He’s too tired to have his defences up and it makes me smile to myself because Noel not constantly guarding himself and second-guessing his every word is as rare as a red banana.
I put the empty mugs back on the tool cupboard by the door and pick up the empty biscuit packet, loving that between us we’ve polished off the whole lot and thought nothing of it. There’s nothing better than a man who can appreciate a good biscuit.
I crouch down to give Gizmo a head scruffle because he’s heard the clang and is watching me move around the barn from the comfort of his warm basket. I go over and stand on the right-hand side of the sleigh and lean over to push Noel’s thigh. ‘Come on, you. You’re asleep already. Do I need to take you home and tuck you into bed?’
His eyes shoot open and he blinks in the light from the barn’s single bare bulb. ‘That shouldn’t be such a sexy prospect.’ He gets to his feet and jumps down the step onto solid ground, and runs a hand over the edge he was sanding when I came in. ‘This was supposed to be a surprise. Sorry I woke you and made you come out here and see it early.’
‘Well, I’m glad I did, because otherwise you’d still be working on it, hungry and dehydrated, and you’d be exhausted in the morning.’ I step closer to him and bump my shoulder against his upper arm. ‘And you’re making me a sleigh, Noel. That’s …’ There are no suitable words for how amazing that is or how touched I am. ‘That’s unfathomable. I can’t imagine how anyone could make this. You are so incredibly talented, and—’
He wraps both arms around me and pulls me tight against his chest. His grey hoodie is open and the black cable-knit jumper underneath is soft against my skin and smells of fabric conditioner and wood dust. His chest is wide and strong and as solid as it’s always looked. It should be illegal to be this gorgeous, warm, funny, and kind-hearted to boot.
‘You’d even hug me to get out of hearing a compliment,’ I say into his chest.
‘I can stop if you’re complaining,’ he murmurs against my hair, not sounding like he has any intention of stopping.
I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him too, just in case he has any doubts about how I’d happily stand here hugging him for the rest of the week.
Without breaking the hug, he starts carefully manoeuvring us towards the door, one step at a time, until his leg bumps against the tool cabinet and knocks the mugs together again.
He turns his head to the side and calls, ‘Giz, bedtime!’ I look over my shoulder to see Gizmo give him a doggy glare, huff, and then reluctantly step out of his basket and have a lazy stretch like he’s got all the time in the world.
Noel turns us again, and I can feel him fumbling for the door, but we stumble and it swings open under our weight, and we fall out of it and into … snow.
‘Well, that woke me up.’ He’s trying to sound grumpy but his eyes are bright as he looks around.
I push myself up from where I’ve landed on top of him and get to my feet. ‘It’s snowing!’
He sits up on the quickly whitening grass and looks at me, a smile playing around his lips. ‘You act like you’ve never seen snow before.’
‘I lived in the centre of London, Noel. It’s a rare sight. We don’t even get it when the rest of the UK does.’ I reach out my hand and haul him up. ‘I knew there’d be snow here!’
‘Well, this is Scotland, we do get snow.’
‘Oh, stop trying to be grumpy. It’s the first snow on a Christmas tree farm. Anyone would be excited.’ My feet crunch into the thin layer of freshly fallen white stuff covering the short grass outside the barn, and the few pumpkins that remain on the vines in Noel’s fields are stark orange against their white carpets and the increasing white hats atop their green leaves.
I skip around him, kicking up what little snow has settled so it looks like he’s standing in a summoning circle before I turn my head to the sky and stick my tongue out, trying to catch a few snowflakes.
‘How could anyone be grumpy around you?’ he murmurs, and the affection in his voice makes me stop and look at him. He shakes himself. ‘Apart from Gizmo, obviously. He hates getting his feet cold.’
We both look over at the barn, where Gizmo is sitting in the doorway shivering, looking between us and then longingly back at his basket. The expression on his face leaves no doubt that he thinks we’re a pair of complete lunatics.
I hear Noel move behind me, and I really should have realised what he’s doing, but I don’t until a snowball hits me in the back.
I squeal in surprise. ‘You didn’t!’
His eyes are watering with laughter and I immediately start scraping snow up to make my own, lobbing it at him and giggling when he ducks easily. I grab another handful and throw that one in his general direction and miss, until he stands still, letting me get a hit in, and laughing harder as it still sails past him. He’s laughing so hard he almost can’t see to gather another handful of snow, compacting it properly into a ball and holding it up, giving me a chance to prepare myself, and this time, I manage to duck at the right moment and it hits the side of the barn, breaking apart and sending snow scattering in all directions. Some of it lands near Gizmo’s feet, and he looks at it disdainfully and plods back inside to the safety of his cosy basket.
