Deck the Shelves (Village of Berkingsley #2)

Home for the Holidays

Chapter One

(with a New Friend)

H eartbreak. Job loss. A ‘crappy’ case of the flu. No matter what the universe throws at you, there’s nothing like that restful feeling that blankets you in a big hug when you visit your childhood home.

Stepping inside the walls of 22 Danbury Street instantly released the built-up tension of my real life. The first big inhale of that new-book smell, combined with the cinnamon and vanilla scent of my mother’s kitchen, brought a flood of memories that somehow erased any remnants of the day’s troubles. Even as I knocked my brolly against the outer bricks of the shop, splashing water down inside my polka-dot wellies, nothing could dampen my spirits.

“We’ve gone and closed an hour ago, but come in, come in,” came the gruff yet friendly greeting from a man stooped over a cardboard box filled with books.

“Always open for dishing out adventures, whether they come from pages or bottles, right, Dad?”

A head popped up from within the box, a face full of gray whiskers and thin spectacles slipping down his nose. “Alice, is that you, dear?” He wiped his hands on his trousers and stepped toward me, engulfing me in a bear hug only Dad could give. He gave me an extra squeeze before letting me go.

“I didn’t know we were expecting you. Wait ‘til your ma hears. She will be outta her mind trying to cook your favorite dishes without the ingredients on hand.” He chuckled, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened as his smile grew. He turned and shouted, “Honey, come here.”

“I know, I know,” I replied. “Sheila gave me an unexpected holiday from the marketing firm.” This was sort of true, though it was more like my boss ordered a forced exile until I could figure my shite out. No one likes a Debbie Downer in the office around the holidays. “I’ll be working from home for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s just marvelous, my girl. The Christmas season just wasn’t the same last year without you. ” He turned again and yelled up the back stairwell, “Hon, did you hear me? Come on down here!” Turning back to me, he said, “I swear, she can’t hear a thing when she’s upstairs blasting that stuff she calls music.”

I smiled as I heard Mum respond. “Calm down, you old fool. I heard ya. I’m on my way.” Ollie and Joyce Evans bickered like children but were the most devoted couple in the village. My father continuously held the door for Mum, even after forty years of marriage, and she always made sure the pantry was stocked with his favorite crisps and his shirts perfectly ironed stiff as a twenty-pound note, just the way he liked them.

“I just couldn’t miss the festivities again. I’m so happy to be home for the holidays with you, Mum, and Scarlett. It wasn’t nearly the same last Christmas.”

Last winter, I had barely kept my head above water, interning with Giles Scott, a famous clothing designer based in London. While I loved every second of catty drama that endlessly filled the space between the racks of clothing in the office, the pressure to be seen and acknowledged required longer hours beyond the nine-to-five hustle. You’d think taking coffee orders and holding up hemming pins wouldn’t be too stressful, but damn, if I didn’t come home each night drenched from a day’s worth of nervous sweat.

I looked around my parents’ bookshop at the tables and shelves full of glorious paperbacks with shiny covers and crisp pages, waiting to find their new homes. On the far wall, bottles of local wine and spirits sat in neat rows, arranged by taste and paired with little tags recommending an appetizer or dessert. My parents owned Spines ‘n’ Wines my whole life, and it was a treasure in our little English village of Berkingsley. Other small businesses lined our cobblestone sidewalks: a delectable chocolate and fudge shop, a cozy bed-and-breakfast, and a barbershop that was only open during the week, but this place here was where I spent the majority of my childhood and where the magic of daydreaming and optimism originated.

“Why are you closed so early on a Saturday this close to Christmas? And…” I swept my arm across the room, “where are all the decorations?”

No twinkling lights hung from the ceiling. The corner where our annual fir Christmas tree stood now held an artificial tree (part of my sister’s and my mission to turn our parents onto the green initiative), but the usual gold tinsel and red balls were missing. It just sat there, plain and ordinary, looking like a tree plucked from the nearby woods. Now that I think about it, the door of the shop lacked its usual wreath of evergreen, and the fireplace sat bare without the springs of holly that usually adorned the top. It was less than four weeks until Christmas, and this place looked like Scrooge decided to drown his office with bottles of booze and piles of books.

“Eh, well, Alice…” Dad’s hesitant response was drowned out by the shriek escaping Mum’s mouth as she came at me with her arms extended and lips puckered. She planted a big kiss on my cheek and wrapped me in a warm, soft hug.

“My girl is home! A surprise visit? You little bugger. You could’ve rung your mum so I could have adequately planned for dinner. Will you be here all weekend? It’s been, what, six weeks since we last saw you?”

