown in the light.
‘Four!’
When Ivy darted another surreptitious glance, she found that Trip was looking right back at her. ‘Hey,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Hey,’ she whispered.
‘You’ve got something on your cheek,’ he said quietly, reaching out and gently brushing the side of her face with his thumb. ‘I think it’s icing sugar from all that gingerbread.’
‘Three!’
As Trip’s thumb brushed her cheek, Ivy froze. His touch was light, but her cheek burned. She wasn’t used to being looked at like that, so serious and intent.
‘Two!’
‘Any second now,’ said Trip. But he wasn’t looking at the tree. He was still looking at her. He had taken his hand away, but her cheek tingled from his touch.
‘One!’
The square exploded into light. The crowd whooped and cheered, music burst from crackly speakers, but Ivy barely heard any of it.
In that moment, it was as if the entire square blurred into nothing.
She was only aware of the lights and the steady thud of her heart in her ears.
Trip was gazing at her, with those warm brown eyes, and everything else had fallen away.
‘Well,’ she said at last. Her voice came out as a croak and she cleared her throat. Her heart was knocking against her ribs. ‘That was the famous Fox Bay Winter Wonderland light show. All ten seconds of it. Was it all you imagined?’
‘It really was,’ he said.
Neither of them moved and neither looked away.
And then, ‘There you are! I lost you in the crowd. Cute, wasn’t it?’
The spell was broken. Ivy looked away quickly, her cheeks hot.
It was Brooke. She was clearly well into her second cup of cider and, along with her jumper, she was now also wearing a reindeer-antler hairband that was slightly askew.
She looked happy and relaxed as she approached, but then her expression changed.
Her eyes darted quickly from Ivy to Trip and back again.
‘Really cute,’ said Trip easily.
‘Properly Hallmark,’ Brooke went on, her gaze still flickering between the two of them. ‘Everything I hoped for and more. I was a bit worried the tree might fall over but Simi told me it’s always at an extreme angle like that.’
‘It’s rustic,’ said Trip. He sounded entirely casual – as though that loaded moment between him and Ivy hadn’t happened.
Maybe, Ivy thought confusedly, it hadn’t, except in her own fevered imagination.
Maybe she had hallucinated a romantic moment with her employer’s over-enthusiastic guest. Trip was nice to everyone – she wasn’t special.
But had she imagined the serious expression in his dark eyes, his hand on her cheek?
‘Well, I think the show’s over,’ said Brooke briskly. She tugged off the antlers. ‘Should we be getting back, do you think?’
Ivy noticed that the crowd had indeed thinned and the stallholders were packing up. Families were beginning to head home, although Bethie and Liv were still doggedly selling show tickets to strangers.
Ivy’s mum saw her, waved and called, ‘Come on, love! I need your help persuading this one into bed.’
‘Coming!’ Ivy said.
‘At this rate, they’re going to sell out the whole town hall,’ she added to Trip and Brooke.
‘True. In fact, I think we should consider extra seating,’ said Mr Hargreaves, hurrying past, bobble hat bouncing jauntily. ‘The sales have been through the roof. Perhaps we could also offer a video recording, Trip, for a fee – what do you think? Bring in some extra funds?’
‘Sure thing, Mr H,’ Trip called after him. ‘I’ll get Cal to look into it.’
‘I’d better go with Mum,’ Ivy said. ‘Night, guys. See you in the morning.’
Ivy caught Trip’s eye and smiled. ‘Bye,’ she said and Brooke gave her a little wave.
Ivy hurried off after Liv and her mother; Liv was still enthusiastically waving fliers at anyone they passed and her mum was busily chatting about plans for the next event in Fox Bay’s social calendar – a winter beach barbecue with live music.
Ivy listened to their chatter, smiling at their excitement – but all she could think about was Trip and that moment by the tree.
She could feel the touch of his hand on her cheek all the way home.