Page 24 of Christmas in Mistletoe
Fran nodded. “I never said I wasn’t creative. You assumed that. I just favoured going the business route. But like I told you, that can still be creative.”
Ruby winced. “You’re right. I did assume. I promise I’m going to stop doing that.”
Fran hoped that was true. She let it go.
Once the farm’s courtyard, drive and paths were gritted, Fran helped Ruby clear up the rest of the courtyard trees. The other three had themes of Madonna (the pop star, not the mother of Christ), love, and Italy. Fran had never seen a tree decorated in red, white and green dried pasta before, along with a pizza tree-topper, but there was a first time for everything. The Madonna tree won this round, though, with its mix of lace, leather, leotards, cowboy hats and pointy bras. Whoever was responsible had covered all of Madge’s key eras.
Once the courtyard trees were done, there were four more nearby to clear. As they walked, Fran flexed her toes to keep her blood moving. Her warmth factor was infinitely better than it had been at the start of the day. Ruby had been right — getting a pair of Mary’s boots had been a smart move. She’d also accepted a bright pink ski jacket, scarf, and bobble hat. She’d have frozen to death by now in what she had been wearing. Her mission when she got back to London was to get all-new outdoor wear and be Mistletoe-proofed.
Ruby took Fran’s gritting shovel and stowed it with hers by the farmhouse front door.
“I just need to check something at the cafe, then we’ll go.”
Fran nodded, then blew out a breath. It froze in the cold morning air. It was still only 10am, but they’d accomplished so much. Fran’s days were always busy, but some whistled by and she had to think hard about what she’d accomplished. It wasn’t like that in Mistletoe. The jobs were tangible. Grit the yard. Bake the pies. Shake the trees. There was none of the ambiguity of modern life. The feeling of accomplishment was on a different level.
She took off a glove and held it between her teeth, the ends of her fingers still numb as she prodded her phone. She asked her dads how they were getting on. They replied almost instantly that they were nearly done, and heading to The Bar for coffee and refreshments in half an hour. She told them she’d meet them there.
Five minutes later, Ruby’s voice carried in the air. Fran turned as she strode towards her. There was no doubt about it, Rubydidstride. She looked so at home in this environment, too, which was such a long way from Fran’s comfort zone. She was wearing black jeans, a black Berghaus jacket (“built for warmth” as Ruby had told her before), plus a thermal hat and gloves. She didn’t have any make-up on, but her skin was unblemished and naturally rosy.
Ruby fitted here.
Fran had admired Ruby’s style from the moment they met. It suited her and her music. How was it possible this country-living style suited her, too?
The farmhouse keys dangled from Ruby’s fingers. “You want to come in and get a blast of warmth while I pick up the food mum’s done for the hungry workers? We’ll do the tree inspections on the way.”
“Sure.” Fran followed Ruby into the house. As soon as she stepped through the door, her senses were overcome by the smell of baking. “Your house smells like Christmas.”
Ruby turned and gave her a grin as she dropped the keys on the table. “That’s why I like to come home. Mum was up at 5am. There’s nothing like waking up to the smell of fresh baking in the morning. Do your dads bake?”
Fran nodded. “They never used to, but now they’re living in Mistletoe, so much has changed. Every time I walk into the kitchen, they’re whipping up batches of scones and mince pies.”
Ruby grabbed a couple of tins from the table, and lifted the lids to check what was inside. “I challenge them to make them as good as these.” She closed the lids and walked towards Fran. “Can you take these?”
Fran held out her arms and Ruby plonked the tins into them. “Mistletoe will work its magic on your dads, mark my words. Before they know what’s happening, they’ll be putting on a Santa outfit and eating mince pies at every meal.”
She and Ruby ferried three tins of pies to the van, putting them on the front seat. Fran slammed the door, and when she looked up, Ruby’s brow furrowed.
“You know what, on second thoughts.” She held out a thermal-gloved hand, and grabbed Fran’s arm in her grip. “Let’s go and see the trees now. You got your map?”
Fran patted her jacket pocket. “Never leave home without it.” She was trying to ignore the warmth racing up her arm, emanating from where Ruby was touching her.
“You’re a natural at this, London girl.”
Ruby threaded an arm through Fran’s and together they crunched down the farm pathway, stopping at the first tree which was 50 metres ahead. Ruby spread her arms before giving Fran a “ta-da!”, along with a broad smile. “This is Mistletoe Farm’s entry.”
Fran peered upwards, in awe of the tree’s height. It had to be at least 20 feet tall. “It’s wonderful. I love the candy canes. It reminds me ofElf, the one Christmas film I like. What’s the tree theme?”
“The O’Connells.” She pointed at a bauble. “See this? It’s me, aged nine, the first year we moved here which is when Mum began the tradition.” On the front of the bauble was a tiny girl with a wonky fringe, standing proudly next to a snowman. Ruby twizzled it around to see the number nine stamped on the other side. “Mum and Dad got a bauble done of each of us for every year of our lives when we bought the farm. Luckily, the tree’s pretty tall, and we have another one inside, otherwise we might run out of branches.”
“I never even knew personalised baubles were a thing.”
Ruby quirked an eyebrow. “So much to learn about Christmas.”
Never a truer word spoken. To Fran, Christmas was an unnecessary pause in her work calendar. She tolerated it because the final quarter sales were always the best, but she didn’t always celebrate it. Didn’t always come home for it. Whereas, the O’Connells embodied Christmas. “Do you still get the baubles done?”
Ruby nodded. “Every year. Plus, me, my brother and sister decorate this tree every year. I finished my part at 6am this morning. Scott and Victoria did their bit earlier in the week. It’s another reason I can’t stay in London around the festive time. We have traditions I can’t walk away from, you know?”
Fran nodded, staring into Ruby’s eyes. “I’m kinda getting that impression.”
