Chloe shook her head, still wrapping her brain around Archer’s big reveal. “But how did she come up with it?”
“It’s her maiden name.”
“Ooohhh. Well, that make sense then.”
“And, apparently, she’d wanted to call me Archer when I was born, but my dad thought it was a terrible name for a baby, so I was named Alan after his dad.”
“Hmm, he does have a point. Archer’s a heavy moniker to give an infant. It sits rather perfectly on you, though.” She met his eyes and didn’t flinch as he stared back into hers.
I am going to have my way with you, you beautiful man, she thought. Just then, Mrs D, retired schoolteacher, arrived with the drinks then bustled away to greet a family of four who’d just arrived, wet and harried looking.
“It’s awfully good of you, stepping in like this—with the fair, I mean,” said Archer. “It’s your holiday after all.”
Chloe shrugged. “Honestly and, I promise I am not playing the martyr here, it’s fine. Your mother seems to have everything organised, so I’ll just be like a conductor of a symphony, you know, keeping everything to time. They probably don’t even need me, but I’m happy to help. Besides, I’m a total Christmas freak.”
“Oh, really?” He seemed amused.
“I am. I am a bona fide, diehard fan of Christmas. And as a bona fide diehard fan of Christmas …” She affected a melodramatic voice and a terrible British accent and, with one hand on her chest, one held aloft, asked, “How could I leave the fate of the fete in anyone else’s hands? How, I ask you?”
She dropped her hands and gave Archer a self-satisfied smile.
“Impressive.”
“Yes.”
“Have you had training?”
“Self-taught.” She sipped her wine.
“Hmm. I would never have known if you hadn’t said.”
“It’s a talent too powerful to share, you see. The world is not ready for Chloe Sims, act-tor.”
“No, I imagine not. So, Chloe Sims, act-tor, tell me, as a diehard fan of Christmas, do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”
She nodded as though in deep contemplation. “Yes, yes, that is a question for the ages.”
He nodded along, stroking his chin, stifling a grin which seemed to break free of its own volition. “You’re quite funny,” he said, his voice tinged with admiration.
“Me? Oh, I’m frigging hilarious.” She flashed him a huge grin. “And yes, of course Die Hard is a Christmas movie.”
It was about halfway through her glass of wine—a typical British pub pour of about a third of a bottle—that Chloe forgot that Archer was one of the most famous people on the planet.
He was just a very funny, sweet, charming guy who she had an enormous crush on. He was also staying with his parents, so if she was going to have her way with him, she’d have to figure out some logistics. Fortunately, logistics were just her thing.
*
The Christmas Fair was in full swing and it was incredible.
Admittedly, when Lucy had first mentioned it back in July, Chloe hadn’t imagined this. She’d thought of twenty people showing up at the church hall for tepid tea and carols around an out-of-tune piano, like something out of The Vicar of Dibley.
This was entirely different.
The committee had appropriated the empty field across from the church and it was brimming with small marquees, all in neat rows and each decorated to the hilt by the vendors. And although they had put their own flair into the decorations, they’d all adhered to the instructions—traditional Christmas decorations only.
No tacky tinsel, no plastic Santas or Rudolphs. Instead, burgundy velvet bows and forest green garlands prevailed, and thousands of fairy lights brightened the grey, but dry, day. Chloe wondered if there were any Christmas decorations left in all of England.
She had been onsite, as requested, at 4:30am, impervious to the hour because her body clock had no idea what time it was. Cecily had nodded at her curtly, then handed over a travel cup brimming with strong, milky tea, a small torch, and a clipboard.
As Chloe had learnt in the meeting the day before, her main task was to help supervise the set-up. First, there was the installation of proper event lighting, which made the rest of the set-up possible in the dead of night, and then the assembly of the stalls.
She’d sipped her tea with gratitude. It was cold outside and with the jet lag, she had been feeling more than a little out of it. The tea had helped. While she sipped, she’d squinted at the plan on the clipboard, impressed with how detailed it was, then lifted her head to survey the field.
Even in the dim light, which emitted from some of the surrounding houses, it had been easy to envision what was planned and the fair had started to unfold in her mind’s eye. She’d experienced this kind of vision dozens of times before, and it was one of the traits that had had her rising through the event management ranks faster than most. That and her freakish organisation skills and excellent comms.
As the lighting technicians had arrived and got to work and as the marquees were delivered and assembled, she’d switched seamlessly into work mode, directing the team of workers just as she’d described to Archer in the pub, like the conductor of a symphony.
Hours after her early morning start, Chloe surveyed the cheerful crowd milling about—some, she’d been told, had come from as far away as Oxford.
They sipped mulled wine as they listened to the choir sing carols, jumping from foot to foot to keep warm. They pored over unique gifts at the artisan stalls and munched on roasted chestnuts and chocolate truffles. There was even a stall selling Christmas pudding cupcakes. Chloe had indulged in one for a late breakfast and it was so frigging good. Not surprisingly, the children seemed to be having the most fun, running between the stalls laughing, hopped up on sugar and their faces painted like Christmas elves
