Hastily, he brushed aside the thought.
‘Okay. Well, in that case, I’ll be careful to stay away from anything overtly flowery and feminine. Stripes and checks, nothing fussy.’
‘Please don’t bore me with the detail.’
Her eyes widened, and she frowned. ‘You’re so rude – you know that, don’t you?’
‘Plain-speaking,’ he corrected. ‘And life would be more straightforward if others followed my lead.’
‘I bet you don’t speak to your customers like that.’
She was right. He didn’t. But he wouldn’t admit it. ‘Your father was rude too, but you didn’t stand up to him.’ And, curiously, he wished she had. Something about the way she’d absorbed the criticisms levelled at her disturbed him. He much preferred the fireball in front of him now.
Evie ducked her gaze away. She snatched up a square of fabric from a pile behind the counter and her hands were ever so slightly unsteady as she folded it.
‘My parents …’ Her voice wavered. ‘It’s difficult for them.’
Difficult? He thought of the way her father had laid into her, belittling her, ridiculing her efforts. Jake felt an unfamiliar emotion stir inside him – what was it? Indignation? Anger on her behalf? Whatever it was, it came as a surprise because for the last two years he’d been incapable of feeling anything but grief. Perhaps he did still have a heart. ‘To criticise and berate you in the way they did was totally unjustified. How can you let them—?’
‘You don’t know anything about my family!’ she cut in. Fire flashed a fierce warning in her hazel eyes.
He held her gaze defiantly. Perhaps not, but he hadn’t liked what he’d seen.
She picked up another square of fabric and folded it with quick, nervous movements, but even he could see that it wasn’t straight. He looked at the card in his hand with the Button Hole’s logo, and for the briefest moment thought about giving her his number too. Forget it, Hartwood. He didn’t do friendships or get entangled in the affairs of people who worked for him.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’d better go. Smoke will be cold waiting outside.’
Her head lifted. ‘Smoke’s here?’
Jake couldn’t understand why her obvious pleasure at the news sent a dart of jealousy through him. ‘Yes.’ He glanced outside, and she followed his gaze.
She reached under the counter, then quickly crossed the shop and opened the door. He followed, only to find her feeding his dog treats and fussing over him. Out here the air was cold as ice, but she didn’t seem to notice. Smoke, of course, was thrilled by the attention and barked with excitement. ‘Someone’s pleased to see you,’ Jake remarked.
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ she said, her dimples flashing, like sunlight breaking through cloud.
Smoke jumped up and she rubbed her cheek against his.
Jake rolled his eyes at the pair of them. ‘Don’t hold back on my account.’
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘He’s definitely the more approachable of the pair of you.’
He met her gaze, saw the challenge and the humour that danced in her eyes. How long had it been since anyone had teased him like this? ‘That may be so, but I don’t chase my own tail or have unmentionable personal habits.’
A giggle escaped her. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
He reached to untie Smoke’s lead. ‘Goodbye, Pollyanna,’ he said.
‘Bye,’ she called after him, ‘and thanks for returning my notebook!’
‘It was nothing.’ He hurried away into the cold.
Smoke tugged on his lead as they wove a path through the tiny lanes and cobbled streets. When they reached the edge of the village and crossed the stream, Jake unclipped the dog’s lead and Smoke bounded up the hill and the shortcut they’d found to the Old Hall. As Jake followed, his boots crunched as they sank into the snow and his breath left little clouds in the air as the path grew steeper, yet he felt energised. He wondered what had caused the lightness in his step, the quickening in his blood. It was unfamiliar – but it was welcome. Any respite from the pain in his chest was a relief.
He pictured the wounded look in Evie’s eyes as she’d faced her parents, the brave upward tilt of her chin. She was a curious combination of courage and vulnerability, and he was intrigued.
Not that he intended to get involved, he reminded himself sharply. She was supplying curtains for his house, that was all. There was no need for him to get embroiled in her life or difficulties.
