The Time of Our Lives
Page 24
‘Hmm,’ Seb says thoughtfully. ‘So, is it just you working here?’
‘You ask a lot of questions,’ I point out.
‘I do,’ he replies. ‘It’s been said before.’
‘What do you do for work?’ I ask.
‘At the moment, nothing,’ he replies.
I raise my eyebrows.
‘What?’ Seb laughs, and there are those dimples again.
I suddenly remember what I’m wearing and tighten the belt of my dressing gown self-consciously.
‘You do nothing?’
‘Nope.’
‘How does a man who does nothing afford a suit like that? And drive around in a Porsche?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘You’ve got me, I’m a drug dealer,’ he says sarcastically. ‘No, I’m just between jobs at the moment. Does this train work?’
Seb runs his hand along the track until he reaches the miniature steam train that used to run all around the shop.
‘Not anymore,’ I admit. ‘It needs repairing.’
‘Shame,’ he says. ‘I like it.’
‘So, you’re just taking a break in Marram Bay then?’ I ask.
‘Just having a look around.’
‘Well, if you need someone to show you the sights,’ I start, before my brain has chance to catch up with my mouth and reality hits me. What am I saying? This isn’t me; I don’t talk to men. Well, I do talk to men, most days in fact, but this isn’t Pete the postman, this is a man man. I don’t know what on earth I was thinking, saying that. There’s just something about Seb that is drawing me in. I quickly backtrack. ‘I’m sure you don’t …’
‘I might just take you up on that, Ivy,’ he replies with a big smile. ‘Do all your customers get this kind of special treatment?’
‘What customers?’ I joke.
Seb takes the snow globe from the shelf and brings it over to the counter. ‘Is this Marram Bay, inside?’
‘It is. There’s a local guy who makes them – I buy them from him.’
‘I’ll take it.’ He grins, placing it down in front of me.
I can’t help but wonder if he actually wants the snow globe, or if he’s only buying it because he feels sorry for me, for seemingly having no customers. I can appreciate that, to an outsider, a Christmas shop that is always open might not seem like the kind of place that would get much custom, but things will pick up in the run-up to Christmas. Either way, I appreciate him buying something. Along with his cheeky smile, Seb has a glimmer of kindness in his eyes, a glimmer that I can’t help but notice twinkling when I look at him.
‘That’s £9.99, please. Would you like me to wrap it up for you?’
‘That’s OK, I’m going straight to my car,’ he says, before furrowing his brow. ‘How did you know I drove a Porsche?’
‘What?’
‘You know what kind of car I drive …’
‘Oh, just a guess.’
Seb laughs. ‘Is that your party trick? Guessing what kind of car people drive?’ he asks.
‘Is it even possible for anyone to be able to do that?’ I reply.
‘Sure,’ he tells me. ‘Hold out your hand.’
I place my hand out in front me, which Seb takes in his hands, examining my palm. It’s amazing, just how warm his hands are compared to mine.
‘Let’s see … you drive … a Honda HR-V,’ he says.
Spooked, I snatch my hand back.
‘A gold one,’ he adds with a smug grin.
‘Ahh, you saw it outside,’ I say, suddenly self-conscious that he’s seen my 1998 plate Honda. It might be old, but it’s an amazing car that never lets me down. It’s no convertible Porsche though, that’s for sure.
‘How could I miss it?’ He laughs. ‘It’s the only car for miles.’
I step out from behind the counter and walk Seb towards the door. He stops in his tracks to say something to me, stopping when he notices the mistletoe hanging above us.
‘How seriously do you take Christmas tradition?’ he asks with an awkward laugh.
‘Pretty seriously,’ I say cautiously. ‘I pretty much live Christmas every day …’
‘Hmm,’ he replies.
There’s an awkward silence between us, but only for a few seconds. I glance around the room awkwardly until I notice Seb’s face just inches from mine. He plants a quick peck on my lips, immediately seeming surprised at himself for doing so. Maybe, as cool and as confident as he seems, he doesn’t do this sort of thing often. I guarantee this sort of thing happens to me even less.
‘OK, well,’ he says, a little flustered, but with a smile on his face. ‘See you around, Ivy.’
‘Bye,’ I call after him, running my fingertips over my lips, where Seb’s lips touched them even if it was only for a second. As I sit back down behind the counter, I look at my book. For the first time – maybe ever – something happened to me in real life that was fresh out of a romcom, and I can’t quite believe it.
He said ‘see you around’ when he left – it would be great to see him around, but what are the chances I’ll ever see him again? He’s not about to need another snow globe anytime soon, is he? He’s got a posh, southern accent, and we don’t have too many men like that in Marram Bay. We have farmers, fishermen – we even have a guy who makes snow globes, but no well-spoken southern men in flashy suits.
Nope, I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. But if I do, I really hope I’m not dressed as a reindeer.
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