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

Chapter Twelve

While Mitzy snoozed contentedly in her basket and the radio played Christmas tunes on a continual loop, Chloe stood next to Nick at Ruth’s huge farmhouse table, weighing out the ingredients and following the recipe’s instructions to the letter until they had both created a ball of biscuit dough – Chloe’s with tiny dots of lavender, Nick’s with flecks of brown – which they wrapped in cling film and popped in the refrigerator to rest.

‘Why don’t I tidy up while you make the coffee,’ Chloe offered.

‘No problem.’

The rhythmic movements required in both baking and clearing away the debris lulled Chloe’s ever-present demons into a slumber, and once again, she felt as though she’d stepped through an invisible portal from her harsh reality into an alternate dimension; a place where she was protected from what she felt had recently become an almost constant bombardment of bad luck.

Until Nick burst the bubble.

‘So, is there someone special in your life?’

She knew why he’d asked the question – after all, they were baking what they thought were romance cookies – but still, his words came as a surprise. Her reaction must have shown on her face because Nick’s expression changed immediately from curious enquiry to horror when he realised the implications of what he had just said. Clearly if she did have “someone special” in her life, someone who cared about her, who loved her, even, then she probably wouldn’t have ended up living in her car for the last few weeks.

‘Oh, sorry… I didn’t mean… Sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’

She smiled in an attempt to convey that his enquiry – which wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary in most situations– hadn’t delivered her a painful reality check as punishment for dreaming that she had somehow managed to escape into a more benevolent world.

‘And no, there isn’t, not anymore.’

‘I’m sorry, Chloe. It was a thoughtless question. I should have—’

‘Really, it’s fine.’

She paused to take a sip of the coffee Nick had made for her, battling the familiar urge to sugar-coat the truth in order to avoid having to open up about a painful or distressing event she had experienced and reveal her deep-seated vulnerability. Despite the soporific atmosphere that still lingered in the farmhouse kitchen, her emotions had broken free of their tethers and were rampaging unchecked through her body.

She was about to deliver the well-rehearsed synopsis she usually trotted out for general consumption when she was asked about Harry or her current relationship status by either her family or friends, when she caught Nick’s eye. She saw only concern and sympathy there, and she remembered what Fran had said at the bookshop the previous day; that talking was good for the soul. So she inhaled a breath, and for the first time in months, she decided to speak openly about what had happened.

‘Harry and I… well, we split up just before I relocated to Blossomwood Bay, so around nine months ago now. We both worked for the same law firm in London, Baxter he worked in the commercial contracts department, and I worked in the civil litigation department, so, during the day, our paths rarely crossed.’

Chloe stopped to inhale a breath.

‘Anyway, at the end of last year, Harry was headhunted by a rival firm to head up their office in Tokyo. It was an opportunity he couldn’t turn down; not only would he be working on really interesting projects in one of the most vibrant cities in the world, it was a much better salary, there were bigger end-of-year bonuses, and the post came with a stunning apartment in the heart of Tokyo.’

‘Sounds exciting.’

‘I was so happy for him, I really was, and I started planning when I would fly out to visit him and what sightseeing trips we would take when he had time off. That’s why it came as a huge shock when, just a few days before he left, we went out for a celebratory dinner and instead of talking about our future together, as I had expected, Harry told me that he didn’t see us maintaining a long-distance relationship and thought it would be best if we went our separate ways.’

Chloe swallowed down hard on her rising emotions. Whilst she no longer had feelings for Harry, she could still recall the agony she’d felt when he’d dropped his bombshell into their conversation that night.

‘I was devastated, but that was nothing compared to how I felt a few weeks later – after Harry had left for Japan – when I bumped into one of the UK partners of the rival law firm Harry now worked for when I was at the theatre. Imagine my surprise when Barnaby Farnham told me that he had been disappointed when he’d heard that I’d chosen not to take up the offer of a job at their office in Tokyo, and that if I’d spoken to him before turning it down, he could have improved on what he had thought was a generous remuneration package.’