Yet as he glanced back to the village in the valley below, the image of her standing behind her counter twisting her long plait around her fingers played on his mind. Evie Miller wasn’t an easy person to forget.
Well, who’d have thought Mr Arctic had a human side after all? thought Evie, as she watched Jake and his dog disappear around the corner at the end of the street. It had been one surprise when he’d appeared in her shop, but it was quite another when he’d jumped to her defence and stood up to her parents. He’d seemed indignant on her behalf, yet he could still be inarguably brusque and sarcastic. She couldn’t work him out. She shook her head and went back inside, shutting the door on the freezing air.
Oh, God. Now Jake knew all about her financial troubles and her private fears. Heat filled her cheeks and she rubbed the woollen sleeves of her dress.
If you expect to fail, you will undoubtedly fail. Jake’s ominous words rang in her head as she sat down at her sewing machine to work on yet another pair of curtains for the Old Hall. The blue satin embroidered with metallic silver thread shimmered like frost in the sun.
Had she expected her shop to fail? Surely not. She smoothed the blue fabric, flattening out the creases before she began to sew.
And yet she hadn’t dared to hope for success, had she? Because if she didn’t hope, she couldn’t be disappointed. And although she was an optimist in every other aspect of life, when it came to her own plans, her track record was consistent: one disappointment after another. Academically, she’d failed to live up to her parents’ and teachers’ expectations, then she’d failed in her career, and she had a failed relationship behind her too.
Listening to her dad, part of her had wondered what the point was in spending all these long hours sewing, when she was only just managing to keep her head above water. Rather than fighting her parents, wouldn’t it be simpler to throw in the towel and accept that she’d failed yet again?
She reached the end of the hem and stopped.
You need to believe in yourself. Jake’s words had resonated with her more than he could know. No one had said that to her or looked at her so intently – as if he believed in her – for a long time.
Zara used to. Evie remembered her big sister helping her up when she’d fallen off her horse and saying, ‘Come on, Eves. Try again. You can do this, I know you can.’
She looked around her colourful little shop, its neat shelves of fabric and display quilts hanging from the walls, and remembered that owning a shop like this had been her dream for so long before she’d finally plucked up the courage to do it. Sewing was her passion, it was what she loved more than anything in the world, and she really wanted her little shop to succeed. She wanted it more than anything. Perhaps Jake was right. Perhaps she needed to believe in it – and in herself.
She picked up her phone. ‘Natasha? It’s me. Are you busy tonight? Only I need your help with something …’
Chapter Six
‘So, I need to come up with a plan to turn my shop around,’ said Evie, opening her notepad, pen poised. ‘I’ve come up with a few ideas – will you tell me what you think of them?’
Her friends nodded. They were gathered around the log fire in Natasha’s living room. Her husband, Luc, was in the USA on a business trip, and their two-year-old daughter, Lottie, was asleep upstairs. On the coffee-table there were three cups of hot chocolate, and a plate of cakes Evie had bought from the bakery next to her shop: vanilla slices, sticky buns, and jam tarts.
‘Of course,’ said Suzie, helping
herself to a vanilla slice.
‘And maybe we can help you brainstorm some more,’ said Natasha. ‘But, first, why did you call us tonight, Evie? Did something happen? Has the bank been on your back again?’
She opened her mouth to tell her friends about Jake’s visit to her shop – then changed her mind. For some reason, she didn’t want to admit how much his words had affected her. Her friends would read too much into it. ‘My parents came to see me. They think I should abandon the shop and go back to Tim. Give him a second chance.’
Suzie and Natasha looked horrified.
‘After what he did?’ asked Natasha, incredulous.
‘I need the shop to become profitable so I can prove to them that I’m not a failure.’
‘Of course you’re not a failure.’ Natasha picked up a jam tart. ‘Your quilt-making workshops are really popular. Why don’t you run more of those?’
‘Yes, and I was thinking maybe I could invite other people to come and run classes too. They might be able to teach things that I can’t, like crochet, or more unusual sewing projects.’
