Page 71 of Only Ever You

“Right.” So no chance then of getting chased off by an angry land-owner then. “So how do we trim this thing?”

“Well, first you’ve got to get it nice and relaxed, and—” Bash spun away from her, shoulders rucked up when Faye swatted him with a glove. She meant to aim for the chest, but “accidentally” thwacking towards the belt was just as effective.

If Bash wanted to play dirty, Faye could play dirty.

“I’m not a horticulturalist.” He laughed. “Or a gardener. Unless you want to call Sienna?”

The day before Christmas? When businesses, hotels and restaurants all throughout London were decorated in festive flowers?

“No, no. She’ll be busy.” Cutting the thin branches couldn’t be that hard; she was just being picky.

Bash pulled a couple of reusable bags out of his pocket and handed her one. “Just leave a few inches of the stem and snip.”

Faye pincered the secateurs in his direction before getting to work.

Stretching her ribs up as she reached on her toes, she began clipping off sprigs of mistletoe and dropping them into her bag, glad for the gloves with their rubber coating that stopped the prickly hawthorn leaves from sticking her. Beside her, Bash did the same as he leaned around the hedging and they worked away in comfortable silence.

Faye had no idea what his mother wanted all of this mistletoe for, but she wouldn’t put it past Michèle to hang it discretely from doorways and beams just to catch out unsuspecting guests. She knew for certain she’d constantly look upwards the whole night whilst checking who she stood beside. Uncle Mortimer would absolutely be at the bottom of the list of contenders for her first mistletoe kiss - far down in the abyss of contenders.

First, because Faye didn’t know how she’d gone twenty-nine years without ever having kissed anyone under mistletoe before.

“I’ve never had a mistletoe kiss at Christmas,” she admitted before realising the words had come out of her mouth and not remained in her head.

“You haven’t?” Bash sounded surprised more than accusing.

“I’ve never been dating anyone at Christmas to have one.” Which Faye knew wasn’t a perfect excuse. She didn’thaveto have a boyfriend to kiss someone under mistletoe, but she wasn’t the type to kiss random strangers. Not even for this.

Bash’s eyes flicked back and forth to her. “That’s a shame.”

“Why?”

He reached up to a higher branch. “Well it’s romantic, right? Everyone should get to experience it once in their life, I think.”

Faye should’ve had Bash pegged as a romantic even if his revolving door ofdates implied otherwise. She’d dated plenty, butromanceto her was like a unicorn; something to be believed in but never ever seen.

“So you’ve … ” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question, using her stretched up arm and branches of the tree to hide the uncertain jealousy on her face.

“With Kiera. I can’t remember any others.”

Kiera …again. Was thisenvythat Bash’s ex-girlfriend had had all of hisfirsts? Rightly or wrongly.

Abruptly, Bash paused, hands and shears in mid air, and tipped his head back.

“It’s snowing,” he said.

Something cold slid down the back of Faye’s neck and made her squeal as tiny white flecks began to fall in front of her face. “Oh, wow … ”

“Let’s hope it stays this light, then I won’t lose my bet with Dad.”

Dropping sprigs with the rest, Faye’s nose crinkled. “You made a bet on snow?”

“Dad insisted it would come.” A drop of snow landed right next to Bash’s eye and he flinched. “Ugh, let’s just finish this. I don’t know how muchMamanwanted but we’ve got a lot. She’ll already be preparing the banquet anyway and I should probably help. We need to get changed, too.”

So much to do and so little time.

“Michèle is too kind, doing all of this.”

A laugh trickled from Bash. “Don’t ever get in the way of her Christmas Eve parties. Half of Shropshire will be here.”

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