Page 51 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘What does making bunting involve?’ she asked Vea.
‘I sell you whichever fabrics you like, give you a pattern for the pennants and the edging, and you put it all together. It’ll be simple – especially considering how skilled you are at your notebooks.’
‘Would we need a sewing machine?’
‘We?’ Harry echoed.
‘It would make quicker work of it, especially if you’re making a lot. I can lend you one.’
‘Amazing!’ Sophie felt a flutter of excitement. She wanted this festival to be about community, about getting involved, and they needed to set a good example for the rest of Mistingham.
‘Sophie, we don’t have the time or money—’
‘Sure we do.’ She flapped a dismissive hand at Harry. ‘I don’t mind paying for a few extra crafting bits, and this is a great plan. Vea, can you show us your fabrics?’
‘I absolutely can. This way, please. Come and pick your Christmas materials.’
Harry carried the sewing machine to his Land Rover.
‘We’re making bunting.’ He sounded incredulous, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d been talked into it. ‘With a sewing machine.’
‘It’s going to take us a whole lot longer if we hand-stitch it. And think how much money we’re saving as opposed to buying the ready-made stuff. It sounds pretty simple, doesn’t it?’
‘What if I said I might not have been listening fully to Vea’s instructions?’
‘ThenI’dsay it’s doubly good that we’ve got the pattern. Anyway, crafting is good for you.’
‘So is kale, but I’m not going to start eating it. Are we taking this to your flat?’
‘There’s more room at the manor.’
Harry was in the process of putting the machine in his boot, but he paused and looked up at her. They were organizing this together, but Sophie knew that just inviting herself to his house, invading his space and getting him to do crafting with her – of all things – was perhaps a step too far.
‘You’re taking the lead on it, though,’ he said after a moment.
Her heart thudded. Maybenota step too far, then. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It’ll be worth it, I promise. When we see that bunting flying, knowing that we made it? It’ll feel great. Doing things with your hands is really satisfying.’
Harry’s gaze was steady, somehow both hard and soft, and it was turning her insides into a hot, liquid puddle.
‘It can be,’ he said, deadpan, then he got into the Land Rover, leaving Sophie to scramble into the passenger side and play back their exchange, then consider all the ways it could be interpreted that had absolutely nothing to do with bunting.
As the silence between them stretched, and she fought the urge to cross her legs because she was 100 per cent sure that he would notice, she realized that Harry had grown on her, slowly and stealthily, like a jaguar approaching its prey, and that she had to put a stop to her feelings before someone ended up getting hurt.
Chapter Sixteen
‘One month and three days until Christmas.’ Sophie spoke the words into the quiet of Harry’s study, the fire crackling in the background. Darkness, Terror and Clifton were asleep on the rug in front of the flames, the wind whispering through the trees in the darkness outside, beyond the cosy barrier of the curtains.
Harry didn’t reply immediately, just as he’d so far ignored his beer, whereas Sophie was nearly at the bottom of her bottle. But she didn’t say anything else, because there was a lot of pleasure in watching him work, his head bent over the ancient sewing machine Vea had lent them, creating the bunting that, at the beginning of the week, he’d had no interest in making. Now, he was focusing on it as if his life depended on producing a hundred perfect pennants.
‘You aregreatat this.’ She couldn’t hide her wonder, because she hadn’t expected such delicate dexterity from a man who was adept at knocking fence posts into the ground. ‘There I was extolling the virtues of workingwith your hands, and you’re the one who should be teaching me.’
‘I could certainly teach you some things, if you wanted me to.’
Sophie’s breath hitched.
Harry looked up, his lips parted. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sophie, I’m sorry, I—’
‘It’s OK.’ She grinned to cover her fluttering heart and racing thoughts. How immersed in his work must he have been to let those words slip out? She didn’t think he’d been joking – or not entirely.