‘Great idea. And how about running classes for smaller projects?’ asked Suzie. ‘Making a quilt is too daunting for a complete novice like me. Could you teach something more basic?’
Evie thought for a minute. ‘How about pot grabbers? Or a mobile phone case?’
‘Perfect. That’s exactly the kind of thing.’
‘And perhaps I could sell vouchers, too, in case people want to gift someone else a place on a course.’
Natasha nodded. ‘If you incorporate those into your window display, I’m sure it’ll inspire passers-by who are stuck for gift ideas. Christmas is only two weeks away.’
Suzie licked a dab of vanilla cream off her finger. ‘What about starting up a knitting group? Something social rather than a class, where people meet to knit and chat over a cup of tea. It would get them through the door and let it be known that your back room is available for craft groups to hire.’
‘A “Knit and Natter” session – my neighbour Dorothy would love that. And I could buy in cakes from the bakery next door,’ she said, nodding at the plate in front of them.
‘That will definitely bring people in. These jam tarts are delicious,’ said Natasha. ‘Are you on any of those websites selling craft goods?’
‘I’ve registered,’ Evie admitted, ‘but I haven’t had time to push things. I’m going to put up photos of my quilts, and I’ll advertise that I can make them in any design or colour to the customers’ specifications.’
‘Bespoke quilts,’ said Suzie, approvingly. ‘People will love that.’
‘And there’s the Christmas fair tomorrow,’ said Natasha. ‘Do you have a stall? I know it’s a bit of a jumble sale, but everyone in the village goes along. It’ll be a great chance to meet people, if nothing else.’
‘Yes. I’m going to display curtains and quilts, and I’ve made some Christmas tree decorations and cards in the hope they’ll draw people over to chat.’
Evie looked at her list. She’d covered two sheets of paper with scrawled notes. Plenty to get started with. ‘Thank you both so much. I’ve been really worried about the shop, but now I feel more optimistic that I can turn things around. I have a plan, and the profit I’ve made on Jake Hartwood’s curtains should buy me time to focus on making the shop more profitable.’
‘I hope your parents get off your back. I can’t believe they want you to go back to your ex,’ said Suzie. ‘From what you’ve told us, he was a controlling pig who totally crushed your confidence.’
‘He did.’ Only now did Evie realise how anxious she had felt when they’d lived together: she’d been worrying constantly, trying not to make a mistake, do something clumsy or say the wrong thing. It was difficult to explain why she’d stayed with him for as long as she had, or how gradual, almost imperceptible, the changes in him and in her had been. At first she had been drawn to his confident wit. Also, their parents moved in the same circles, which had made it so easy for them to become a couple. But as he’d risen through the ranks in his work, he’d become tense and critical. He’d begun to compare her with his colleagues’ partners, who all seemed to be top lawyers or other professionals, and he’d found her wanting. Perhaps he’d been frustrated because he was overlooked for promotion a couple of times. Whatever the reason, he’d begun to chip away at her self-esteem with judgements and mockery so subtle, at first, that she’d believed she was the problem.
Now she knew better.
‘Since I came here, I can just be myself – and that’s such a relief.’
‘Of course you can be yourself,’ said Natasha. ‘You’re perfect as you are and don’t you forget it, Evie Miller!’
She laughed and, for some reason, thought of Jake saying Goodbye, Pollyanna with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I don’t think “perfect” is the right word – not for someone as clumsy as me.’
‘Of course it is. You’re one of the kindest and most positive people I’ve ever met, clumsy or not. I hate to think what your ex told you in the past. He really knocked your confidence, didn’t he?’
‘I don’t think he intended to …’ she began, then wondered why she was making excuses for Tim. ‘He just wished I was more like the person he wanted me to be.’
The logs crackled gently in the fireplace.
‘That’s how my great-aunt made me feel when I was growing up,’ Natasha said quietly. ‘But it’s a recipe for disaster – in any relationship. You can’t change who you are. You can only be yourself, and if he couldn’t accept that, he was wrong for you.’
