‘Call them knots in my woodgrain,’ he murmurs into my ear.
He’s still talking about the bruises, I know that, but it’s another reminder of the nutcracker and I stiffen in his embrace, even though thinking of bruises as temporary knots in woodgrain is a nice sentiment. ‘Is this hurting you?’
‘Absolute agony but worth every second.’ I can hear the smile in his voice and the way his arms tighten makes me smile too.
I could happily stay here and hug him for a good few hours yet, but I force myself to let go and take a step back, wondering if the half-dazed half-confused look on his face matches the one on mine.
‘Just so you know, I’ve never started my workday with a cuddle in the car park before.’
‘That’s the power of Christmas jumpers.’ I reach out and touch the furry green face of the giant Grinch head on the front of his jumper, being careful to stick to the right side of his chest.
Why can’t I take my hands off him? What is it about him that makes me want to be close? I’ve just inappropriately hugged him and now I’m rubbing his chest, and I still can’t make myself step away.
The jumper is knitted in black and has a huge face of the Grinch in the centre, made from green fur and wearing a Santa hat with a 3D bobble. ‘See? There’s a Christmas jumper out there for everyone – even you, Grinch.’
He grins at the nickname. What started off as an insult has become a term of endearment.
‘What’s with the trolley?’ He nods towards the blue metal contraption forgotten on the pavement.
‘I’m getting my tree tonight. My grandparents always used to get their tree from here. The seller collects them from a little Christmas tree farm in Scotland and drives down twice a week with a new batch straight from the farm. They have a small selection but they’re always personally chosen from the absolute top-quality stock.’ I nod towards the tiny tree lot at the end of Nutcracker Lane where a truck is backed in and the tree seller and driver are unloading netted trees.
‘Can I borrow that? I’ve got some stuff for you and that will really help with carrying it in.’
‘What stuff?’
He beckons me to follow him to the boot of his car and opens it. ‘Shelving for the shop.’
His boot is completely stacked with narrow wooden boards, and I can see a toolkit on the back seat.
‘I haven’t fulfilled my end of the bargain yet to help you improve your shop. I was thinking about it last night. Can I be brutally honest?’ He continues when I nod. ‘In the nicest way possible, it looks like a jumble sale. All the tables and rifling through baskets makes it feel like a craft fair, not the professional retail shop that customers are expecting. You don’t have enough shelf space. I was at my parents’ last night and I remembered that their garage was full of all this old pallet shelving I made when I was younger. I thought you might want it in the shop to get rid of some of those tables and display things properly … if you’ll help me put it together. My mum had to help me dismantle it to get it in the car. Furniture doesn’t exactly mix with one functioning arm.’
I reach out and run my fingers over one of the smooth wooden boards. ‘This is beautiful. These are all old delivery pallets?’
He nods.
‘And you made these into shelving?’
‘Many years ago,’ he says before I can look too impressed. ‘Three units here, more in my mum and dad’s garage. I couldn’t carry any more last night.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘You’re not supposed to be lifting anything heavy.’
His eyebrows furrow in confusion.
‘I googled broken ribs,’ I explain. ‘You’re supposed to be taking it easy. I wanted to make sure you’re looking after yourself.’
‘I can’t believe you googled broken ribs for me.’ He ducks his head and his cheeks redden, and then he looks up and mouths ‘thank you’ so quietly that no words come out. He reaches out and takes my hand and just holds it for a long minute, his thumb brushing back and forth softly across my fingers, so gentle that my breath catches in my throat and my knees start shaking. I can’t help wondering what it would be like if we didn’t let go. If we crossed this car park and walked into Nutcracker Lane hand-in-hand.
‘I’m sorry.’ James jumps and drops my hand abruptly. ‘I’m losing track of time here. What do you think?’
It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realise he’s talking about the shelving. ‘Oh! Yeah, these are amazing. I’d love them. Thanks. And you’re right, I know you are.’ I once again appreciate his honesty. Stacey and I know the shop isn’t brilliant, but neither of us have known how to fix it.
He turns around and ducks into the car to retrieve his sling from the seat and slams the door shut behind him, and I go over to pick up the folded transporter trolley. ‘I’m glad I caught you actually. I have a favour to ask. You know those nutcrackers you said the owner had a shipping container to get rid of? Could I have some more of them?’
‘Sure. As many as you want.’
‘How many does a shipping container contain?’
‘I don’t know. I’d have to check the stock records for an exact amount, but I’d guess around ten thousand.’
‘That’s brilliant!’
He laughs and quickly stops himself when he sees I’m serious. ‘You want ten thousand nutcrackers?’
‘Well, no, we should probably pace ourselves with a thousand or so to start with. Here, look.’ I stop walking and prop the trolley against my hip