“I’m home for a couple of weeks, Mum. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”

“Well, good, because you look a bit fatigued. And dear, what are you wearing? I mean, you look pleasant enough, but that’s just not your typical out-and-about outfit.”

I looked down at my attire. Although she was as blunt as a child’s pair of scissors, she was right. My raincoat hung over my arm, showing off my comfiest jumper, which just so happened to be about ten years old and bright yellow. Paired with my purple and black polka dot wellies, I did look a little worse for the wear.

“Yes, well, it was a long week of work, and I’m a bit knackered. Just wanted to keep comfy on the train ride in.”

“Hmm.” The pause in her voice told me that she didn’t quite believe me, but she didn’t pry. “Come on upstairs, then, and take a load off your feet. Where is your luggage? Have you rung your sister? Does Scarlett know you’re visiting?”

Typical response from my mum. Not letting me get a word in. Usually, that’s me, while Scarlett takes after our more reserved dad. But whenever we are in the presence of our mother, her animated spirit is the one that fills the quiet gaps and brings us back to the days when we spent hours and hours together in the small flat above the store.

“I’m actually going to stay with Emilia at her hotel.” Emilia was my best friend who recently took ownership of Blackley Manor, a trendy hotel in the village. “Figured there might be a bit more space for me, and I’m eager to get caught up on some girl time.” And escape from the good cop interrogation that I was afraid to face. “And I texted Scarlett. She’s visiting Scotty’s family, but she’ll be back to the village soon.” Scotty was her current and very serious boyfriend. At least one of us was lucky in love.

I began to follow Mum toward the back of the store when the tote hanging from my arm started wiggling, nudging me in the side. I tapped the fabric and gave it a quick shush . I had hoped to make it upstairs into the flat before ruining our cover.

Mum noticed my delay and turned to see me fidgeting. Her strawberry blonde eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement, trying to work out why I was acting like a preteen trying to sneak candy into the theater.

“What in the world is your bag doing?”

Ah, crap. I tried to stifle my giggle but failed as a cold little nub rubbed itself on my arm, and two little black beady eyes stared out at me amongst a plop of white fluff.

“Alice Marie Evans, tell me that our cat Winston just decided to give you a little extra love today, and you are not attempting a covert operation that involves some kind of four-legged creature.”

Her pupils slowly expanded, and her body tensed into a fight-or-flight response. I could practically see the zones of the room mapped out in the reflection of her eyes, seeking out the nearest broom or exit.

Of course, my newest pal decided to take this moment to make the leap out of my bag. She landed on the floor like a cat (although my mum would be the first to tell you she most certainly was not one) and began a clumsy yet refined trot toward her. Probably not the best plan.

I knelt down, trying to catch her in my arms, when suddenly Winston, the store’s short-haired cat, decided to make his grand entrance, leaping off the nearby bookshelf right into the path of the five-pound pile of fur. His pineapple eyes landed on his target, and a low hiss escaped his jaw, fully prepared to defend Mum’s honor. While Winston was typically a lover, his loyalty belonged solely to the matriarch of our family and the four walls of the bookshop that he called home.

Yip. Yip. Yip. A little high-pitched shriek pierced the air. That little white fluff, while the most adorable problem I inherited, was also the most annoying and unpredictable solution I never thought through. Though I couldn’t place the blame entirely on her. I was the prat who instantly fell in love when my last client intentionally left her alongside the discarded wardrobe after her photo shoot. I found the little pup chewing the interior liner of the luxury suitcase we were trying to market. Apparently, she was no longer fitting the image that the high-fashion model was trying to portray. However, that could have been debatable the day before when we tried to restrict the little Pomeranian from joining the company meeting.

Sheila immediately left me to deal with discarding the minor inconvenience , and of course, the soft-hearted idiot that I am, I took her back to my flat that night.

Yip . Yip. Yip. She barked right back in Winston’s face, such a feisty, bold response to the precarious situation she found herself in.

Before a battle of the house pets could disrupt my merry homecoming, my dad stepped in and gathered Winston in his arms, stroking his gray-blue coat repeatedly. Playing fair, I scooped my teammate into my arms, lifting her beside my smiling face, trying to emphasize her impossibly cute size. Clearing my throat, I said in my most cheerful voice, “This is Pippy. Pippy, meet my mum and dad. Oh, and Winston.” I rubbed my face against hers and whispered, “Don’t worry. He’ll warm up to you.”

“What is that erratic little creature doing here?” my mother asked with frantic distaste. She had retreated to the steps and now had her arms firmly crossed over her chest, looking down at me from the second stair.

“She’s not erratic. She’s just a bit energetic. She’s been taking a kip in my bag for the last hour. I promise you’ll fall in love with her, Mum.”

