Chloe’s Cornish Christmas (The Blossomwood Bay #7)

Chapter Six

‘Sorry, I seem to have got carried away.’

‘Just a little,’ said Nick, his eyes now filled with amusement.

‘I still think diversification could be the answer, though. It probably won’t make millions, but it might bring in enough to hire some professional help during the quiet months while your aunt goes off travelling. It’s a win-win, don’t you think? You could try out a few ideas while you’re down here. Some might not work, but others might , and you can present your findings to your aunt when she gets back from Sydney, and she can take it from there.’

Nick laughed. ‘Let me get this right. You’re suggesting that I run cider-tasting classes? Don’t get me wrong, I love a pint of cider as much as the next person, but classes ? With fee-paying customers? I wouldn’t know where to start!’

‘I can help you, if you like,’ Chloe gushed, enthusiasm overtaking common sense. ‘If it’s anything like gin-tasting, it’s not that difficult once you’ve done the research. It can be lots of fun, too, even more so as the night progresses and your guests start to relax. The best thing is that you get to meet a bunch of new people, and there’s always the opportunity to make a few sales at the end of the session, which boosts the bottom line.’

‘I don’t know, Chloe…’

‘What else do you have planned while you’re here?’

‘Well, I have a couple of reports to write.’

‘And?’

‘A few video conferences to attend.’

‘I thought you were on a sabbatical?’

‘I am, but I need to keep up with what’s going on.’

‘You didn’t say what industry you’re in.’

‘Well, I can tell you that it’s not even remotely connected to cider-tasting!’ Nick laughed, his eyes twinkling. ‘Anyway, I thought you said you were leaving as soon as Joe fixes your car? If all it needs is a tune up, he’ll have it finished by tomorrow, or the end of the week at the latest. That’s not enough time to organise The Great Perrinsby Cider-Tasting Extravaganza.’

‘Fabulous title! Now you’re getting into the spirit of things.’ Chloe paused, her thoughts finally calming from sprint to stroll, allowing her to call to mind what was in her diary. ‘I could stay longer – if that’s okay with you, that is – and don’t you think it would be a fitting way to thank your aunt for all those summers of fun she and your uncle facilitated when you were young?’

‘Okay, okay, I’ll think about it.’ Nick sighed as he placed his empty glass on his uncle’s desk before meeting her eyes. ‘Come on, let’s head over to the village to see what Joe says about your car, then we’ll grab some lunch at the Dog neatly mowed lawn, carefully tended flowerbeds, window boxes filled with Christmas foliage underneath the shuttered windows. She jumped from her seat, waited for Nick to unfasten Mitzy, and had taken a few paces towards the row of shops to her left when, to her surprise, she noticed her Renault was parked on the driveway of the cottage.

A few more steps brought her to a large double garage that was partly concealed behind a row of leylandii trees, its wooden doors – also painted yellow – thrown wide open, and light blazing from inside where she could see an old-style ivory Jaguar with its bonnet up and a pair of overall-bedecked legs poking out from underneath it.

‘Is that Joe?’

‘Yes, it must be.’

‘And this is his workshop?’

‘My aunt told me that he mainly works on restoring classic cars these days. He’s obviously busy with the wedding car, so I think it might be best if we don’t disturb him.’ Nick glanced at his watch. ‘It’s too early for lunch, though. How about we head over to the bookshop for a browse?’

‘Oh, yes please.’

They left the Range Rover parked outside Joe’s cottage and with Mitzy trotting happily beside them, they strolled across the village green – with Chloe pausing for a moment to take a photo of the magnificent Christmas tree – then on past the Post Office until they came to a halt in front of the Bookworm Boutique. The display in the wide bay window was eye-catching, a kaleidoscope of books of all genres, and when Chloe looked closer she saw that they all featured the word “Christmas” in their titles.

