Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage: A heartwarming and funny Christmas romance

by Katie Ginger

  ‘Don’t be grumpy! Everyone loves hot chocolate.’

  ‘Do you have marshmallows?’ he asked, warming to the idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk a hot chocolate.

  ‘No, but I do have a secret recipe you’re going to love.’

  Joe watched as Esme moved around the kitchen finding bars of dark and milk chocolate, cocoa powder and milk, and measuring things out. She began melting it all together in a saucepan and he watched her face as she stirred. Her brow furrowed a little as she concentrated but then her features relaxed as she tasted it. Could he ask what she was thinking about or was it too intrusive, to intimate even? He wasn’t ready to be intimate with anyone, not emotionally. He turned away and added another log to the fire. Esme sat down next to him again and handed him his chocolate. Joe sipped and it was the most amazing thing he’d ever tasted.

  ‘This is one of my favourite recipes. My grandma used to make these for me and Alice every Friday in winter as an end of the week treat.’

  He sipped and the hot, velvety chocolate slid down his throat. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most hot chocolates were. It was rich and intense and delicious, coating his throat with a silky warmth, warming him from the inside. ‘So, how are you settling in?’

  ‘Better now,’ Esme replied, nodding at the fire. ‘But it’s quite nice here. I like it.’

  ‘Don’t you miss London?’

  A flicker of regret passed over her face, followed by a look of longing. She clearly did, but all she said was, ‘Sometimes. How do you like being an estate agent? I have to be honest, it wasn’t the career move I thought you’d make.’

  ‘What did you think I’d end up doing?’ He took another sip of the delicious hot chocolate. Against the light from the orange flames, Esme looked like a Renaissance painting, even in her baggy sweatshirt. Her red hair was illuminated and her pale skin stood out against the depth of its colour. Joe flicked his eyes away, worried that the emotion mounting in his chest would become too much if he kept looking at her. Just as he did, her eyes met his for a second.

  ‘I don’t know, really.’ She shrugged and let out a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know what I thought. When we were teenagers, the world seemed so big and like we could do anything we wanted. Reality isn’t like that though, is it?’

  Joe gave a slow shake of the head. She’d had a kicking just like him and he could see the hurt on her face, still fresh, still painful. His had been hanging around for ages now; he was unable to shift it from his soul. They said time heals all wounds but it hadn’t for him. It hadn’t lessened the load he carried or reduced its burden. Esme’s strength at trying to move forward already was astounding. ‘Reality sucks, doesn’t it?’

  ‘So, is there no one special in your life?’ Esme asked. Her tone was light and he knew it was a genuine and normal question. Strangely, even though his feelings were always heightened at this time of year, her asking didn’t fill him with the same fear it normally did and he felt his brain answer before his heart could stop it.

  ‘There was someone. I met an Australian girl a long time ago and moved out to Oz to be with her.’ He paused. ‘But it didn’t work out.’ Joe cleared his throat as a wave of sentiment engulfed him, so strong it nearly choked him. He hadn’t planned on saying anymore, but the words kept coming. ‘It, umm, it all went wrong and I ended up back here with no job or … anything, really.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Esme. ‘It sucks, doesn’t it?’

  Joe watched her, wondering if she was being sarcastic. She probably still saw him as the bad boy from school, still trying to be cool, but then he saw the tenderness of her expression. ‘It does,’ he replied, nodding. Then he laughed, self-consciously. For the first time in a long time, a surge of real emotion grabbed him and he wanted to reach over and kiss her. Not for the fleeting moment of reprieve it could offer, but to connect with someone – her – Esme – on a deeper level. Connect with who she was on the inside. It was a feeling that scared him, not enough to make him run away, but enough that he felt a sudden need to lighten the mood and hide back in the shadows of his mind. ‘Anyway, I quite like being an estate agent. It’s more fun than you’d think.’

  The conversation moved on as he spoke about Mr Rigby and some of the people he’d worked with over the years and Esme chatted about her work on different television shows. She was funny and had a quick, dry wit. He noticed though, that she often kept the conversation away from her personal life and, ever professional, she didn’t name the celebrity chefs she talked about unless she was saying nice things. After what felt like five minutes, he checked his watch and was surprised to see almost two hours had passed and it was nearly eight o’clock. ‘I’d better get going, Esme. Thanks for the hot chocolate. It was amazing.’