“Alice. I would walk through fire for you and your sister, but I’m not sure if I can get over my fear of tiny pups, even for you.”

“Add that to the list of why I’m staying at Blackley Manor. I already settled it with Emilia. I just didn’t want to leave Pippy there when we’ve only just arrived. I’m sure she would give the guests quite a surprise.”

She sighed. “Well, keep her in your arms or your bag. I’m not ready to leave this life from a heart attack yet. I have Christmas dinner to prepare for.”

“Yes, Mum. I solemnly swear that this little squish will remain by my side in your presence.”

“Alright then, smart-arse. Follow me. I’ll put a brew on for you. I’ve got some fresh scones and jam from Mae’s Eatery , freshly prepared by William just yesterday.”

William was the local baker and a dear friend of the family, not to mention somewhat of a treasured figure in our small village. Everyone knew everyone in Berkingsley. It was just the way it was. I loved knowing I had friends and confidants every which way growing up. I never thought I’d leave. But I’ve lived in the city of London for over a year now, and I’ve felt myself grow more into who I’m meant to be. Independent and kind as I’ve always tried to be. But, also just more comfortable with myself, quirks and all. The closer I leaned towards thirty, I guess it’s to be expected. I still had a few years to go, though.

I trailed behind her up the stairs to the flat I called home and took a seat at the small round table in the kitchen, my back to the window, the spot that had been mine since I was a tot. A half-completed puzzle lay on the table in front of me.

“Oh, good Lord, Mum. Is that Harry Styles?” The image displayed on the table showed him in just a Santa hat and suspenders, the bottom half still incomplete. “Please tell me he’s wearing trousers. Are you making sure all the bits and pieces are intact for Sunday night puzzle club? Yes, all puns intended.” I delighted in making Mum blush, as she’s usually the one who embarrasses the Evans girls in public.

“Oh, you cheeky thing! Heavens, no. This one is just for me. Kathryn is bringing the puzzle tomorrow. This week’s theme is Christmas on the Farm. ”

“Ah, yes. Harry would definitely not make the cut. You’d be going for the wrong type of rooster.” I flashed her a toothy smile. “Where in the world did you find this puzzle, anyway?”

“Amazon, dear. They have everything you can dream up. Now stop teasing your old lady and drink up.”

I nodded, taking a sip from the cup she placed before me. Black tea with milk and a hint of sugar. Exactly the way I liked it. I wrapped my hands around it, absorbing the warmth and letting it fill my belly and dissolve my worries. A sigh floated from my lips. It felt good to be home.

“Where’s Rian, darling?”

Three simple words that completely destroyed the perfect illusion I had so desperately succumbed to. I never thought I’d be that girl in her mid-twenties who shamelessly falls in love for the first time and seamlessly sees this man in every future chapter of her life. But I had with Rian. It started mostly as a playful hookup: lazy mornings in bed and afternoon picnics in the woods where we spent most of our time half-clothed, learning about each other under a blanket. But then it quickly turned into dreams of two children and a cozy house with a sunflower garden just outside the city. Now he was gone, and I was stuck like a stalled engine on the countryside, left figuring out how to fix what was broken inside and get myself back home. I was steadily finding my way, and I didn’t want the disappointment or concern from my family slowing down the progress.

“He’s on the RAF base this weekend. He might join next week if he can get the time off,” I lied.

“Good, good. They really instill discipline in those young pilots, don’t they? Working through the Christmas holiday. Let me know when he’ll be joining us for a Christmas roast. I hope he’s able to go home and visit his ma and sisters, too. The holiday just lacks the usual magic without your kids, even if they aren’t young anymore.”

Her voice held no judgment, but I internalized it and added it to the imaginary load I carried. I reached my hand across the table and placed it over hers.

“I know, Mum. I’m so grateful I’ll be home for the holidays this year. Now, let’s find Harry some pants,” I said, reaching for a puzzle piece.

“Okay, Alexis,” she ordered the music speaker. “Play Harry Styles. Your father hates my taste in music, but I tell him it keeps me young.”

Something hit me then. Why were we listening to Harry Styles and not our usual Christmas playlist full of cheesy classics? I looked up at her, studying her steady expression, not giving away any hints at the change that seemed to overcome the bookstore.

“You know, Mum, I noticed the shop is missing its usual festive embellishments. Why’s the tree as bare as a newborn’s bottom, and when did Harry Styles replace Michael Bublé’?”

Completely ignoring me, she exclaimed, “Oh look, dear! Harry does have pants! And that’s why he doesn’t fit into this week’s puzzle club theme. I’d better call Kathryn and make sure she’s bringing the puzzle tomorrow.” She got up from her seat to make the call.

The holidays, it seemed, were going to feel different this year for more than one reason.