Page 32 of The Cornish Christmas Book Clu
The walk to Becky’s house would’ve given him time to clear his mind, but that wasn’t an option on crutches. Even if he surpassed the doc’s predictions, it would be nothing short of a miracle if he could manage without them by the shop’s opening day next weekend.
‘You look as though you’re going to your execution. Chin up, and smile. Don’t forget these.’ Tamara thrust a bunch of red roses wrapped in gold tissue paper at him.
Paul gave a wry smile. ‘The wife likes a flower. She’s always complaining I never buy any.’
Gage appreciated the support. The poor man kept tugging at his white shirt collar. Paul was squeezed into a dark-grey suit that probably hadn’t seen the light of day since the last wedding or funeral he’d been forced to attend. The garish red tie dotted with hearts could’ve been a Father’s Day gift and worn to please his children. Maybe it was just as well things had worked out as they had with his ex-wife, because what did he know about being a good dad anyway? Sod all.
‘We’d better get a move on, lad. Becky will have my guts for garters if we’re late and her Yorkshire puds sink.’
‘We can’t have that.’
Out in the van, Gage wasn’t sure whether to raise the subject of his parentage, but in the end fell back on the classic English conversation stalwart and commented on the nice weather.
‘Make the most of it. We’re supposed to have rain by Tuesday. Typical. Our Daniel’s got footie in the evening and the parking over Polcren is in a field. Last time the van got stuck.’ Henodded as they drove past the bookshop. ‘Coming on all right, is it?’
‘Yeah. Tamara’s been a great help.’
‘So I heard.’
The butterflies started fluttering again in Gage’s stomach as they turned onto Wesley Lane and pulled into the driveway of number nineteen.
Paul clambered out and jogged around to open Gage’s door. ‘Leave the flowers on the dash and hand me the crutches.’
A petite blonde whirlwind raced out of the house. ‘Yay, I got here first. Uncle Gage, I’m Lily.’ She flashed a smile brightened by a mouthful of metal braces.
‘My youngest. She’s thirteen going on thirty aren’t you, my handsome?’
‘Mum’s in a proper tizzy because the gravy’s gone lumpy. Ollie’s sulking in his room because she said he’s got to eat his dinner with us instead of going to McDonald’s with his friends.’ She turned back to the house, screwed up her face and stuck out her tongue. ‘Emily’s hiding behind the curtains to spy on us. She pretends to be cool, but she’s as made up as the rest of us.’ Lily hooted with laughter.
He’d have to pretend to be surprised when he met Emily again. ‘Well, I can’t wait to meet you all. It’s not every day a man acquires an instant family.’ Gage held the flowers out to her. ‘These are for your mum. Would you mind taking them?’
‘No probs.’ She grabbed them and sprinted back to the house.
He caught sight of Paul’s relieved expression, as if the other man hadn’t been sure whether this would work out. Gage hadn’t been certain either. But now? He had the idea it might be okay, or with luck maybe a darn sight more than okay.
* * *
Being alone in the bookshop was a new experience for Tamara. She wasn’t helping with Sunday lunches at the pub these days and had ignored Gage’s plea for her to take the day off and join him and Becky’s family. After Friday’s Halloween party, things had shifted yet again with Gage. The frisson of attraction sizzled hotter than ever, making living in the same house even more of a challenge — but their friendship had deepened too.
They’d had a great time swapping stories and jokes while they worked. A man without a sense of humour wasn’t worth having, in her opinion, and his was witty, dry and more than a little dark — very similar to her own. The only fly in the ointment was Toby. All she could hope was that when he’d calmed down and asked around about Gage, he’d hear only good things.
Tamara wandered outside to take a look at the window. They needed to get cracking with decorating it for Christmas, so customers were tempted to buy their presents here rather than ordering online or going to the larger, fancier bookshop in Truro. Mariah Carey’s ubiquitous Christmas hit ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ came to mind. Replace ‘you’ with ‘books’ and they’d have the perfect theme. Perhaps they could do some sort of fireplace scene with Father Christmas reading? The sound of approaching footsteps made her turn.
‘Oh, hi, Melissa. Are you out for a walk while Nathan cooks? You’ve got it made.’ It was a standing joke that Melissa’s husband banned his American wife from the kitchen on Sundays. After years of bachelorhood, he knew all the tricks of making a proper Sunday roast. Tamara would never say this in front of Rocky, or Pixie, but having sampled Nathan’s golden-brown crispy potatoes and superb mile-high Yorkshire puddings, she thought they even put the pub’s excellent ones to shame.
‘Yeah, I have.’ She sounded wistful.
‘What’s up? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘Oh, come on. Your eyes are red like you’ve been crying and your make-up is smudged.’ She glanced down. ‘Plus, you’re wearing odd shoes. Very odd shoes.’
‘Am I?’ Melissa looked shocked to see a black ballet flat on her left foot and the right one sporting a bright-red sneaker. ‘I guess I ran out in a hurry.’
‘Why?’
Her friend’s face crumpled and tears oozed out of her swollen eyes.
