Page 64 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘Reverted?’ he echoed.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Reverted.You were pretty blunt when we first met, then we started working together and I saw a whole other side to you.Thenyou effectively ghosted me, hoarding all the bunting at the manor, and then we … rescued Felix from the lake.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Today, you’re back to how we were at the beginning of this whole thing. Are you really going to backtrack on all our plans?’
He stared at her, and she could sense he was working out how to respond to her frankness. ‘Soph.’ He sounded cautious. ‘The truth is—’
‘Sophie! Harry!’ She jumped, her attention dragged away when she saw who was standing outside the village hall, two baguettes under his arms and a Santa hat on his head.
‘Dexter,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’m tempted to ask what you’re doing, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.’
He grinned. ‘I’m making French bread pizzas for Amber’s birthday party – one of Lucy’s best friends. It’s fancy dress, and Lucy said I had to have an outfit even though I’m hired help, but my wardrobe is a bit on the sparse side.’
Sophie winced. ‘Not sure she’s going to be impressed with just a Santa hat.’
‘She can’t expect me to make delicious foodandbe a source of ridicule.’ Dexter shrugged. ‘I’m hoping her and her friends’ stomachs will win out on this occasion. How are you, Harry?’
‘Great thanks,’ Harry said, sounding anything but. ‘We’re off to Vea’s, to immerse ourselves in Wasabi tape, or whatever it is.’
Sophie nudged him in the ribs. ‘It’sWashitape, and he loves it really,’ she told Dexter. ‘He’s just practising being the Christmas Grinch for the Oak Fest.’
Dexter laughed. ‘Looks like you’ve got it nailed.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ Sophie said, keeping the smile on her face.
Once Dexter had waved a baguette in goodbye and was out of sight, Harry put his lips close to Sophie’s ear and murmured, ‘I’m going to be Santa at the festival, not the Grinch.’
‘Well, then.’ She ignored the delicious shiver that his breath on her ear had set free, and turned her head towards his, so their lips were inches apart. ‘You’d better buck your ideas up, or you’re going to ruin Father Christmas for everyone, for ever.’
His eyes sparked with more than just anger, but before he could say or do anything else, Sophie took a step back.She could feel him glowering beside her all the way to Vea’s craft shop.
Vea had outdone herself, ordering in a range of felts, leathers and cardboard, shimmering threads and sequins, tiny pearls and beads, glitter snowflakes, gossamer fabrics and watery silks. There were also several rolls of festive Washi tape, which Sophie took pleasure in pointing out to Harry.
He stayed quiet while Vea helped Sophie pack everything up, and while she selected the tools she would need – needles and glues, staplers and leather punches. There were indelible, fine-tipped markers for the messages she wanted everyone to write, glitter pens for festive cheer, cinnamon sticks and dried orange for anyone who wanted to add the scents of the season to their decorations.
‘This is perfect, Vea, thank you.’
‘How did the bunting go?’
‘It’s done,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll bring the sewing machine back in the next couple of days.’
Vea waved him away. ‘You’ve got it until January. Take it to the hall, if you like – as long as there’s someone supervising the children.’
‘Thank you Vea,’ Sophie said, hefting up her bags, ‘for everything.’
Once they were outside, Sophie turned towards home. She had been looking forward to seeing Harry again, anticipation thrumming through her at how it might be between them after their kiss. But instead of it bringing them closer, he’d decided to shut off from her altogether.
‘I’d better take these back to the flat,’ she said.
Harry stopped, motionless, in front of Vea’s windowdisplay. There were glittering angels and woolly felt sheep, a wicker manger holding a felt baby Jesus. ‘That’s it?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know what else to say.’ She shrugged, her paper bags crackling with the movement. ‘You’re clearly not up for this right now, and I’m done trying to get blood out of a stone.’
He closed his eyes. ‘Sophie.’
‘What?’ She stood there, waiting for his answer, and when none was forthcoming she turned away. ‘I’m going home.’
‘Wait!’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’ She turned to face him, noticing how his eyes seemed greener in the afternoon light, his skin faintly freckled. He looked unfairly healthy for December, even though there were smudges under his eyes.
