‘Linger much?’ Stacey says.
‘Do you think so?’ I feel myself flittering at the prospect.
‘I don’t know, but I can’t remember the last time you sounded that hopeful about anything.’ She leans across me and runs her finger down one glittery edge of a poinsettia leaf. ‘He seems really nice, Nee. And he’s definitely gorgeous enough to be a magical prince. And he’s clearly only got eyes for you, which is more than can be said for any of your last five relationships.’
‘It’s not like that. He’s just a friend. I might even be pushing it to call him that. I’ve only known him since Monday and he hates Christmas. It’s a fundamental part of my life. We’re never going to get on.’
‘If he’d have lingered any harder, he’d have started singing that song by The Cranberries.’
I burst out laughing at exactly the moment the Santa outside James’s shop bursts into life and starts Macarena-ing, and Stacey lets out a loud groan. ‘Couldn’t you have knocked that over instead of a giant nutcracker? It needs putting out of its misery.’
Within five minutes, as I’m leaning over the till trying to fix a jammed receipt roll, Stacey elbows me sharply and I look up to see James standing there again, thankfully without the Bag Of Shame this time. He slides another cardboard tray of three takeaway cups onto the counter in front of me and takes one out for himself.
‘What are you doing?’ I physically can not stop smiling at the cheeky glint in his eyes.
‘Peppermint-cinnamon hot chocolates. I figured the coffee was enough caffeine for one five-minute period.’
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘Trying to pull it back from my first failed assignment.’ He grins. ‘I’ve gotta go, I left my shop unattended.’
Instead of going, he puts his cup on the counter, reaches across the till and blindly moves a bit of plastic inside and the till roll I’ve been struggling with for ten minutes slots instantly into place.
‘Brilliant. You’re more capable with one hand than I am with two,’ I mutter. ‘Thanks, James. And for the hot chocolate.’
‘You’re welcome!’ He salutes us both with his cup and hurries back across the lane.
‘You passed with merit!’ Stacey calls after him as she takes a hot chocolate out of the cardboard holder. She takes a sip and sighs with happiness, and then elbows me excitedly, ensuring I spill hot chocolate all over my hand as I pick up my cup. ‘Wow. I love a guy who brings me coffee, but I love a guy who brings me hot chocolate. He is seriously a keeper, Nee. That’s like the sweetest thing ever. Who does that?’
‘Him, apparently.’ I’m lost in a daydream as I look across the road to the open door of his shop. ‘He does that.’
‘And you are, like, a hundred per cent sure he’s not a nutcracker come to life? I mean, a prince who was defeated by the mouse king and cursed to spend eternity as a wooden soldier … He’s definitely handsome enough to be a prince. And this hot chocolate is delicious enough to suggest some sort of magic in its origin.’ She elbows me again before I manage to get the cup up to my mouth and take a sip. ‘Coffee, flowers, and chocolate. What the hell did you two get up to last night?’
‘Nothing!’
‘Well, I’m going to set my watch and time how long it takes him to find another excuse to come back. He can’t keep away.’
‘He came back once. With hot chocolates. If you’re complaining, I’m sure he won’t do it again.’
‘It took him half an hour to leave in the first place. And he was losing trade all the time he was in here because his shop was shut.’ She shakes her short hair back and sips from her cup again. ‘And he must’ve seen your nutcracker army last night and he doesn’t think you’re a weirdo. Re-sult.’
‘Thanks, Stace,’ I say, even though I’m pretty sure he liked them. Quite a lot.
***
‘Excuse me?’ An elderly woman with grey curly hair and a crocheted shawl around her shoulders appears in the doorway while Stacey’s at the counter and I’m on my side of the window display, pulling out the dark green fabric that made up the background so we can start implementing some of James’s suggestions. ‘I’ve just bought this over there …’ She holds out a boxed snowglobe containing a mountain scene with miniature polar bears walking around it and gestures towards Twinkles and Trinkets. ‘I wanted it gift-wrapped, but that poor chap with the broken arm couldn’t manage it. He sent me over here and said he’d settle up with you later?’
‘The nerve of—’ Stacey splutters.
‘Of course, no problem. Come on in,’ I say instantly.
Stacey makes a noise of confusion, but I direct the woman to our gift-wrapping station at the back of the shop without hesitation. James is standing in his doorway looking a bit helpless, and I give him a thumbs up to let him know it’s no problem. I would gift-wrap ten snowglobes on his behalf just to see the relieved smile he gives me. What am I thinking doing a thumbs up? No one does that beyond the age of five, do they? I should’ve popped over and given him a Chinese burn to really show my maturity.
I can feel Stacey’s eyes burning into me as I follow the woman to the table at the back that contains three rolls of different wrapping paper, some spools of ribbon, and a selection of bows. I’m not the neatest at wrapping things, but you can’t run a Christmas shop without offering some form of wrapping service, even if Stacey’s having none of it. At least the snowglobe is boxed so it’s relatively easy to wrap and she tells me about her grandson who collects them and how she comes to
