His Christmas Surprise

by Harper, Grace

  His Christmas Surprise

  By

  Grace Harper

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  His Christmas Surprise

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Connect with Grace Harper

  Copyright © Grace Harper 2019

  The right of Grace Harper to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Copying of this manuscript, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author and her publisher, is strictly prohibited.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by GAVON Publishing, 2019

  All rights reserved

  Chapter 1

  Bronwyn

  Saturday – One week until Mollie Gates gets married

  The town of Talbot Bay was situated on the westernmost part of South Wales facing the Irish Sea. The wind that whipped over the cliff and into town would cut you in half. Except for tonight, I didn’t feel the biting wind as I stood outside the main door to the pub waiting for my prey. Dancing from foot to foot, hugging my torso with no coat, I looked left and right squinting into the darkness. I should be too old in my late-twenties to bow to peer pressure and the stupid bets I make with my friends. But if I didn’t, life would be dull. I had remembered to wear my gloves and a woolly hat which partway made it bearable on the December night, a week before Christmas.

  Hen parties had a tendency to get out of control when my friends and I gathered to celebrate an impending marriage. I lived in a town that was small enough to know what happened on every stag event and hen party. All the outrageous bets, indiscreet kisses, and mortifying moments were whispered and shared among anyone who walked down the high street. Clusters of people would gossip behind their hands, side-eyeing the guilty party who passed by. I knew that I would be the centre of everyone’s suspicions tomorrow.

  For decoration, Mollie Gates, my best friend and bride to be, threaded mistletoe into my woolly hat to make me look less desperate and more seasonal.

  Mollie and my three best friends were looking out the window over my left shoulder with their noses pressed up against the glass. It was a tough choice to know who was the most hammered. As they bounced on the bench seat jostling for room and the best viewpoint, I continued to hop from foot to foot.

  We’d started drinking pints of cider eight hours ago when we watched Talbot Bay’s rugby team play. We won against our biggest rivals in the next county which meant drinking more alcohol to celebrate. Cocktail hour had long gone, and now I had a stupid grin on my face waiting for the next man to pass the door of the pub.

  Taking shelter from the wind, I flapped my arms at my side for warmth. I’d lost a bet about where Eccles cakes originated from, and now my punishment was to kiss the next man who passed the pub. Inebriated enough not to argue with the consequences for calling all of my friends idiots for not knowing Eccles cakes were from Yorkshire. Old Mr Thomas at the bar was Welsh as can be, weighed in on our friendly banter to explain it was Lancashire. As a baker and owner of a cafe, I was resolute that it was Yorkshire. Google proved Mr Thomas right and me in the cold waiting for a man.

  Any man.

  I was hoping he was a hottie. I hadn’t kissed a man in months. Single, hot men, were scarce around this part of isolated Wales. Most of the good men fled as soon as they could to find good-paying jobs in the city. The knocking on the window alerted me to my friends craning their necks at the steamed-up window.

  “Bron, look, over there.”

  Cassie pointed in the direction of the lake opposite the pub. The window was so old with its lead crisscross lining that it allowed full conversations like the window wasn’t there in the first place. I think cellophane would have had more effect to keep the occupants of the pub warm.

  Cassie was one of the four bridesmaids and the most straight-laced person I’d ever met until I got alcohol in her. Then she was the biggest party animal in our group. She was a solicitor by day with the respect of her colleagues and her clients, working hard to protect the innocent and hard done by. One glass of chardonnay and Cassie was ready to rip up the town.

  Eloise and Jolene were the other two women in our group of girls. Eloise ran the hairdresser’s shop on the high street. Jolene was a chef in the only decent restaurant within fifty miles. The bride, Mollie, who ran the only guest house in town.

  We were all businesswomen who worked hard and knew how to let our hair down and party. Cassie, Eloise, Jolene, Mollie and I met when we were in Junior School. We all then went onto High school and eventually University, choosing to stay local. Mollie was the first of us to get married, and it took her five months to get engaged and five years to get married. She ran the local Bed and Breakfast, and that’s how she met Charlie Pearce, her husband to be. One week from today, she would be Mollie Pearce. They were nauseatingly happy, and we all secretly aspired to find a husband like Charlie.

  More hammering on the window came from Eloise. She was the hardcore romantic of the group, pushing us all to find a man while she stayed single.

  The shadow of a man hunched over, walking along the path, around the lake came into view. He was heading towards the pub, slowly coming into focus, albeit my drunkenness blurred him around the edges. After a day of drinking, I had doubted anything would come into focus for another two days.

  The concrete wall that surrounded the gardens circling the lake had an opening opposite the pub. The man stood there glancing left and right, looking like he was at the crossroads of life. There wasn’t a car anywhere. An overhead street lamp shined down on the mystery man, but I still couldn’t see his face.

  One more look at Eloise and I started to move. Her aggressive finger-pointing, urging me to get my arse moving. I crossed the road in six strides and stood in front of the man who wore a navy blue flat cap. I couldn’t tell what age he was, and at that point, I didn’t care.

