Page 1 of Christmas at the Little Bookshop by the Sea

ONE

SUNDAY 3RD DECEMBER

Dusk was creeping in over Micklewick Bay, slowly swallowing the crisp blue skies of earlier, the first stars twinkling in the evening sky. Frost sparkled in the glow of the vintage streetlamps that lined the stylish square of shops, adding to the festive atmosphere of the Victorian seaside town on the North Yorkshire Coast.

It had been a busy week at The Happy Hartes Bookshop, which was just how thirty-three-year-old Florrie Appleton liked it. It was the first Sunday in December, the bookshop was closed for the day, and she and her boyfriend and business partner Ed Harte had spent the bulk of that time decorating the shop while singing along to jaunty Christmas songs. Gerty, the resident black Labrador, had “assisted” by running off with the odd Christmas tree bauble when she thought no one was looking, secreting them in her bed to nibble on later. She’d perfected her “it wasn’t me” expression, which made Florrie and Ed hoot with laughter.

Florrie climbed down from the ladder, pushed up her glasses and took a step back. A thrill rippled through her as she admired the luxurious garlands she’d spent the last couple of hours stringing above the bookcases along to the counter. Her armsached with all the reaching and stretching, and her cheeks were flushed from exertion, but she didn’t mind one jot. As far as she was concerned these garlands, trimmed with the most adorable miniature books and threaded with fairy lights, were totally worth the effort and the considerable expense. Florrie had fallen in love with them as soon as she’d set eyes on them, and had bought enough to decorate the little cottage she shared with Ed, too – whenever the couple had a spare minute to decorate their own home.

To say Florrie was in a festive mood would be an understatement. She loved Christmas and, in particular, she loved Christmas at The Happy Hartes Bookshop. She’d been a regular customer ever since she was a small child when the then owners, Mr and Mrs Harte – who were also Ed’s grandparents – would dress the generously proportioned bow windows of the double-fronted shop with fake snow and plump snowmen. Mrs H never did things by half-measures, especially when it came to glitter; in those days, the whole shop had been doused in a liberal dusting, even Mr H himself, much to his amusement.

‘All kiddies love twinkly, sparkly things, especially at Christmastime; makes it extra magical, lovey,’ Mrs H had said to Florrie, in her first year as The Happy Hartes’ Saturday girl, she remembered with a smile.

Florrie would never forget the thrill of peering in at the bookshop’s window display as a child, her glasses on the end of her reddened nose, her brown eyes lit up with wonder. But the excitement hadn’t stopped there. Once inside, the evocative smell of books would curl around her nose while she waited to see Father Christmas in his grotto at the back of the shop. She could remember her excitement building as she inched closer to the front, holding tightly onto her mum’s hand, her little heart beating quickly in her chest. It had been utterly magical, and she’d treasured those memories to this day.

‘Right, that’s all done.’ Ed’s voice pulled her out of her reminiscences as he eased himself out of the window, dusting glitter off his hands, creating a sparkly cloud around him. Dressed in faded jeans and a grey slogan T-shirt that showed his muscular arms to their best advantage, he flashed Florrie a wide grin, making her heart leap. Gerty jumped up from her bed by the counter and trotted over, wagging her tail happily. Ed bent to ruffle the Labrador’s ears. ‘All right, Gerty-Girl?’

‘Is it finished?’ Florrie asked. Her insides were bubbling with excitement. No one had been allowed even the tiniest of peeks at his progress on the Christmas window displays; he’d kept his festive-themed creations hidden away behind strategically hung curtains. The secrecy had only served to increase Florrie’s curiosity – and that of the bookshop’s loyal clientele. It had even generated chatter on the town’s social media pages, with guesses as to the theme ranging from snow scenes to a giant Father Christmas complete with reindeer, and everything Christmas-related in between. The speculation had amused the couple no end.

‘Yep, it’s all finished. And now,’ Ed said in a dramatic stage voice, his grin growing wider as his navy-blue eyes crinkled, ‘it’s time for the moment of truth.’

His words sent a thrill cascading through Florrie as she made her way over the shop floor towards him. She felt like she was six years old all over again.

‘Want to take a look?’ He pushed his dark, floppy fringe off his face, revealing more than a little sprinkling of glitter.

She gave a happy smile. ‘Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for you to ask that all day!’

Brimming with anticipation, Florrie peered through the gap Ed had made in the curtain at the side of the first window. She gasped with delight as she took in the wintry woodland scene before her. ‘Oh, Ed!’ It could have been plucked straight froma Christmas fairy tale. She could almost smell the frosty air. Overwhelmed with emotion, Florrie felt her throat tighten. ‘It’sbeautiful,’ she said, her voice a whisper. She envisaged herself gazing upon it as a small girl, her imagination whisking her off on all sorts of adventures with the woodland animals that would come to life when no one else was looking.

‘You like it?’ Ed asked from the other side of the curtain, a hint of uncertainty in his tone, his North Yorkshire accent a softer version of Florrie’s and the other locals of Micklewick Bay.

‘Iloveit, Ed – it’s perfect,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘It’s even better than your autumn displays, and I thought they’d take some beating.’

‘You really think so?’ Ed was his own worst critic and seemed oblivious to his talents. Florrie regularly reminded herself that it was no wonder he thought that way with such cold, distant and critical parents. They were the polar opposite of her own, who were warm-hearted and loving, keen to support in any way they could.

‘I do. It’s wonderful,’ Florrie said, the threat of tears abating.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said, his voice lifting with happiness and more than a hint of relief.

‘I defy anyone not to.’

‘Ah, I nearly forgot. Stay where you are, one tick.’ Ed reached behind him and a moment or two of shuffling ensued. ‘Fingers crossed it works – I haven’t tried it all out together yet.’ He flicked a switch.

Florrie watched, a thrill dancing through her as the scene came to life. ‘Oh, wow!’ There was so much to look at. ‘How on earth did you do all of this? It’samazing! Everyone’s going to love it. In fact, there’s no way I’m going to be able to get any more work done now, I just want to spend the rest of the day gazing at it.’

With an unimpressed sigh, Gerty ambled her way back to her bed where she flopped down and rested her head on her paws. Ed laughed at her distinct lack of interest. ‘I’m not so sure Gerty would agree with you.’

Reluctantly, Florrie pulled herself away from the festive display. She turned to Ed who, at six-feet-four, towered above her petite five-feet-two. He was wearing a wide smile, his eyes shining happily. Florrie’s heart squeezed with love for him. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips, delighting in the soft warmth she found there. ‘How do you evendothese things?’

‘Ah, trade secrets.’ He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. ‘Actually, the truth is, I used to help out with displays at an art gallery near to where I lived in London; picked up a few tips while I was there. Had no idea they’d come in handy later.’

‘Well, I’m glad The Happy Hartes Bookshop is benefitting from your skills.’ The couple had taken over the shop eighteen months before. Since then, Ed’s creative window displays had become legendary, helping to increase the bookshop’s once-flagging sales.

‘Me too, though I’d hardly call them skills.’

‘Stop selling yourself short, Ed,’ Florrie said softly. ‘And don’t underestimate how much pleasure your window displays are going to give people this Christmas, and I don’t just mean kids. Someone could be having a rough day, and when they walk by the bookshop’s windows, I reckon their mood will be lifted in an instant by your handiwork.’

‘That’s a nice thought.’ He gave a modest smile before bending and kissing her softly, triggering a fizz in her stomach.

---