‘I don’t… Ah.’

‘Barnaby had asked Harry if I would be interested in joining him in Tokyo, and Harry had told him, categorically, apparently, that I had no interest in relocating to Japan because I didn’t want to move away from my family. My father lives in San Francisco and my sister lives in Brighton! But that’s not the point; the point is that Harry had no right to make that decision for me. But I know why he did it, of course; because he didn’t want me to go with him!’

Heat flooded her cheeks as the memory of that excruciating conversation in the foyer of the Adelphi Theatre returned. She had been completely sideswiped by what Barnaby had said, then mortified, then deeply hurt by what Harry had done. However, she’d realised that if she told Barnaby the truth about what had happened, it might have a detrimental effect on Harry’s new position, and while she was furious with him, she also didn’t want to be responsible for jeopardising his career.

‘Did you explain what had happened?’

‘No, but from that moment on I grew more and more disillusioned with my career as a lawyer, more and more exhausted by the long hours and the perception that unless you put in eighteen-hour days you weren’t working hard enough, and your loyalty to the firm was questioned as a result. So, one day, when I’d fallen asleep at my desk for the third time in two weeks, I decided enough was enough.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I grabbed what little courage I could muster, walked along the corridor to my boss’s corner office – where he was also still working at eleven o’clock at night – and handed in my resignation. Jonathan’s a decent guy and he wasn’t surprised; he knew what had happened with Harry, and he’d tried to reduce my workload to give me some time to get over it. He suggested a sabbatical, which I refused, then he offered me a junior partnership, and I refused that, too, because I knew that wasn’t the answer, either.’

Chloe exhaled a long sigh. She had never been as passionate about her career in the law as Harry had been. She had never been ambitious, nor had she coveted a corner office, or craved the prestige of being a partner, junior or otherwise. She knew that was because she’d only chosen to study for a law degree, and then her solicitor’s exams, because it was what her father had wanted her to do, and she didn’t have the heart to argue with him. She’d wanted to make him happy, not sad.

‘So, I cleared out my desk, gave notice on the expensive apartment I could no longer afford without Harry’s contribution to the rent, and headed to what I thought would be a more creative, more fulfilling life in Devon where I set up my gin distillery. You already know what happened after that.’

‘What did your father say about your change in career?’

Chloe groaned inwardly. She should have known that her revelations about her life in the capital would open up a window into that awkward topic, and the risk was that if she confessed to allowing her father to believe she was still working at the law firm, still living in London, in the luxury apartment she’d shared with Harry, she would have to tell Nick why and she had no intention of doing that, no matter how relaxed she felt in Ruth’s farmhouse kitchen.

‘Don’t worry, everything’s fine,’ she said, before rushing on. ‘So, what about you? Are you in a relationship?’

‘No, I’m not. Louise and I went our separate ways almost a year ago now, but it wasn’t anything as dramatic as what happened with you and Harry. It turned out we wanted different things; I wanted to stay in London, I needed to stay in London, whereas Lou wanted us to move up to North Yorkshire to run an alpaca farm. To say I was astonished is an understatement. I had no idea what an alpaca was, and you already know my views on living in the countryside.’

Nick paused before continuing.

‘The day before I came down here to Cornwall, I got a call from one of our mutual friends – someone I went to university with – who told me that Lou had just completed on the purchase of a small cottage in Richmond with an adjacent paddock for her alpacas, and that… they’d fallen in love and were expecting twins in the spring.’

‘Oh, Nick, I—’

‘It’s fine. I’m happy for her; it’s what she wanted. However, I’m going to make doubly sure that the next person I have a serious relationship with is on the same page as me when it comes to where our future lies, emotionally, romantically and geographically.’ Nick smiled at Chloe, but she could see there was pain there. ‘Okay, do you think our dough might be ready to roll out?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Chloe, heading to the refrigerator. ‘Do you know where your aunt keeps her rolling pin and biscuit cutters?’

