Page 25 of Christmas at the Little Cornish Bakery
‘Great.’ Tristan gathered himself together. ‘Well, we need a clear night, so I’ll look at the calendar and the weather and work out when would be best to go. You’ll have to wrap up warm though, I reckon it could get chilly.’
Lola resisted the urge to suggest he could keep her warm. Ever since she’d helped him decorate the tree she had been wondering how to cross the friendship barrier she’d put up. The one Freya was encouraging her to dismantle. Maybe this was it? Stargazing had date stamped all over it. She stole a glance at Tristan. With his kind, open face and his affable nature, she found it difficult to subscribe wholeheartedly to her mantra that men just made life more complicated. A voice inside her whispered that he’d make it so much easier, if she just gave him a chance.
‘Thank you, I will certainly dig out some extra layers,’ she told him. ‘Ooh how exciting, a midnight picnic on the beach. Let me know what I can bring.’
Placing a hand on her arm, he stopped her. ‘Lola, you bring nothing, let me look after you for once.’
Lola dissolved at the way he said those words. No one had ever offered to look after her before.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Don’t forget we’re making the Christmas pudding this morning!’ Lola banged on Freya’s door bright and early the following day, excitement at the task buzzing through her. Having eschewed Steve’s punch the only thing that had kept sleep at bay was replaying her conversation with Tristan. Had he asked her on a date? As in a romantic date? Lola hoped so.
‘Ugh, do we have to?’ Lola heard Angelo grumble. ‘I don’t think I even like Christmas pudding.’
Freya’s voice was muffled until she called out, ‘Sure, we’ll see you there in a bit.’
Satisfied with Freya’s response, Lola headed downstairs, wrapped an extra-long rose-pink scarf around her neck and pulled on her green checked coat, without caring that the colours clashed. She loved providing a dash of vibrancy to a dark winter morning. Letting herself out through the front door, she shivered as the cold breeze found its way under the few gaps in her layers.
Straightening her shoulders, head held high, Lola crossed the road to the harbour side and watched the sea swirling grey against the sand, enjoying the way the fresh air cleared her head. She set about doing her daily gratitude ritual, listing off her thanks for the gorgeous sea view she was blessed with every day, having friends who were willing to come together for a communal Christmas, and for how successful the Festive Festival had been. She was sure Sue would be buzzing this morning. Satisfied and looking forward to hearing Sue’s festival debrief later, Lola stepped away from the harbour wall and hurried across to the café where she quickly unlocked the door, went inside and craving a few minutes peace, locked it behind her. Once in the kitchen, Lola made herself a breakfast of tea and a toasted teacake, smothered in butter, which she ate whilst planning out that morning’s bakes and getting the ingredients ready for the Christmas pudding.
Flicking on the radio, Lola bobbed along with the music as she pulled her Nannie Ruby’s battered and stained recipe book off the shelf, holding it to her chest in lieu of being able to hug her grandmother. As she thumbed through the book, passing recipes for rock cakes, scones and trifle, golden tinted happiness washed over her to remember the Saturday afternoons they would spend baking fairy cakes and icing them, leaving sticky pink trails across the countertop. The Christmas pudding recipe was near the back, the pages slightly better preserved as they’d been less used. With a sad smile Lola set the book down and rummaged under the table for her scales.
Her phone bleeped and Lola saw Tristan’s name flashing up on the screen. Lola unlocked the phone and read the hurried message:
Sorry, will miss breakfast, got a bit of an emergency. I’ll be there in time for the pudding X.
Lola honed in on the kiss, reading all sorts into it, indulging in a daydream about actually kissing Tristan. He’d be slow and careful as he leaned in towards her. Her toes tingled to think of him picking the right moment. With a sigh she put the thought to the back of her mind. After all, she signed all her texts with oodles of kisses, even once, embarrassingly so, to the farmer after he’d confirmed her order was ready.
As a distraction Lola set about making a fresh batch of scones and a coffee and walnut loaf. While they were baking in the oven, she busied herself weighing out the dried fruit for the pudding, selecting the largest pudding basin she had, figuring that if they were going to make a communal one then it had to be an impressive size.
Engrossed in singing along to the radio and weighing out her ingredients, Lola almost missed the banging at the café door. Lola gave her hands a quick wipe before hurrying out to see Freya, Angelo, Alf and Scruff all huddled in the doorway. Freya was peering through the glass, hand raised ready to knock again.
‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ Lola apologised as she pulled the door open.
‘I forgot my key,’ Freya explained.
‘Morning, perishing out there,’ Alf remarked. ‘This pudding better be worth it.’
‘Of course it will be! I’m almost done, I’ve weighed all the stuff out and I’m just about to mix it all together, then you can all have a wish.’
‘A wish?’ Angelo asked, bemused.
‘You all give the mixture a stir and make a wish,’ Alf explained. ‘I guess it’s more for kids but I think it’s a nice tradition.’
‘We never did anything like that. Christmas was always a bit hybrid, Italian and English. I don’t think I’ve ever had Christmas pudding,’ Angelo mused.
Alf’s mouth dropped open. ‘What? But you’ve had turkey, yes?’
Angelo laughed. ‘I’m half Italian, not half alien. Yes, we had turkey, we just never had Christmas pudding. You know I’ve not got much of a sweet tooth.’
Alf gave him a long look and shook his head in disbelief. Freya set about making hot drinks and toast, and Lola used a chair to prop the kitchen door ajar so she could listen in on their conversation about Angelo’s renovations of Bayview House. Alf was putting him through his paces.
‘You see, that house was built when I was a lad, we used to go up there and watch the builders. We’d never seen anything like it, all those big windows, how grand the rooms were, completely different to our little cottages. People didn’t approve of the building back then, but the owner helped modernise the roads in the village, which soon stopped people complaining.’
Lola listened from the kitchen. Hmm, she thought, it seemed like Alf was happy to gabble on about the past when it suited him. She toyed with the idea of dropping into the conversation the fact that she thought her grandmother had stayed there one summer. She imagined how their jaws would all drop, that Alf’s eyes would light up with surprise and the story would all come tumbling out. Lola imagined it like some sort of reunion, her and Alf united in memory of their lost family members. Then she realised it wouldn’t be like that. She knew it would be a shock, there would be a lot to process and unpick.
Freya stuck her head around the kitchen door and asked, ‘Where’s Tristan?’