Suzie nodded. ‘If he really loved you, he would have appreciated all your good qualities rather than being so critical. Has he stopped calling, by the way?’
Evie glanced at her phone and realised it had been almost a week since he’d rung the shop. ‘Yes, he has,’ she said, brightened by the realisation.
‘Good,’ said Natasha. ‘Fingers crossed he’s got the message that you don’t want anything to do with him.’
‘Yes, fingers crossed,’ said Evie, with a smile.
Although, her parents had admitted Tim had been in contact with them. The smile faded. She reached for the end of her ponytail and absently wound it around her fingers. She wondered how Tim would take the news that her parents had been unsuccessful in persuading her to reconsider. She had a horrible feeling he wouldn’t take it well at all.
The following evening Evie locked her front door and walked the short distance to the Dog and Partridge. Her steps were light, and she was buzzing with adrenalin. The pub car park was almost full, which was usual for a Saturday night, and as she pushed open the doors, the place was crammed. The noise of chatter and laughter hit her, along with a rush of warm air. Evie paused, then spotted Suzie and Natasha sitting at a table nearby. Suzie waved and beckoned her over.
‘We thought you might have sore feet after today, so we got you a glass of white wine to save you queuing at the bar.’
‘Thanks,’ Evie grinned, ‘and you’re right about my feet!’ She unbuttoned her red coat and sat down heavily.
‘So how was the Christmas fair?’ asked Suzie. ‘Your stall looked amazing. Those display quilts and curtains were so eye-catching. They were drawing lots of interest when I popped by.’
‘Yes,’ said Evie, pleased. Her stall really had stood out from the rest. All the others seemed to have been selling second-hand jigsaw puzzles and dog-eared books, and no one else had gone to as much trouble as she had. But, then, no one else had an ailing business or a bank’s ultimatum hanging over their head. ‘It couldn’t have been better. I’d printed lots of leaflets advertising the new classes and workshops we talked about, and I sold all the Christmas tree decorations and greetings cards I had made. In fact, they were so popular I promised people I’d make more in time for the shop opening on Monday.’
She’d have a busy day tomorrow making them and finishing Jake’s curtains.
‘That’s wonderful!’ said Suzie, and raised her gla
ss. ‘To Evie and the Button Hole!’ The three chinked glasses.
‘I’m so glad for you,’ said Natasha. ‘You worked hard to prepare your stall.’
‘I can make those felt decorations in my sleep now!’ Evie giggled. ‘But I enjoy it.’
‘How difficult are they to put together?’ asked Suzie. ‘I could come round tomorrow and help you, if you like.’
‘They’re simple, really. And it would be lovely to have help. Thanks, Suzie.’
A gust of cold air slid past her feet and Evie glanced up. A solitary figure stood in the doorway. Her smile froze.
‘If they’re not too fiddly,’ Suzie continued, ‘perhaps I could make a simpler version with the children at school for them to give as gifts. They love craft activities like that …’
Evie didn’t hear the rest. The blood pounded in her ears.
‘Evie? What’s wrong?’ laughed Suzie. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
She swallowed. Suzie and Natasha frowned and followed her gaze to the man standing in the entrance. He was scouring the busy pub, searching for someone. Evie ducked to the left, hoping he wouldn’t spot her, but she was too late.
Seeing her, his expression instantly changed, and he pushed his way through the crowd towards her.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Suzie.
‘I have to go,’ Evie said quickly, and darted to her feet. ‘He can’t – I can’t – not here!’
But she was too late. He stopped in front of her. ‘Evelyn.’
Cheeks flaming, she tried to get past him, but there were too many bodies blocking her path and he was too close. She saw her friends exchange a look of concern.
Realising there was no way out, Evie straightened her spine and glared at him. ‘Go away, Tim. I don’t want to talk to you. We have nothing to say.’
‘Please, darling,’ he said, with the easy smile she had once found so charming. Not any more. Now she knew he used it purely to serve his own ends. ‘Just hear me out.’
The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic Page 8