Chapter Seven
‘Coming to the tree lighting tonight?’ Crystal poked her head around the edge of the door, her bright-eyed expression matching her hopeful tone.
‘No, I …’ Hannah pointed to the pile of documents on her desk. ‘Paperwork to finish up and then prep for the weekend conference.’
‘Oh, come on.’ Crystal stepped into the office, leaving the door behind her open.
Light from the stained-glass window in reception cast a multicoloured honeycomb pattern across the timber floor.
‘It’s Friday evening. Everyone in town will be there.
You need to experience the full Yarrabee spirit if you want to call yourself a local. ’
Did Hannah want to call herself a local?
It had been ten months since she’d made the move, initially to work with people traumatised by the fires before making the decision to stay, but she still didn’t feel like she’d laid down roots.
She had the house and practice and a few acquaintances but no real friends.
‘I thought you had to be here for a full decade to qualify for that label.’
‘Well, maybe.’ Crystal pulled a lipstick from her handbag, popped it open and managed to apply it flawlessly without the use of a mirror or phone.
Truly a miraculous feat. ‘But you have to start somewhere. Plus, there’s a street market and food stalls so you can grab a bite out and not have to cook.
That will free up more time. And you get to catch some Christmas spirit while you’re at it. ’
Two very salient points. The fridge was currently bare so she’d either have to shop or grab takeaway, and maybe she could soak up some much-needed jollity.
‘Sounds good.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘I’ll see you there.’
‘Don’t forget your Santa hat!’ Crystal wriggled her fingers in a jazz-hands kind of farewell.
The hat would not be happening. But there was something about that woman’s cheeriness that was one hundred percent infectious.
Once again, Crystal was right on the money when she said the whole town would be out in force.
Both sides of the main street were lined with cars, the footpaths crowded with stalls stocking everything from crocheted dolls to homemade jam, organic honey to handcrafted pottery …
If she did have anyone to buy for, this would be the ideal opportunity.
But she and her mother and sister had ceased the present-buying travesty years ago.
Would Lenore and Nancy be into exchanging gifts?
And even if they were, what could two women in their early seventies possibly need?
It was a balmy twenty-five degrees, an ideal summer twilight temperature, perfect for a stroll and browse.
A second-hand book stall caught her eye.
Most of her reading was on Kindle these days but she did have some spare shelves to fill.
The books were in mint condition and organised into genres.
Hannah made straight for the romance section, scanning the titles.
A few copies of the Bridgerton series, which technically should be in the historical section, a couple of dog-eared rural romances and the turquoise spine of The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood, a book she’d always meant to read.
Nothing like a good enemies-to-lovers plot to get you turning the page.
She plucked it from the table and opened the cover.
Reading the first line pre-purchase was a habit she couldn’t seem to break.
‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a romance reader.’
Oh God, it was him. The gravelly tone was a dead giveaway, not to mention the way the sound of his voice immediately had her senses tingling. She snapped the book shut and tucked it under her arm, arranging her face into as neutral an expression as possible before she turned around.
‘And I wouldn’t have picked you for a stickybeak.’ Looking slightly to the left of his face meant she didn’t have to look into those bewitching eyes. All she had to do was be polite and make a quick exit.
Even without looking directly at him, it was clear he’d dressed up for the outing. Forest green checked shirt, black jeans and that Chris Hemsworth beard.
‘How’s the foot?’
Foot? What foot?
‘The leech bite.’
Oh God, did he have to mention that particular embarrassment? ‘A little itchy,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ll live.’
He laughed at the echo of his assessment at the scene of the bite. ‘Touché. And you got the tree up okay?’
She shrugged. Dragging the tree off the roof and wrangling it into the lounge room had been no mean feat but those Pilates classes had definitely paid off.
‘It was a little challenging, but I got there.’ What was it about this man that turned her voice from smooth professional to flirtatious schoolgirl?
Whatever it was needed to be boxed up and locked away, hidden in a cupboard with a sign reading FORBIDDEN, the key tossed into the middle of the ocean. ‘Is Owen in town with you?’
Cole’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he were looking for a fast exit.
‘No. He wanted to visit one of his mates so I dropped him off and said I’d pick him up in an hour.
I guess tree lighting isn’t that exciting for a fifteen-year-old boy.
’ His mouth twisted into a knot. ‘I’m trying to give him a little rope, show him I trust him, but it’s tough when I know how easily influenced he can be. ’
‘You have sole responsibility for him?’ Even with an incapacitated stepfather, it seemed like a big ask.
‘My mum has enough to deal with looking after my stepfather. He’s in a bad way. Fell off a ladder and broke both his legs. Can’t do a thing for himself. I’ve told her I’ll take care of Owen and I want to make sure I do it right.’
‘That’s very … brotherly of you. You must have a close-knit family.’
He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Well, it was just me and Mum for quite a while. She had me when she was nineteen, then met Bill when I was eleven and he’s been a great father figure to me, so I feel like I owe them.
Owen’s a good kid. He just needs to be kept on the straight and narrow.
His friend’s parents are home so I figure not much can go wrong. ’
Wow. Cole was a sharer. Not only was he sentimental, he was deluded as well. Based on Owen’s case file and his attitude, he wasn’t looking to reform any time soon. But that wasn’t her business. And neither was Cole Harrison’s personal life.
‘Well, the people you meet.’
The animated pitch of Crystal’s voice drew an inhale from deep in Hannah’s diaphragm.
