Page 20 of Christmas in Mistletoe
However, none of them had ever caused a mini-earthquake in her with a touch of their hand. Damn it, Franreallydidn’t need the one person whodidto be Ruby. Not after the way their breakdown chat had turned so sour.
There must be something faulty in her wiring in Mistletoe. Something off. Maybe it was the snow.
She wasn’t used to snow.
That was probably it.
“If it’s any consolation, you went down with the grace of a top ballet dancer.” Fran paused. “Will you accept some help to your front door, now? I promise, as soon as we get there, I’ll leave and you’ll be shot of this music exec.”
Ruby grabbed some bags, letting Fran take some. She gave her a weak smile. “Thanks.” Ruby began walking, limping slightly. She glanced across at Fran, looking like she was about to say something, then didn’t.
Fran let it go. “What are your plans for this weekend?”
It was still snowing, and every word Fran uttered was topped with wet snow. It settled all around her in thick layers.
“It’s going to be a busy one,” Ruby replied. “The start of December means the annual Christmas Tree Contest and Treasure Hunt, so this weekend is big news in Mistletoe.” She flipped her head to the sky. “I just hope this snow, pretty as it is, doesn’t cause an issue. Otherwise, there might be many furrowed brows in the village. Still, it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”
They walked down the drive to the farm in silence, battling the growing snow storm, Fran swallowing down many flakes by the time they arrived. She didn’t have a hat or gloves. Her fingers were numb and her hair wet. She was sure she had a nose like Rudolph, too.
Ruby was just fishing in her bag for her key when the door swung open. Mary appeared on the other side, her cheeks flushed with warmth. It was in stark contrast to the pair of them. Chipper ran circles around them, jumping up at Ruby.
“Oh my goodness! Get in! Get in! You both look frozen!” Mary said.
“Hello, Chipper! Good boy!” Ruby flicked a worried gaze to Fran.
She didn’t need to panic. Fran was happy to get as far away from Ruby at the fastest speed possible. “Thanks, but I was just giving Ruby a hand with her bags. Turns out she buys a whole lot of presents.”
“That’s our Ruby!” Mary took the bags from Fran’s hands. “You sure I can’t offer you a coffee or a hot chocolate at least?”
Fran shook her head. “No thanks. My dads are waiting for me. I better get home.” She gave Ruby a tight smile. “See you soon.”
Ruby dipped her head. “Thanks for the lift.”
Chapter 8
Being wokenat 7am and told she had to get up to help the village wasn’t Fran’s idea of the perfect Saturday morning. Especially not after the journey she’d endured last night, including a broken-down car and a spluttering friendship. Apparently, a siren call had gone out across Mistletoe this morning by text. Like it or not, Fran was part of the village now. She checked in the mirror, wiped the sleep from her eyes and splashed her face. Did she need to apply make-up? Who for? She didn’t even know these people.
But she knew Ruby.
Fran pushed that thought to one side and trundled down the stairs, where her dads already had their coats, hats, scarves and boots on. They were Mistletoe-ready.
It was only now she did a thorough inspection of the hallway she took in just how all-in Dad and Pop had gone on the Christmas decorations.
Back in Surrey, they’d been far more reserved. The one thing her parentsalwaysmade sure they had was mistletoe. Her dads had a thing for mistletoe. It was how they’d got together one snowy night in Soho some 40 years ago. They’d been inseparable ever since. Hence, when they’d seen a village in Suffolk named Mistletoe, it had seemed like destiny. Resistance was futile.
Now, Fran took in the Christmas cards on strings and the tinsel on door frames. The fake snow on the window panes. She’d even spied Christmas tea towels hanging from the AGA last night. They hadn’t even bought a tree or really got started yet. She blinked, gave them both a good-morning kiss on the cheek, then shrugged on her too-thin coat and inappropriate shoes. The clock had barely scraped past 7.30am when they opened the front door. There hadn’t even been time for a cuppa.
When Fran walked out, the crisp, dazzling stillness tickled her cheeks and stole her breath. There was something to be said for being out this early. The holly bush had a brilliant snow jacket. The fir tree was majestic. The rest of the plants sported a snow trim. When Fran stepped onto the garden path — which Pop had semi-cleared — the thin layer of snow crunched underfoot. The best part of any snowfall was being the first one to tread in it. It never happened in London. It hardly ever happened in Surrey. But in Mistletoe? She could roll around to her heart’s content and still have fields and fields of snow to go.
“Wow. I feel like I’m inside a Christmas card.”
Dad nodded. “Isn’t it magical? This is why we moved to Mistletoe.”
Fran couldn’t argue with that.
“We’ve done some fabulous bike rides around these roads and trails, too,” Pop added.
“No doing that in this weather.” When she heard the words, Fran rolled her eyes at herself. When had their roles of parent and child begun to shift?