  The bet I accepted before Google was consulted was that if, as a baker of cakes, I was wrong about the origin of where Eccles cakes were from. I had to kiss the next man I saw.

  At the age of twenty-eight, I had become choosy, so I prayed he was within five years of my age and didn’t have halitosis.

  The light was behind him by the time I looked up to his face, accentuating his physique. Tall, bulky and could have easily been one of the visiting rugby players from the opposing team earlier today. Not seeing his face was probably a good thing. If I knew what he looked like and he wasn’t my cup of tea, I’d probably baulk and run. The punishment from the girls would be worse if I flaked from the deal I’d made.

  “My name is Bronwyn Jones, and I’m really sorry to do this, but I have to ki
ss the next man I see, and you’re it,” I said, pointing to the mistletoe in my hat. He didn’t need to know about the bet. “But, I have one question, are you single? I’m not kissing you if you have a partner.”

  “I’m embarrassingly single, does that qualify?” The man nodded once and didn’t say another word.

  His voice had a low timber, a tone of care and humour all in half a dozen words. Wasting no time, I stood on tiptoes, looped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against his. For a freezing cold night, his mouth was surprisingly warm. Cheers erupted behind me, from more people than just my friends. I was about to end the quick peck when he moved his head back. He twisted his cap so that the peak was at the back of his head and wrapped his arms around my back. Tilting his head, he gave a sweet smile, inching nearer for a second kiss. This time he kissed me slowly, feeling his way with his lips, holding me tight as he gave a soft caress. I responded, moving my lips to fit against his to kiss him back, holding on to the lapels of his jacket while I swung from side to side. I couldn’t hear my friends, feel the biting wind or realise that he had turned us so that my back was against the lamppost. When I broke the kiss, he swiped my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and then I was attached to him once more. His fingers slipped under my hat, holding tight to my loose hair, while his other arm was wrapped as far around my body as he could to squash us together.

  Then he let me go.

  I stumbled a few steps sideways, getting my balance, holding my arms out in a fruitless effort to keep upright. I could hear the wolf whistles from my friends from across the road and sobered for a moment.

  “You sure know how to welcome a man back to town,” he said, stuffing his hands back into his leather jacket after he straightened his cap.

  “And you know how to kiss like you mean it. Bad news for you buddy, I don’t sleep with men on the first night, even if their lips are as soft as pillows and my heart is pounding.” I rubbed my sternum like I’d had heartburn. I thought I’d had a heart attack, my heart was beating so fast. I totally wanted to sleep with him, but if he fucked like he kissed, I didn’t want a one-night stand because I couldn’t afford to get addicted to this man’s kisses and then never have them again.

  I wouldn’t survive and would compare all future kisses with his.

  I don’t know what possessed me to tell him that I would consider having a one-night stand with a stranger whose face I couldn’t see. Embarrassed that I’d declared myself as the town floozy, I pivoted on the spot, hightailing it back across the road and into the warmth of the pub. I joined the girls at the window to look at the stranger, but he’d gone into the night.

  “Who was he?” Jolene asked.

  “I have no idea, never seen him before. He said something about coming back to town. I didn’t ask for a name, his kiss made me lose my mind.”

  I plopped down in the overstuffed armchair opposite the bench with all my friends sitting in a row. I was in the chair that you planned to stay in for life it was so plump. With the amount of alcohol I’d consumed, I was prepared to stay all night until I sobered up it was that comfy. My house was across the pedestrianised street. I could throw a tennis ball from the armchair and hit my front door.

  “You lost your mistletoe, Bron,” Eloise said, examining my hat that I’d tossed onto the table between us.

  “It was a rough kiss, I probably dropped it.”

  “We know everyone in this town, and he is definitely not from here,” Cassie said, pouring wine into all of our glasses. “How can a kiss lose your mind?”

  “Oh, I can tell you, a kiss can make you so dizzy, it’ll feel like you’re passing out,” Mollie said, wearing a smug, drunken grin.

  “I want a kiss like that,” Cassie replied.

  “I just had one. Man alive, he can kiss, whoever he is.” I took a swig of my white wine. “He had the softest lips.”

  “We need to find out who he is, Bron,” Mollie said. “Maybe he’s here for the wedding. Charlie has a couple of friends coming into town over the next week, including his best man.”

  “There was a connection, but I think it was only physical. The man will probably be a bore or someone who clips his toenails in the living room,” I said quietly.

  The girls groaned at my gross description then swigged back their drinks. One thing was for sure, I wanted a second kiss.

  Chapter 2

  Bronwyn

  Sunday – Six days until Mollie Gates gets married

  Owning a shop in the sleepy town of Talbot Bay had its benefits but also had its downsides.

  Take today, for example.

