Page 39 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘I’d offer you a drink before we go, but if we want to fit in the wholesalers and the Christmas market we should step on it.’ He unlocked the Audi and held the passenger door open, and Ollie climbed into the pine-scented interior.
An hour and a half later, Ollie had, with Max’s invaluable help, chosen the perfect self-serve coffee machine for A New Chapter. She’d spoken to Thea, who had given her permission to make the order, and then Max had driven them away from the industrial park, back towards the coast, and suddenly they were at the top of tall cliffs, a village nestled below them, a patchwork of rooftops and a curved, sandy bay. It was beautifully quaint, a typical Cornish seaside community, and even though it was evening, the beach was busy – not just with people, but with vehicles and stands: a Christmas market.
The light was fading, turning the sky a deep, inky blue, and Ollie could feel the anticipation of the unusual setting, all its festive promise, like a slowly expanding balloon in her chest.
‘This is Porthgolow,’ Max said, as he drove slowly down the steep hill into the village. ‘It’s smaller than Port Karadow, but it has the Cornish Cream Tea Bus.’ He gestured at a glossy red, vintage double-decker that had pride of place. ‘The owner runs food fairs and festivals, and this year she’s expanding, having the Christmas market on weekdays, as well as at weekends.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Ollie said, craning her neck to look at the stalls, already busy with customers. Christmas music competed with the steady thrum of the waves, the low hum of talking and laughter.
Max parked in the car park next to the beach, then turned to her as he shut the engine off. ‘Ready?’ She didn’t think she was imagining the trepidation in his voice. Was he thinking that this felt like a date, just as she was?
‘Absolutely,’ she said, because she wasn’ttentative or trepidatious. She was Ollie Spencer, and she could handle an evening with a hot guy at a Cornish Christmas market without totally losing her head. Or, she thought, her heart.
They stepped over the low metal barrier onto the beach. The sand felt firm, with only a slight give, beneath her boots. The air was biting, with the added sharpness of being close to the sea, and above them, on the north side of the cove, a glass building gleamed with golden light, like a star on top of a Christmas tree.
‘This is amazing,’ Ollie said, as they let the market swallow them, a thick blanket of festive sights, smells and sounds. Between the food trucks selling burritos and beers, cocktails and crepes, there were little wooden huts reminiscent of traditional German markets. The log designs were rustic, and the strings of fairy lights and fake snow, with the grey-blue sea in the background, made it seem magical.
People strolled between stalls holding cups of hot chocolate or mulled wine, and children in brightly coloured hats and scarves wove between adults, giddy with the knowledge that Christmas, with its presents and chocolate and end-of-term excitements, wasn’t far away.
‘I know it’s only the third of November,’ Max said, ‘but it doesn’t feel like it in here. It’s a proper Christmas wonderland.’
‘What are you hoping to get?’ Ollie asked, quick-stepping to keep up as he strode towards the nearest stall. It was fullof wooden carvings: aeroplanes and donkeys, bowls and spoons, boxes with intricate patterns on the lids. Wooden hearts, stars and doves hung from the ceiling, some with details picked out in metallic paint, others plain, letting the grain show through. Their silky, colourful ribbons announced them as tree decorations, and Ollie was tempted to buy one of each design.
‘Nothing in particular,’ Max said. ‘I just thought we could soak up the atmosphere.’
‘You’re a fan of Christmas, then?’
He smiled. ‘I’m not obsessed with it, but I love how celebratory it is, how over the top it can be. I love things like this.’ He gestured to the bustle and glow surrounding them. Ollie looked down, and was surprised to find sand on the ground, rather than snow.
‘I do too,’ she said. ‘I love that it’s the perfect excuse to be as silly as you want. And I’m sure I can find inspiration for the bookshop here. What about Sea Brew? I’m guessing you won’t stop at Yule log bunting?’
‘Of course not. I’m going to ease into it, though. I don’t want the café looking like an exploded cracker factory at the beginning of November. Have you heard any more from that author’s editor?’
‘Nope. I’m sure she’ll send over dates soon enough. Do you want a mulled wine?’
‘Depends how strong it is. I’m driving us home.’
‘Let’s see what festive drinks are on offer.’
They found the bar truck, and Ollie bought Max a Black Forest gateau hot chocolate, and herself a mulled wine. With darkness descending and the drizzle soft but persistent, itfelt perfect, somehow: as if snow would have been a cliché, but the rain was just enough.
‘How are you liking Liam’s barn?’ Max asked, when he’d bought them cinnamon sugar pretzels to go with their drinks.
‘I love it. It’s calm, and quiet, and I’ve got so much space! Sometimes I get the urge to lie on the carpet and starfish.’
Max grinned. ‘Why don’t you?’
‘I’d get trampled by a dog, whojust keepsgetting bigger. Anyway, I have zero complaints. It’s so different to my poky London flat – I mean, obviously.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Do you live on your own?’ It was the first time she’d asked, even in a roundabout way, about his relationship status. Of course, he could live with his parents, but somehow she didn’t think that would be the case.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I like having my own space, and I’m too old for all that house-share rubbish: someone else’s plates filling the sink; passive-aggressive arguments about toilet paper.’ He shuddered. ‘It’s just me and Oxo.’
‘And Oxo is your child? I must say, that’s an unusual name. Boy or girl?’ She glanced at him, and he laughed and elbowed her gently in the ribs.
‘Oxo is my cat.’
‘Why?’ She was laughing now, too.
‘Because I like cats.’