‘And look at you both, impeccably matched.’
‘Matched?’
‘Your outfits.’
Hannah looked at Cole’s shirt and then down at her own emerald shift dress. ‘Oh, right.’
Crystal narrowed her eyes. Opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again, a quiet smile curving her lips.
‘I’d best be on my way. Don’t want to miss the first carol with the community choir.
We start in five minutes. Always good to have an audience so I’ll see you both there!
’ She winked and hurried away, the white pom-pom on her sequinned Santa hat bouncing against her riotous curls.
Cole waved a hand in the same direction. ‘Can I escort you to the festivities?’
Hannah could tell him she didn’t need an escort, or that she didn’t fraternise with a patient’s relatives, but both responses felt ungracious, especially considering how chivalrous he’d been over the leech bite fiasco. There was no harm in walking up the street with him, was there?
She started to move off when a voice called from behind.
‘Ah, miss? The book under your arm … you planning on paying for that?’
Her cheeks burned hot. Oh God, did the stall holder think she was shoplifting? ‘Yes, of course, sorry. I totally forgot.’ She unzipped her cross-body bag and fumbled around for her wallet.
‘My shout.’ Cole whipped a five-dollar note from his pocket and handed it to the sceptical-looking man at the back of the trestle tables.
The bookseller whistled through the gap in his front teeth. ‘Enjoy that.’ He winked. ‘According to my wife, it’s nice and spicy.’
Could the ground please open up right now and swallow her whole? She tucked the book under her arm, out of sight, mumbled a thanks and kept her eyes on her sandshoed feet all the way down the street.
And still the very proximity of the man walking beside her was enough to keep her blood cells crashing around in her veins like out-of-control dodgem cars.
Every man, woman and child in Yarrabee was apparently at the lighting, covering every patch of grass in the park, some seated, some standing, kids running and squealing, adults milling around and chatting.
It had the vibe of a vineyard music festival, minus the alcohol.
A giant of a tree presided over the gathering, festooned with ropes of gold tinsel, its branches laden with giant red baubles, a glittering star gracing its crown.
Even a Christmas curmudgeon couldn’t help but admire its beauty. ‘Is that one of yours?’
Cole leaned down, hand to his ear, and an earthy scent—cedar and leather and musk—drowned her senses. She exhaled it away and repeated her question.
‘Sure is. Bill chooses a special tree for the town each year and nurtures it like a baby. Donates it for the lighting. It’s become a tradition, for him and the town.’
It had been so long since she’d been part of any kind of Christmas tradition, private or public, being here felt like landing on a planet on the far side of the universe.
Local Councillor Kelly Clements, wearing gold sequins and a set of reindeer ears, stepped onto a podium beside the tree and the crowd fell quiet.
The woman certainly knew how to command an audience.
Despite her toughas-nails reputation, she’d done a brilliant job supporting her foster kids and that role was definitely not one she did for show.
People could be so multi-layered, so complex—that had been one of the things that had drawn Hannah to psychology.
That, and her own family’s complete inability to deal with grief.
Helping others do better had been her driving motivation.
It had been too late to salvage anything much for herself but if she could help others manage their emotions, in all sorts of circumstances, her father’s life would not be wasted.
Her gut twisted, the acidic taste of bile scorching her throat.
A sudden burst of voices drew her back to the here and now.
The choir had launched into a hearty rendition of ‘Joy to the World’.
A couple of dozen men and women singing their hearts out, faces beaming with the very thing they were celebrating in the music.
People in the crowd joined in, moving in time to the rhythm as if holding steins of lager and listening to an oompah band in a German brauhaus.
Crystal stood loud and proud in the middle of the group of choristers, a broad smile lighting her face.
This was what it was to be part of a community, to revel in the spirit of the season.
Wonderful. And yet the protective shell lining the inside of Hannah’s skin hardened.
If she let it crack, let even a sliver of Yuletide cheer seep into her bones, the past could all come flooding back.
And that was not a process she wanted to risk.
Dusk had deepened into the soft grey of night.
People held their phones aloft, torches on, as the choir began ‘Silent Night’.
Beside her, Cole stood tall, chin raised, as he sang along, stumbling on the words every now and then, without any sign of embarrassment.
He was an enigma of a man: burly and masculine but also kind and sensitive.
Reserved and unassuming, but with an edge of boyish cheekiness.
The perfect mix for anyone in the market for a partner. Almost too perfect.
The next carol began with a harmonised hum. Hannah’s blood froze as the images steamrolled through her mind and body.
His bright-eyed laugh; her mother directing the placement of the ornaments; Maddie shrinking at the sight of the antique, battery-operated Santa with his fiery red eyes, swinging his bell as he rotated a circle.
And all while this song played in the background.
Hannah clenched her teeth, nipping the tip of her tongue and swallowing the rusty taste the bite elicited.
‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’. Her father’s favourite.
Top of his Christmas playlist. She should have been prepared for this from the get-go.
Should have known as soon as Crystal mentioned the choir that this was a possibility. Should never have come.
A rush of heat thundered through her temples. She had to leave. Now.
Clutching her bag to her chest, she mumbled a goodbye to Cole.
Her breaths were coming thick and fast as she pushed her way through the revellers.
She didn’t bother looking around when he called her name.
Head down, she rushed along the now deserted street, past the stall holders packing away their wares, headed for the safety of home.