  The cafe was filled with families, eating cake and sipping their drinks while they spread gossip and moaned about nothing in particular. The noise levels hurt my teeth, it was so loud. Bronwyn’s Cafe opened every day of the week which meant if I went out for drinks, it was always on a school night. I didn’t work all day every day, but I did like to open up the shop. As soon as the staff arrived, I hung up my apron and handed the place over to them. Most days, I went next door to my home to work on my cake designs and recipes. I had a workshop out the back in the garden. There was a gate that connected to the cafe’s outdoor area so I could keep half an eye on the place if I needed to. I had loyal staff that had worked for me for years, which afforded me the time to work on my passion. Cakes.

  Making them and decorating them.

  To punish me for drinking myself sober last night, they were late. I think Mollie bribed them to turn up half an hour late just to see me suffer a little longer through my hangover.

  Thankfully, I hadn’t been ill, or the shop would be closed until they got there. I did fall down the stairs to get to the cafe, but I didn't own up to that one, and no one could see the bruise forming on my thigh. I blamed my big feet, tiny width stairs and the empty bottle of wine on the top step I didn’t see. How the bottle of wine got there was anyone’s guess, but it was a decent one, so it should show up on my bank statement in the next couple of days.

  My house was one of those slim terraced houses that only had room for a front door at ground level but had plenty of rooms above and towards the back of the house. When I opened the front door, I faced a staircase to get to the rest of the house. That’s what I fell down this morning.

  “Bron, can I get another slice of the chocolate cake? Bertie has dropped his on the floor.”

  One of my regulars, Maisie, called over from the far side of the cafe. She was at the most distant table from where I stood, but I didn’t think there was any need to bellow at me. Or that could be my headache complaining. Everything was amplified. I was ready to fire all the kitchen staff bashing away at their tin pots.

  Weaving through the chairs and general debris customers brought with them, I handed her another slice of cake. I’d brought a broom with me too to sweep up the discarded cake. Maisie waved me away while she got rid of the mess and I went back to my station at the cash register. It was a small cafe, seating roughly twenty people depending on how friendly they were feeling. There were a couple of tables that seated six people, but not everyone wanted to sit with strangers. I had to charm the older generation to share their table so I could get the customers in. Outside were as many tables, front and back. In a box outside the front door were blankets and hot water bottles. This encouraged my winter trade. The kids thought it was fun to stuff a hot water bottle up their jumper while they ate cake in the freezing cold.

  Like today.

  Every table was busy, inside and outside. I’d been open an hour, and I swore the locals had all come to see precisely how hungover I was and who was the man I had kissed.

  Nothing was a secret in this town.

  Except who the man was. No one was giving up that information.

  “How’s your head?” Mollie asked as she reached the counter I was slumped over. While my customers were nosey as hell, they were sympathetic too and left me alone as much as they could.

  “I can’t feel it, it’s like this dead ball attache
d to my neck. I can’t even feel my lips.”

  “That’s probably the sambuca.”

  “Jesus, we drank sambuca?”

  “You did, I threw mine in the plant pot.”

  “Mollie,” I protested too loudly. Instant tinnitus rang through my ears.

  Mollie laughed behind her gloved hand at my distress of drinking too much wine, cocktails, cider and shots.

  “You’ll rally, you have to, I want my cake finished,” she said.

  “It will be. The fruit cake base is ready, I just need to do the marzipan, icing and decorations.”

  “Bronwyn,” she shrieked. “I get married in six days.”

  “Take it easy, love, it will take an evening to do it all. I’m going up to where you’re getting hitched to do it there, so I don’t have to carry it. Less likely to get damaged if I do it on site. I can place it on the pedestal in their store cupboard.”

  Mollie and her fiancé didn’t want to get married in a church, and there were very few places the area that had obtained a marriage licence. Charlie’s best man had offered his uncle’s house as a venue, and after a lot of paperwork, the premises were awarded permission to carry out civil ceremonies.

  “I’ve got a horrible feeling that something is going to go disastrously wrong and we won’t be able to get married.”

  “You worry too much.”

  I placed my hands over hers on the countertop to give her assurance that this wedding was going ahead no matter what. They’d waited five years for their day, and nothing was going to get in the way. Cassie had arranged the paperwork for the marriage licence, wrangling with the council over the small print to get the certificate. Jolene was in charge of the wedding reception food on the day. Most of it would be prepared at her restaurant and then transported on the day up to the house. Eloise was in charge of making us all look groomed and pretty. Her salon was only open for the wedding guests on the morning of the marriage. Each person had an appointment, men and women and Eloise’s team would get us all looking smoking hot for Mollie and Charlie’s big day. We all prayed for no rain or wind. If there was rain, then definitely not wind, we wanted our hair to be perfect. Mollie worried that because she wasn’t getting married in a church, she would feel God’s wrath and it would rain and hail on her big day. We tried to reason with her that the whole day would be under one roof, so it didn’t matter what the weather did. Mollie wasn’t convinced and always gave us the side-eye in response.