‘Mm, I’ll take a look.’

Nick spent a couple of minutes rifling through the kitchen drawers, and Chloe suspected it was to give himself time to calm his emotions. There were a few questions she would have liked to ask him – her curiosity radar told her there was something he wasn’t telling her, something that cut even deeper than his split with Louise – but she tucked them away for a later date.

‘Here they are!’

Nick waved the utensils in the air, his cheerful demeanour returned, and they set about turning their respective balls of dough into biscuits, placing the circular cut-outs onto a baking tray, pricking them with a fork – an instruction that was underlined in the recipe – and then sliding the trays in the electric oven to bake.

‘Wow, they smell delicious, even though I do say so myself. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but this is the first time I’ve made biscuits since I was a child, and… well, it’s also the first time I’ve cooked anything from scratch for over a year,’ admitted Nick.

‘What?!’

‘I know, it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.’

‘How do you eat?’

‘Restaurants, cafés, takeaways, deliveries, friends who take pity on me, although I think their patience with me is running thin. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to help my aunt out. I knew she’d fill the fridge and freezer with home-made food that I only had to heat up. I certainly didn’t expect to be taking part in an episode of Cupid’s Cookie Cook-Off. What I want to know is, do we dare to taste the product of our labours; mine in particular?’

‘What do you mean?’

Nick grinned at her, waiting for the penny to drop and when it did, she blushed.

‘Ah, good point.’

To cover her embarrassment, Chloe grabbed the oven gloves and removed their trays of drool-inducing biscuits from the oven, setting them to cool on a wire rack before replenishing her coffee and retaking her seat at the table. She really, really wanted to sample both batches of the soft, buttery biscuits, but she didn’t want Nick to think she was in any way interested in wanting to make him to fall in love with her, and it looked like he was thinking the same, even though he’d told her the legend was “hocus-pocus”.

A few awkward moments ticked by until Nick threw caution to the wind and reached for one of his “fairywand” biscuits. He bit into it, and immediately performed an exaggerated swoon of ecstasy, rolling his eyes, running the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, and exhaling a rather suggestive satisfied sigh, before promptly taking another one of his biscuits and devouring it, too.

‘Well?’ asked Chloe.

‘What?’

‘You know what.’

‘They’re delicious, if that’s what you’re asking. However, if you’re asking whether—’

‘I’m not, I’m really not.’

‘So why haven’t you tried one yet?’

Chloe selected one of her lavender biscuits and bit into it, relishing the soft, crumbly texture and the distinct flowery flavour of the lavender. It was melt-in-the-mouth delicious, and when she had finished it she immediately reached for a second.

‘Coward.’ Nick laughed, his eyes shining. ‘So, aren’t we forgetting something?’

‘What’s that?’

‘How are we going to decide the winner of our herbilicious bake-off?’

‘Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.’

‘There’s only Mitzy—’

‘No way! You might be happy to consume some random herb we came across in your aunt’s pantry, but you can’t give it to Mitzy! What if it makes her ill?’

‘My aunt wouldn’t store anything in her pantry that makes anyone ill, especially not Mitzy,’ said Nick, helping himself to another of his biscuits, a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Okay, then we need to find someone, someone neutral , someone who’s an expert in the field. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Is it? Who?’

‘Fran!’

Without waiting for Chloe’s response, Nick jumped from his seat, collected two Tupperware boxes from the top shelf in the pantry – one yellow, one green – and placed six of the lavender biscuits in the yellow one, and six of the fairywand biscuits in the green one, then snapped the lids shut.

‘Come on.’

Chloe shook her head, ruing her suggestion that they make it a competition and forgetting that a competition required an independent arbiter. However, she was thrilled with Nick’s enthusiasm during their afternoon cookery class, and she hoped that it might have inspired him to start cooking for himself when he got back home to Guildford; it might be a humble biscuit today, but tomorrow it could be an apple pie using Fairholme apples, and next week a cordon bleu banquet.