Page 22 of Christmas in Mistletoe
Ruby sucked on her top lip, then nodded. “Of course, that’s great.” Her tone was flat.
So far, this morning was going about as bad as Fran could have wished. She’d been hoping for a lie-in, followed by one of Pop’s famous fry-ups. Then perhaps a spot ofSaturday Morning Kitchenon the telly, where she could watch people cook food she would never recreate because she didn’t have the time or the inclination.
Instead, here she was.
With Ruby.
Again.
It seemed like their lives were being thrown together whether they liked it or not.
Outside Mistletoe Stores, the snow was already grey and sludge-like from the early morning foot-traffic. Fran and Ruby set off down the road back towards the farm. A home they shared. Sort of.
“Seems like everyone’s quite excited about this. They like being woken up early and giving up their Saturday.” Fran was still a mix of perplexed and impressed.
Ruby shrugged. “Community is important around here. The village is important. It’s one of the reasons I like to come home at this time of year, to feel that. It’s why I value community in my music. It’s not all about money for me.”
Another dig at Fran. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
Ruby shook her head, then stopped walking. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her thick coat, glancing Fran’s way. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I was tired and hungry, but that’s no excuse for tarring everyone with the same brush. It was unfair. Not all music execs are born the same, I know that. I wouldn’t have liked it if you’d done it the other way around, but you didn’t. I apologise.” She stared at Fran.
Fran took a deep breath. “I apologise if I overstepped the mark, too.”
Ruby shook her head. “I deserved it. Can we start again?”
Hadn’t they started again a few times already, yet they always seemed to end up back where they started?
However, when Ruby’s green gaze snagged Fran’s, her doubts disappeared. Maybe they could. They should at least try. For the village’s sake, if nothing else.
She nodded. “Let’s put it all behind us. Clean slate. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Chapter 9
When they arrivedat the farm, Ruby led Fran past the main house and down to the large courtyard behind. There was a wooden stage in the middle that Ruby had avoided singing on ever since Scott and her dad built it seven years ago. Firepits and picnic tables were dotted around the space, and a decorated Christmas tree studded each corner.
Flanking the courtyard stood three stone outbuildings that had been painstakingly renovated by her parents over the years. They now housed a cafe, a gallery that exhibited local art, and the all-important Christmas shop.
Apart from everything being covered in snow, the farm was ready for today. The four Christmas trees were the first they had to de-snow, so the contest could go ahead.
Three villagers — Roger, Betty and Joyce — were waiting at the nearest barn door. Ruby greeted them, gave them a bunch of keys, and they left.
“They’re gritting the car park, then getting the café and food ready for later on.” Ruby waved a hand around the courtyard. “These four trees are in the contest. There are 38 trees scattered about the village, decorated and ready for judging. It’s the most we’ve ever had in one year.”
Fran was standing next to one of the courtyard trees, sniffing one of its branches. “It smells like Christmas.” She spread her arms wide. “It’s making me feel all warm inside, even though I’m bloody freezing.” Fran shook the tree. Snow cascaded onto her. She scrunched her face and blew it off.
Ruby could do nothing but laugh. “You need a thicker coat before you do that again.”
Fran wrapped her arms around her torso. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She stared up at the tree. “The theme for this one is Scotland?” The tree was wearing a kilt with a tartan hat on top, and had an inflatable bottle of Glenfiddich in its branches. Heather peaked out of its pines, too, and a laminated life-size bust of Rod Stewart hung from its right side, a scaled-down Nicola Sturgeon stared from its left.
Ruby nodded. “Well done.”
“I saw the tree at Mistletoe Stores. That’s my favourite so far.”
Ruby grinned. “Victoria is responsible for the Elvis tree. But it can’t win, seeing as we’re running the contest. Victoria’s still pissed.”
“I would be, too. But I can already see there’s stiff competition. Who knew a Christmas tree could be Elvis?”
They crossed the courtyard side by side.