  She gave a cheerful smile. ‘You’re welcome. Thanks for checking on me and helping me light the fire.’

  Joe shrugged his coat up onto his shoulders. ‘No worries. If you need a hand again, just shout. You’ve got my number, haven’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think so, actually.’ Esme looked around as if checking to see if she had.

  ‘Well, here.’ He dug in his pocket and handed her a business card with his mobile number on. ‘Ring anytime, okay.’

  ‘Okay.’ She took the card in her long slender fingers and Joe made his way towards the door.

  ‘Goodnight, Esme.’

  ‘Night, Joe.’

  As Joe walked back to his car, the cold night air biting at the back of his neck and cheeks as he pulled up his collar, he turned to the pretty cottage and watched the smoke from the chimney curl into the sky. He smiled to himself, pleased that he’d been able to help Esme, and safe in the knowledge she’d be much more comfortable now. But the feelings that had stirred in his heart were worrying – terrifying even, now he thought on them again. He wasn’t ready. And as he’d feared, the guilt that washed over him caused his fingers to tremble as he turned the key in the ignition. Taking a deep breath, he put the car in gear and concentrated on the road, hoping that the moment would pass, but knowing deep down it wouldn’t. The black hole from which he could never fully crawl out was beckoning him in again and he was powerless to resist it.

  Chapter 9

  London

  Leo flopped onto the sofa and turned on the television. How come Monday night TV was so boring? He flicked over to Netflix and clicked on his profile, next to Veronica’s. On Saturday night, the first night they’d spent in together since Esme had left and she moved in, she’d made him change Esme’s profile to hers. But not before grabbing the remote and having a flick through to see what programmes Esme had liked. He hadn’t realised how much trash she must have watched when he was working late and she wasn’t out with her weirdo friends. It was a wonder her brain hadn’t turned to mush and dribbled out of her ears. Leo chuckled to himself at his joke and made a mental note to use it again in conversation with Veronica – it would definitely make her laugh. Thinking of which, where was she?

  He checked his phone to see a text message. It must have pinged while he was lost in thought. He worried for a moment it would be Esme, begging him to let her come back, for them to try again, and the muscles in his legs tensed but relaxed down as he saw it was from Veronica. Oh, she was working late again. As he wasn’t due to meet any clients tonight and his friends had been a bit iffy with him since he’d announced his relationship with Veronica (jealousy no doubt), that meant another dinner in on his own.

  The only trouble with Veronica being senior to him was that she had more nights out with clients than he had. He knew that tonight Veronica was seeing her biggest client, an American who needed a lot of schmoozing, and she’d warned him she probably wouldn’t be home till late. At the time it had been fine. He’d planned to go out with his friends, but it turned out his friends were busy again. A niggling in his mind told him it was an excuse. He knew they thought he was playing with fire, dating his own boss, but they didn’t know Veronica. Not like he did.

  Leo
found a programme to watch. A bit of Bear Grylls always cheered him up. After a few minutes he sighed and reached behind him to remove a mauve scatter cushion. He hadn’t wanted them ruining the sleek lines of the expensive grey leather sofa, but Veronica couldn’t get comfortable without them. Esme had never gone in for all these extra bits and bobs but Veronica had started sneaking them in. Leo had dropped some subtle hints, but she’d argued with him and the pesky things kept appearing in all manner of colours and with strange adornments and tassels. After piling them at the far end of the sofa, he was able to get comfortable. The programme was an hour long, so surely she’d be home by the time it ended.