‘Hey, guys, it’s warmer inside, you know,’ came a cheery voice from behind them. ‘Why don’t you come in? The coffee’s good, there’s homemade cookies, too, and afterwards you can browse the shelves to your heart’s content. Oh, I’m Hannah Barlow, by the way, and this is my bookshop. Well, it’s actually my mum’s bookshop, but I’m in charge of marketing and publicity, as well as the window design, which we change every two weeks. What do you think of our Christmas display?’

‘It’s absolutely wonderful. So festive and colourful,’ said Chloe, her lips twitching when she saw Nick roll his eyes at her enthusiasm. ‘I love a good Christmas read! What about you, Nick? Have you read A Christmas Carol , or is How the Grinch Stole Christmas more your thing?’

Nick laughed. ‘Coffee and cookies are more my thing!’

‘Then come on in!’ said Hannah, waving them inside.

As Chloe stepped over the threshold and inhaled that special aroma all bookshops seemed to exude – along with a waft of Christmas spices – she exhaled a sigh of contentment, and her whole body seemed to relax. Blossomwood Bay didn’t have a bookshop, and it was one of the things she had missed most after leaving London. She had often spent an afternoon perusing the shelves of a quaint little place round the corner from where she lived, adding several must-reads to her already tottering Tbr pile.

As she scanned the neatly organised bookshelves, she noticed with delight that they didn’t just contain books but also little hand-illustrated cards with recommendations written in rhyme, and props such as musical instruments in the music section, soft toys in the children’s section, cardboard daggers and magnifying glasses in the crime section, and red and pink foil-covered hearts in the romance section. It was clear that the owner of this particular bibliographic treasure trove was passionate about literature in all its guises.

‘Okay, give me a minute and I’ll get your coffees.’

Hannah scooted round to the back of a wooden counter where she removed her purple poodle-esque coat and hung it on an old-fashioned coat stand to reveal her own take on the festive Christmas jumper; a vibrant orange affair featuring a pile of books topped with a Santa Claus hat. After securing her long blonde hair into a high ponytail, she fired up the coffee machine, the charms on her bracelet – unsurprisingly featuring a collection of individual silver books – clanking against the china cups and saucers.

‘Would you like a cookie?’ Hannah pointed to the four plates, three of which were covered with large glass domes, that were lined up on the countertop. ‘You get one free with every coffee.’

‘Mmm,’ said Nick, peering into the first dome. ‘I’ll try one of these, please.’

‘Good choice.’ Hannah removed a large round cookie, dotted with what looked like chunks of white chocolate, from the dome and placed it on a plate on the counter in front of Nick. ‘And you?’ she asked, turning to Chloe.

She cast her eyes along the line and chose one with green flecks.

‘Did you make these yourself?’

‘No, no, all our Christmas cookies are made by Fran who owns the shop next door.’

‘Oh, I thought the shop next door was a hair salon.’

Hannah smiled. ‘That’s right.’

When Hannah turned her back to grab a couple of napkins, Chloe exchanged a confused glance with Nick who simply shrugged, collected his coffee and cookie, and with Mitzy at his heels, headed to one of several wooden tables scattered around the bookshop, this one painted in a peppermint green colour with matching patchwork chair cushions.

‘Thanks, Hannah, this coffee looks lovely. I’m Chloe, by the way.’

‘Lovely to meet you, Chloe! And you’re welcome.’

Chloe took a seat next to Nick and sipped her cappuccino

‘Mm, this is delicious. I… What’s wrong?’

Nick’s face had frozen into an expression of horror, his eyes wide, his lips pulled back into a grimace. She saw him cast a quick glance over his shoulder to where Hannah was humming along to a Mariah Carey track while unpacking a box of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot’s Christmas , before vigorously wafting his hand in front of his mouth.

‘Oh my God, the cookie!’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s… it’s not white chocolate chip!’

‘What is it?’

‘I think it’s… horseradish .’

‘Horseradish?’

‘Yes. I’m glad I didn’t give any to Mitzy! Which one have you chosen?’

Chloe scrutinised her cookie. ‘I don’t know, there wasn’t a label.’

