Chapter Twelve
Lara was en route to the grotto when she spotted Flynn striding off as she delivered some water and a mince pie to Santa.
She’d recognised a number of people from the village around the grounds and also recognised one of the women queuing as Molly, the waitress from the Waterwheel Café.
She had a baby in a buggy and was chatting to an older woman with cropped grey hair who, Lara presumed, was probably a grandmother, auntie or older friend.
Santa’s Chief Elf – normally one of the office admins – asked the visitors near the front to wait a short while in the small entrance tent, which was decorated with LED figures of elves and woodland creatures.
After checking that Santa was surviving, she headed out of the tent via a side flap and through a gap between the walls and a line of Christmas trees that was out of bounds to the public.
It was possibly the only place on site where she could remain unseen while she sipped her own bottle of water and had a few minutes’ breather.
The evening was going better than she could have imagined and the reactions from visitors had brought happy tears to her eyes more than a few times.
The superstitious worries that had nagged at her could be safely put down to lack of sleep and stress.
While she sipped her water and thought about how much she’d like to hide in her nook for the rest of the evening, she heard Molly and her companion talking as they waited to be admitted to the grotto.
‘Do you know that tall man you were talking to, Molly?’ the older woman asked. ‘He’s one of the workers, isn’t he?’
‘Must be,’ Molly said. ‘He came in the café the other day.’
‘He’s handsome.’
‘He’s old.’
‘Old?’ Nan spluttered. ‘What? He can’t be forty yet. Probably nearer thirty-five.’
‘Like I said, he’s old,’ Molly replied, then added mischievously. ‘Still too young for you, Nan.’
From her hidden position, Lara stifled a chuckle.
‘Of course he’s too old for you, but I’m still allowed to say that he’s a good-looking man!’
‘Nan! You can’t say things like that. Not now you’re a great grandma.’
‘I just did, Molly. I didn’t lose my ability to give my opinions when you gave birth to Esme. And, you know, I think I’ve seen him somewhere before.’
Molly snorted and Lara pictured her pulling a face. ‘Probably in one of those old-fashioned dramas you like watching. The ones where all the women are downtrodden and work in factories.’
‘If you mean Catherine Cookson, then you could learn a lot from watching them. Thank your lucky stars you live now, not back then.’
Lara pictured Molly rolling her eyes.
‘And he’s handsome enough to be in one of them, but no, I haven’t seen him on the telly. Those programmes were made forty years ago and I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere more recently.’
‘Have you?’ Molly asked, but their attention was drawn by the Chief Elf, who was approaching them.
‘Who do we have here?’ the elf asked them.
‘This is Esme. She’s nine months old,’ Molly said.
‘Hello, Esme. Are you ready to meet Santa?’
Judging by the wail that emerged from Esme when she was lifted out of the comfort of her buggy, Lara guessed the answer was a resounding ‘no’. Molly and her nan were still trying to persuade Esme that seeing Santa would be wonderful as they vanished inside the grotto.
Chuckling to herself, Lara slipped out from behind the trees and looped back to the main light trail.
She’d found it hilarious that Flynn was considered good-looking and costume-drama hero material by a great-granny.
She wondered if she should tell him, just to see his reaction, and decided that she definitely wouldn’t.
It might lead to him thinking she thought he was good-looking.
Then again, he’d probably worked that out already.