Page 82 of The Cornish Christmas Book Clu
‘Everyone needs to grab a glass of champagne because you can never have enough bubbly,’ Melissa said gleefully as she made her way around the room carrying a loaded silver tray.
He and Tamara exchanged secretive smiles as they each took a glass. They found a spot by the bay window where they could nestle together. The television showed the thousands of people crammed into Trafalgar Square where it must have been raining because most were wearing waterproof ponchos or huddled under umbrellas.
The countdown began and at the stroke of twelve, everyone started cheering and kissing. Of course someone started singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
Gage tightened his arms around Tamara and as she gazed up at him with sparkling eyes, he finally got the nerve to say the words he’d been holding back long enough. ‘I love you. So much. I was afraid I’d scare you off if I said it too soon, and if you still think I’m jumping—’
‘I love you too. I’ve been the same.’
‘A new year, a new us. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘How would you feel about moving in with me?’ he asked cautiously.
‘I’d like that very much,’ she said with a broad smile and kissed him.
‘It’s time for our newlyweds to go,’ Nathan announced. ‘Let’s give them a rousing send-off.’
Outside they all took one of the sparklers Melissa and Nathan were passing around. The bright colours fizzed in the air as Quinten led his glowing bride.
‘He was so right to do this. I don’t think Ophelia ever guessed, do you?’ Tamara’s bright eyes fixed on him. Gage smiled back, lied, and agreed they’d pulled off a wonderful surprise.
They were told that hot drinks and mince pies were ready in the kitchen, but Tamara gave a tiny shake of her head when he raised his eyebrows at her in question. Time for their own New Year’s celebration.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tamara bounced up and down on her feet and wondered if it was possible to burst with excitement. The sixth of January would always be etched on her brain. Rather like falling in love, she was convinced that dreams you waited a long time to achieve were all the sweeter.
‘I still can’t believe it. My own café!’
The pride in Gage’s eyes was unmistakable. ‘You deserve it. You’ve worked hard for this. We’ll be the “it couple” of Penworthal now,’ he said teasingly. ‘Looks good, doesn’t it?’ The sign over the shop front had been altered and now had an extra line that said:and The Pig Pen Café.
‘We’d better go in. They’re all waiting for us.’
The shop was packed for the official opening and smelled wonderfully of freshly baked cakes. Emily was now trusted to man, or rather woman, the till and was guarding it with her life. Luckily, the new year had come in like a lamb, so they were making the most of the mild, dry day to leave the front door wide open.
Inside, Tamara stood still for a moment to admire how well the design she’d settled on for the café blended with the bookshop. The pale-green-and-white paintwork was the same, and Georgie had used the identical rich maple wood for her serving counter and the awesome shelves that displayed her pig collection.
To fit in with the retro pale-pink tables and chairs, she’d gone vintage for the café’s china too. It’d been easy to find a selection of mismatched floral tea sets because they sold for very little at the flea markets these days.
The one extravagance was the pink glass pig-shaped vases she’d tracked down online and filled today with pink rosebuds. But in pride of place, on its own special shelf, stood Moccus, thelarge Wemyss pig Gage had bought at the auction. Instead of going for a literary connection, she’d chosen to name it after the Celtic god associated with boars and pigs. With such a beautiful lucky mascot, how could the café do anything but succeed?
The sight of her book-club friends, gathered near the pink ribbon they’d tied across the café portion of the shop, made her eyes prickle. They were all there except Evelyn, the woman who in many ways had shaped Tamara’s mind and been a continuing source of strength and guidance.
Early on New Year’s Day, they’d heard a siren disappearing down the street and soon her phone had started ringing. Her friends had started passing around the sad news that Ophelia had slipped away quietly in the night. Next week Ophelia would be buried in the Penworthal churchyard, a surprising request she’d made of Evelyn and Quinten in her final days. Understandably, Evelyn wasn’t able to face them all today, but she sent Tamara a beautiful handwritten note saying how proud she was of her achievement.
Perhaps a small café, in a bookshop, seating no more than twenty people and selling homemade cakes, wasn’t a huge dream in the scheme of things, but this was her village. Her people. Her community. Being an integral part of that mattered.
‘Speech. Speech,’ Paul yelled. ‘Some of us took off work for this and we want cake.’ His rumbling laugh set off a round of claps and cheers.
‘I couldn’t—’
‘Of course you can,’ Gage said, urging her on. ‘All you need to do is thank them and cut the ribbon.’
‘I’ll keep this short and as sweet as my cakes.’ That brought more laughter. Thanking everyone for coming was easy, and it raised a few more titters when she ran through a few of the crazier names they’d thought of before settling on The Pig Pen.
‘You’ve got hungry customers waiting for a slice of your famous lime-drizzle cake.’ Gage’s boast touched her. Tamara’s take on the ubiquitous lemon drizzle that was found in every café in the land these days was pretty exceptional.