  The show finished at just gone nine o’clock and his stomach was rumbling even louder. He thought about giving it another five minutes, but it was no good, he just couldn’t concentrate when he was this hungry. He texted Veronica asking when she’d be home and she responded straightaway, a bit stroppily in his opinion, saying she didn’t know and accusing him of being clingy. Clingy? He wasn’t clingy. He just wanted to know what was going on so he could plan his own evening. It wasn’t much to ask. Veronica might be a dab hand with clients, but she needed to work on her communication. Still, it was early days of living together, they could work it out. Things were moving quickly, and that was good, wasn’t it? It showed they were meant to be. Veronica was so like him — career-oriented, ambitious. They were sure to go places. Though Leo did still feel a little disappointed she hadn’t liked the ring he’d bought her. She’d called it loud and insisted they go and find something together so she could choose for herself.

  Huffily, Leo went to the kitchen. It would have been nice if her response had come an hour ago – even that one – so he could’ve eaten. He wasn’t used to waiting around for people. Opening the fridge, Leo perused the contents. A mouldy tomato, half a soggy lettuce and some eggs were all that remained. Veronica wasn’t a shopper or a cook, not like Esme. When Esme had lived here the fridge had been stocked with all manner of delights from exquisite cheeses to delicious meats from all over the world. She always made him the tastiest leftovers too, so all he had to do was throw them in the microwave. He’d have a quick chat with Veronica about doing the shopping. Leo remembered one night when he’d been really late home from work and Esme had been out with her friends, he’d arrived home just after her and was starving. In her jolly and slightly tipsy mood, she’d pulled together an amazing picnic that they ate on the floor in front of the telly. They’d met at a picnic, weirdly. In Hyde Park with her friends. They were playing some silly game and she’d fallen backwards laughing, only to crash into his path and trip him up. He’d been mesmerised by her straightaway and when she was still there when he returned from his meeting, watching him walk past. He knew she was interested and doubled back to ask her out. Things had been so much better back then. And it wasn’t her fault he’d got bored with her. That was life.

  Leo eyed the eggs and squared his shoulders. He’d make an omelette. He could do it. French people made them all the time so how hard could it be? Ten minutes later and feeling a bit like a student, Leo glared at the soggy scrambled egg on barely toasted bread. He wouldn’t hear from Veronica again this evening he knew that much, and who knew what time she’d be in. But he wouldn’t interrupt her meeting. He used to hate it if Esme did that to him.

  Taking his disappointing plate and going back to the sofa, Leo decided to watch one more episode of Bear Grylls before going to bed. He ignored the thought that this whole evening should be working out the other way around, with him out all night and Veronica sitting at home waiting for him to crawl in at a ridiculous time, perhaps a little pissed, and slide into bed beside her. A sudden image of Esme’s blazing red hair splayed out on the pillow next to his shot into his brain. He ignored it and scooped up some runny egg only to watch it promptly fall off the fork.

  Chapter 10

  London

  Felicity Fenchurch turned to David, who only managed to annoy her even more by giving an unhelpful shrug of his round fleshy shoulders. Bending down, she studied the triple-layer chocolate chestnut cake that was leaning precariously to the left. She had no idea why the food technologists hadn’t been able to make it work. She’d told them what she wanted, including the secret ingredient and special method, and no, she didn’t have an actual written recipe, it was a concept. Her dear granny hadn’t written it down. She’d told them to make a basic chocolate cake, add a slug of maple syrup and some chestnut puree, then pop a layer of whipped cream in the middle. Felicity straightened up and put her hands on her hips. She had no idea what they’d done wrong. They were clearly idiots.

  David edged in closer. ‘Umm, darling Felicity, it’s looking a little, shall we say, tired at the moment, isn’t it?’ Felicity glared at him and he shrank bank. ‘I just mean it needs a little extra support and a tad more decoration. I’m sure it’ll be fab when it’s finished.’

  ‘It is finished,’ she replied, through gritted teeth. Even with the light set up to be as flattering as possible, it was uneven and messy. Maybe they hadn’t whipped the cream stiff enough. She’d watched the food techs turning out the cakes. They were fine. A little crumbly perhaps, but no one would know at home, as long they didn’t start falling apart. Felicity felt herself growing hot as she glanced at the top layer of sponge and saw a crack appearing. ‘I don’t know why it isn’t working.’ She glared at one of the food techs standing nearby. ‘You? What’s your name?’

  A petite woman in her early twenties with lavender hair winced. ‘It’s Lucy, Miss Fenchurch.’

