Page 32 of Christmas in Mistletoe
Victoria slapped her leg.
Ruby grabbed the top of the step-ladder, then steadied herself. “Ow! You really need to treat your unpaid help a little better.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, back to you. Fran is gay, queer, whatever. She likes the ladies. You are queer and also like the ladies. So perhaps there’s something there?”
“Just because we’re queer does not mean we will automatically fall into each other’s vaginas. It’s not how it works, Vicky. I thought we had this discussion when I came out ten years ago.” Ruby purposely used the shortened version of her sister’s name, knowing she hated it. It was only ever Victoria.
“Less of the Vicky, thank you.” Victoria scowled as she passed up some green tinsel, along with some foam Santas and reindeers. “Hang this lot from the chains, please. And you know what I mean about Fran. You said yourself you got on. Didn’t you?”
Ruby smiled. In the end, they had. Even had a laugh together. They’d made trees look pretty. Fallen in the snow. Plus, Ruby couldn’t deny that Fran had stirred something inside of her. That she’d let her eyes trail Fran’s lips and think about kissing them. What’s more, Ruby had clutched Fran’s hand at the bar.
Ruby scrunched her forehead as the memory popped into her mind. She tried to push it away. It didn’t work. Standing on the ladder in Mistletoe Stores’ shop window, her pulse quickened. It was almost like she was next to Fran again, her leg pressing against hers, their hands joined. Ruby couldn’t say why she’d grabbed Fran’s hand. In the moment, it had felt like the right thing to do. To support her. Londoners had to stick together in the face of country folk who didn’t understand their world, even if Ruby had a foot in both camps.
And yet. There had been something more to it, hadn’t there? Something Ruby had seen in Fran’s eyes when she’d landed on her in the snow. Something Ruby had felt in her bones when she had to say goodbye to Fran last night.
Ruby missed Fran. Despite their initial differences, they had a lot in common: a love of music, family, London, Mistletoe. Ruby missed their chat. Their connection. Fran’s smile.
Am I seriously thinking about the smile of a music exec?She needed her head examined.
As the image of Fran’s radiant smile filled her head, Ruby wobbled. Her body shook. Then she fell sideways, dropping through the air, to land squarely on a box of Florentines which now might have to be marketed as ‘broken but edible’.
“Ruby!” Victoria’s voice scratched the air as she smothered Ruby, pushing her sister’s hair back from her face.
Ruby winced. Her knee throbbed. Her hand was grazed. Her shoulder was hot. But she was okay. She sat up, and rubbed her shoulder with her other hand.
“What the fuck? You never fall. Did you black out? Should we call a doctor?”
Ruby shook her head. This was normally true. But since she’d met Fran, she’d fallen twice. Was she falling for her, too? Ruby’s throat went dry. “I’m fine. I just zoned out for a moment, then I was on the ground.” She staggered upright, the heat of embarrassment crawling up her cheeks. She wanted to get out of there as quick as she could. She didn’t need an inquisition from her sister.
“Are you sure? You don’t feel light-headed?”
Ruby shook her head, brushing herself down. She glanced at the Florentines. “Sorry about those.”
Victoria grinned. “Eric will be thrilled. He loves them. Now he can have a box all to himself.” She put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Ruby stepped back onto the ladder. There was nothing medically wrong with her. She wasn’t going to tell her sister she’d zoned out thinking about Fran, the very person she’d just told her she wasn’t interested in. The best way to avoid more chat was to finish her display and get back to the farm.
Chapter 13
Fran twisted inher office chair and stared at Damian. His mouth was full of Double Decker, and he was trying to get her to place a bet on whether it was going to be a white Christmas, as well as what song would take the coveted Christmas number one spot.
“The forecasters are predicting snow.” Damian wiped the side of his mouth.
“That’s not a stretch, seeing as it’s been pretty snowy already.”
“Stick 50 quid on and you could easily double your money.”
“Or lose it all.” Fran wasn’t keen on predicting the weather or the charts, especially when they had skin in the game with Fast Forward. The band had just released their Christmas single, and the next couple of weeks would be the big push to get them as close as possible. Top five would be a result. Top three, even better. Number one was the dream. But their main aim was to get the song into the heads of all the teenagers out there, so they’d be streaming it throughout December and beyond.
“Let’s look at the number one contenders apart from Fast Forward,” Damian said. “It could be any ex-member of Boy Wonder. They’ve all got their solo albums out, but who will fans pick? The ballady one, the wholesome one, or the sexy one who can’t sing and is about as interesting as a cupboard?”
Fran tapped some keys, then pushed her chair back. “Cupboard Boy will walk it. But there’s also the big one from Julia Hewson. Fast Forward have got a fighting chance if they can stand the heat. But you know what I think about betting. You might as well burn your money in a firepit. At least you’ll get some heat.”
When Fran thought about a firepit, she was immediately transported back to Mistletoe. To the weekend when she’d drunk hot chocolate, sung Christmas carols, and watched as Ruby mouthed the words to them beside her. When she’d asked her why, Ruby said it was best not to sing if you were a singer in real life. People thought you were showing off. Same with karaoke. Ruby avoided it at all costs.
Her weekend with Ruby had been unexpected. Just like the pangs she’d felt for Mistletoe and its inhabitants ever since she’d come back to London. Where else had Christmas trees dressed as countries or pop stars? Something had shifted inside her. Mistletoe was like a world she’d only believed existed in the movies. But it was real, and it had been living right under her nose all her life. Now, not going back for Christmas was a decision that was gnawing at her from the inside out.
“Actually, if I was going to put money on a Christmas number one, it would be on that YouTube bloke,” she said. “The impossibly skinny one with the floppy hair who sings that novelty song about wheelbarrows. He was having a right old time in the press room when I saw him the other day. He might make Cupboard Boy cry come December 25th.”