‘Go on then, taste it,’ said Nick, dimples appearing in his cheeks now that the unexpected assault on his mouth had faded. ‘I dare you.’

‘Okay.’

She picked up her biscuit and took the tiniest of nibbles.

‘Well?’

Chloe laughed. ‘I could be wrong, but think it’s—’

‘Hi, guys, sorry to barge in on you.’ Hannah placed a bowl of water in front of Mitzy, scooted into the chair next to Chloe, and placed a brightly coloured leaflet in front of her and Nick. ‘I don’t know how long you’re staying in Perrinsby, but I just wanted to give you a couple of flyers. This one’s got all the information about what’s going on here at the bookshop this month. I thought you might like to join us for one of the activities. For instance, will you be around on Thursday night?’

‘Yes, actually. We’re staying over at Fairholme Farm. Chloe’s here for a few days, but I’ll be here until the new year. I’m Nick Harper. Ruth Marston is my aunt.’

‘Oh, yes, I heard her telling my mum that her nephew was coming down from Guildford to look after the place while she was away. It’s great to meet you, Nick. So that means you can both join in with our monthly Book Club. We have other activities, though, like A Blind Date with a Book, and we also offer creative writing classes.’ Hannah sighed, a shadow floating across her pale blue eyes. ‘I’d love to be published one day.’

‘You’ve written a book?’

‘Yes,’ said Hannah, her face brightening at Chloe’s interest. ‘It’s a sweet gothic romantasy with a twist of mystery, a sort of Dracula-meets-Nancy-Drew-in-Disneyland kind of thing. I’ve sent it to a few agents and publishers, but so far all I’ve had is rejections, which is upsetting, but apparently that’s not unusual for a debut writer. So, instead of moping, I’m cracking on with the next book in the series which features vampire bookworms .’

‘Sounds… interesting,’ murmured Nick.

‘Oh, if you’re staying until the new year, Nick, can I interest you in a ticket for the annual community pantomime at the village hall either next Friday for the matinee or next Saturday night, which is Christmas Eve Eve? Sales are a bit sluggish, and we need as many people in the audience as possible to make it viable. We’re doing Goldilocks and the Three Bears this year. Mum’s playing the role of the Mummy Bear !’

‘Sure, I’ll take one.’

‘What about you, Chloe?’

‘Sorry, Hannah, I’ll probably be working.’

‘Chloe runs a mobile cocktail-making business,’ supplied Nick.

‘Really? That sounds like lots of fun! Hey, maybe we can host a cocktail-making night here at the bookshop, or even better, you can have one over at the farm in that posh barn your Uncle Martyn built, Nick. You could make it Christmas-themed, too. I know lots of people who’ll come to that.’

‘Actually, I’m not sure I have enough stock left for—’

‘Oh, oh, and you could make cider cocktails using Martyn’s amazing cider! Is there such a thing as cider cocktails? We could ask Joe to advertise it as an event to promote the pantomime and sell a few more tickets.’

‘Joe?’

‘Yes, he doesn’t just do up old cars and sell them to his mates at the golf club for loads more than it costs to buy a new one, he’s also the editor of our village newsletter, the Perrinsby Post . Oh, and I could ask Fran to bake a few batches of her mince pies to serve to the guests to keep up with the Christmas theme. What do you think of your cookie, Chloe?’

‘It’s… different. What flavour is it?’

‘That one’s Brussels sprout flavour. Do you like it?’

Chloe tried hard not to grimace. Brussels sprouts were at the bottom of her league table of vegetables. ‘I… yes, yes, I do.’

‘Nick? What do you think of your horseradish cookie?’

‘It’s… original.’

Hannah beamed. ‘I’m glad you said that because here’s the person who baked them herself. Fran! Over here. This is Nick – Ruth’s nephew – and this is his girlfriend, Chloe.’

‘Oh, no, no, we’re not—’ began Chloe.

‘Nick? Is that really you?’