Page 58 of A Winter Kiss on Rochester Mews
Tom was manning the Mistletoe Booth because ‘He’s the only one who’s stern enough to check proof of purchase and instigate a strict two-minute time limit,’ Nina said, which explained his beleaguered expression and the stopwatch in his hand. He caught Mattie’s eye and made an agonised face as if he were being attacked by some invisible foe.
‘You and Tom are pretty pally these days,’ Nina noted, her eyes narrowed as she shifted her gaze from Mattie to Tom, who immediately stopped with the theatrics and went back to looking stern.
‘Are we? I suppose we are. Guess that’s what comes of being flatmates,’ Mattie said, though she didn’t think of Tom as a pal. He was something other than that. Could he be … more than a friend?
‘It’s pretty forgiving of Tom after you spilled all his secrets,’ Nina decided. She narrowed her eyes again, in a way that made Mattie squirm. ‘We never did have a talk about Tom’s thesis or all the women he’s …’
‘Less chatting, Nina, more serving, please!’
Mattie was saved from spilling any more of Tom’s secrets by Verity as she walked past with a pile of books and three women trailing after her like a family of ducks.
‘Verity’s actually serving on the shop floor?’ Mattie asked, keen to distract Nina, though it was a genuinely shocked observation. Verity hated coming into contact with the general public and would much rather hide in the back office and wrestle with Excel spreadsheets.
‘Did I mention how busy we are?’ Nina moaned, as she turned her attention to two twenty-something women who were hovering. ‘Can I help you with something?’
There was a lot of giggling. ‘What’s the rudest book you’ve got?’
‘For under ten pounds. It’s for our work Secret Santa.’
Nina straightened up. This was just the sort of customer enquiry she loved. ‘Depends. Do you want tasteful smut or absolute filth?’
The two women looked at each other, giggled again, then said as one, ‘Absolute filth, please.’
‘Then follow me to the deepest depths of our Erotica section,’ Nina said and she offered each woman an arm so they could barrel through the crowded shop together. ‘Talking of Secret Santas, I hope you got me, Mattie, and I hope you’ve made me something chocolate-based. I’ll see you later this evening.’
Because it was Sunday and due to Sunday trading laws, they had to close at a very respectable five o’clock, they were having their works Christmas party at The Midnight Bell. Or rather, Posy had made it pretty clear that attendance was mandatory at the pub’s legendary Christmas quiz.
Every Thursday, The Midnight Bell held a quiz. The Happy Ever After team attended regularly but had only won once, when Nina’s Noah had turned out to be a walking, talking version of Ask Jeeves. Alas, Noah was in Denmark working on a holistic HR strategy for a lifestyle company, so Mattie expected that they’d probably end up where they usually did, somewhere near the very bottom of the leader board.
Not that Mattie minded. As they closed at five, she was done with her next-day prep by an unprecedented six, and by six fifteen, she was sat on a velvet banquette in their usual corner of The Midnight Bell, with a laden plateful of food that someone else had cooked.
Carol and Clive, landlady and landlord, were having no truck with thematic and tasteful Christmas decorations. Tinsel of every sparkly hue was hung from every possible place you could hang tinsel. It was even lovingly entwined around Clive’s collection of horse brasses above the bar.
There was a fake Christmas tree (‘We bought it from Woolies in 1985, the year that we got married, and it’s still going strong’) hung with so many twinkling lights that it had to be a major fire hazard, and an alarming nativity tableau in a glass display case.
‘Joseph and Mary are terrifying,’ Mattie commented to Tom, as she tried not to stare at them. ‘Like those creepy-faced Victorian dolls that come to life in the dead of night and kill people.’
‘And the shepherds look as if they’ve got a bad case of mange.’ Tom watched Mattie take an enthusiastic bite of a doorstep sandwich, which was basically half a turkey liberally smeared in cranberry sauce and stuffed between two slices of crusty bread.
‘I’m so hungry,’ Mattie mumbled unapologetically as she held the huge sandwich aloft. ‘When you spend all day making food, you never feel like eating it.’
‘That’s probably why you’re so trim,’ he remarked, eyes on Mattie’s legs. In honour of the occasion, she’d changed out of her work uniform of black jumper and trousers into a grey and navy blue striped dress, which she was wearing with black tights and Converse. No one had seen Mattie’s legs in months, but, judging from the way that Tom was still looking at them, they were quite the spectacle. ‘God, sorry,’ he muttered, though Mattie wasn’t sure if he was sorry for commenting on her figure or for staring at her legs.
‘Trim?’ Mattie queried, face inevitably going hot as she remembered that Tom had seen her in much less than a jersey cotton dress from Uniqlo.
‘Very trim,’ Tom murmured huskily. It was the same tone he’d deployed while getting the phone numbers of defenceless young ladies at parties.
He had to be winding her up. There could be no other reason for Tom to remark on her figure while using his Lothario voice. Some light-hearted banter because they were friends now, in which case, two could play at that game.
‘You’re quite trim yourself,’ Mattie remarked. ‘Despite your love of a complex carbohydrate. I guess that’s the advantage of being on your feet all day. Or is it the football?’
Tom was steadfastlynotlooking at Mattie’s legs now. ‘What football?’
‘The football you allegedly play with your friends. Phil mentioned it,’ Mattie stared at Tom over the edge of her mammoth turkey sandwich. He was looking quite discomfited now. ‘We haven’t talked about that yet, have we?’
‘And we never will,’ Tom said firmly.
‘Do you wear full kit?’ Mattie’s voice was a little husky now – Tom,Tom!, in football strip and shorts. It was also her turn to stare at his legs, though they were covered in a light woollen tweed so there wasn’t much to look at.