  ‘Well, Lucy,’ Felicity said, drumming her long, polished fingernails on the table top. ‘Why isn’t it working?’

  Lucy stepped closer and examined the cake that was toppling further and further westward. Nervously, she said, ‘I think the cake layers are too small and the filling is too gooey for it to be triple layers. And the cream’s starting to melt under the lights as well. The sponges were a bit dry when we turned them out. I think the chestnut puree threw off the whole flour, cocoa, milk ratio, and we might have added too much maple syrup, it’s made it taste a bit …’ She hesitated. ‘Umm, bitter. We should probably make the layers thicker as well as it’s three layers. We could re-bake?’

  Felicity caught Sasha, the producer, prowling at the back of the studio, and worse, she kept peering over and checking her watch. Felicity didn’t often lose sleep over anything, but since the incident with Esme Kendrick, she’d felt watched. Sasha didn’t normally bother coming to set and yet, here she was, the day they were shooting the recipe she’d borrowed from Esme. It couldn’t be a coincidence and Felicity was beginning to worry that she wasn’t going to get away with this one. She hadn’t slept much last night, or the night before, even with her special sleep mask and the relaxation tincture she had specially made for her by a very expensive herbalist. ‘There isn’t time,’ Felicity replied to Lucy, her voice a low growl. ‘And don’t worry about the taste. Can’t we buttercream the outside? Or put a ganache on it or something?’

  ‘A ganache would need to cool or it’ll melt the rest of the filling and I don’t think—’

  ‘You don’t think what?’ Felicity crossed her arms over her chest.

  Lucy mumbled, ‘I don’t think a buttercream would work. It’ll make the cake far too sweet.’

  Felicity eyed her. ‘You’re not paid to think, though, are you? You’re paid to bake.’

  David edged forwards and ushered Lucy behind him. ‘Now, now, dear Fliss, I’m sure we’ll be able to sort something out. But we do need to hurry, we’re running out of time. The batter is ready and waiting for us to film the next segment and Sasha’s decided to pay a surprise visit today.’

  In her three-inch heels Felicity was so tall she could see the few lonely hairs on his pink sweaty head. Damn that girl, she thought. She was sure now that Esme had played a trick on her. She must have known three layers were too many and she must have had a special recipe for the batter. From the corner of her eye she saw Sasha
begin to walk towards them. Why did she have to come to set today? She never came to set. Felicity clenched her jaw and turned to Lucy. ‘Just shove some batons in it and put it in the blast chiller for a few minutes.’

  Lucy’s eyes widened. ‘But the cake’s so crumbly it’ll just break up. I really think we need to re-bake and make the sponge thicker, or take a layer off.’

  ‘I will not take a layer off,’ hissed Felicity. ‘Just stick on any bits that fall off then cover the whole thing with chocolate buttercream. Dust the top with cocoa powder and shove on some gold leaf to make it sparkly. And I really don’t give a flying fig what you think. I just need this ready to be presented on camera in fifteen minutes. David?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ll have to do some cut shots of me and not focus so much on the cake.’

  ‘But,’ he hesitated. ‘But Sasha said—’

  ‘I don’t care what Sasha says.’ Felicity flashed her eyes. She could feel herself growing hot under the pressure. ‘The cake isn’t going to work. Don’t ask me why. We must have had a bad batch of chestnut puree or something.’ She brushed her hair back from her face. ‘It is notoriously difficult to work with. Just shoot me with all the individual elements and do a quick shot of the finished thing. Light it with candles or something and I’ll do a voiceover at the end.’

  ‘We don’t have the money for a voice—’

  Felicity shot him a look that said ‘Disagree with me and I’ll kill you.’ David shuffled away just as Sasha approached.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she asked, her eyes boring into Felicity.

  ‘Oh, Sasha, there you are. I was just wondering if you were coming into the studio today. I so hoped you would. This episode is going to be so fantastic. I can feel it.’

  ‘Right.’ Sasha stared at the cake, then at Felicity. ‘Make-up?’ she shouted, and two ladies with brushes came over. ‘Felicity needs some more coverage; she looks tired and sweaty today.’