The snow has barely started and there’s not enough for a snowball fight – we’ve already exhausted our supply and fighting with Noel is nowhere near as appealing as hugging him again. I reach up to brush snowflakes out of his hair and he scrubs a hand over his face. ‘You must’ve put something in that tea. That’s the only explanation for any of this.’
‘Or there’s another patch of those dodgy mushrooms around here somewhere?’
‘Aye, exactly!’
‘You keep telling yourself that.’
Both of our hands are cold and wet, but when he reaches out to take mine, the sensation starts to come back into my fingers, numb from the snow. He leans down and presses his lips to my cheek, his nose icy cold where it touches my skin, his lips like a burning hot brand in the best way possible. ‘Nothing I tell myself makes any sense when I’m with you.’
I know the feeling. I watch as he goes back into the barn and picks the whole dog basket up, including Gizmo, and carries it under one arm, his other hand holding Giz secure. ‘Goodnight, Lee. See you in the morning. Bright and early.’
I smile at the throwback to one of my first days here, even though ‘bright and early’ doesn’t seem to be a specific time with Noel, and I have a feeling that tomorrow will be even brighter and earlier than usual.
He nods a goodbye and I watch as he crunches his way back through the undisturbed snow of the pumpkin field, growing thicker by the second as large flakes fall down. I look up at the black sky and twirl around a few times.
This is nothing like what I expected when I won that auction – it’s a million times better.
Chapter 14
By the time I get myself up and dressed the next morning, Noel is already outside in the dark with his truck, slinging trees into the back of it like they weigh nothing, and whistling ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’.
‘How can you be so ridiculously chirpy?’ I can’t help smiling at the sight of him as I open the door and walk down the steps.
He’s obviously had a shower and changed because his hair is still wet. He’s wearing black cargo trousers and a navy long-sleeved top with a blue and grey flannel shirt over it, the puffy bodywarmer over the top of that, and knitted fingerless gloves. It’s not right that anyone can look this good at five-thirty in the morning.
He stops in the middle of picking up another tree when I get close to him and looks up to grin at me. ‘I’m chirpy because I get to do this.’
In one swift move, he slides his arms around me, lifts me up and sits me on the bed of his truck, then stands on his tiptoes and presses his lips against mine.
‘It’s way too early for that sort of display,’ I murmur against his mouth, holding onto his shoulder for support.
Even so, it’s nic
e to be taller than him for once, and I slide my arms over his shoulders and cross my hands behind his neck, my fingers automatically winding in his dark hair as he kisses me again. As usual when his lips are involved, I lose track of time, but when we pull back, the sky looks lighter and birds have started chirping their morning chorus.
I tighten the loop of my arms around his neck and rest my forehead against his because I don’t want to lose this yet even though I know we need to get going.
‘Are we going to keep this to ourselves?’ I whisper. ‘It’s just that I like Fiona and I suspect she might burst if she finds out, and I’d quite like her to not burst.’
He laughs, panting for breath, and I try not to think about the fact that he can chop down and lug around a few hundred Christmas trees without breaking a sweat, but kissing me makes him pant.
‘Are you kidding? It’s our duty to avert the mild coronary event that will occur if she finds out. Besides, you’re my wee secret and I want you all … to … myself.’ He punctuates every word with a brief kiss, and I can feel the butterflies in my belly taking flight again because being ‘his’ anything is all right by me.
I pull back and smooth his hair down where I’ve had my hand tangled in it, and he closes his eyes and actually looks like his knees are going to buckle for a moment. ‘As much as I hate being the sensible adult – you’ve got to stop doing that or we’re going to be late on the one day that we really need to be early.’
His arms slide around my waist and he lifts me down, setting me safely back on the snowy ground. ‘Breakfast and coffee’s in the front. I’ll finish loading.’
I gratefully retrieve the travel cup of pumpkin spice latte and stand in the open passenger door while I watch him shake his hair out and tie it up, his bicep muscles straining against his shirtsleeves as his hands move behind his head. More paint flakes off as my hands tighten involuntarily on the truck door, and I know he knows the affect that has on me and he’s doing it on purpose. And I really don’t mind.
When I’ve had enough sips of caffeine to feel like a functioning human again, I put the cup down and go over to the small pile of Norway spruces that he hasn’t already loaded, pick one up, and follow his footsteps through the snow to heft it up onto the bed of the truck. It’s surprising how quickly you get used to handling trees, but with all the cutting practice, pulling them through the netting machine, shearing, and everything else, it’s hard to remember a time when I wasn’t flinging around Christmas trees.
He jumps up onto the bed of the truck and lets me pass the trees up to him while he stacks them safely.
The snow has stopped for the moment, although it carried on falling for a long while after we went to bed judging by the depth of the drifts around the side of the house and along the grassy verges of the road. Footprints and tyre tracks where Noel’s reversed in are all that’s visible of the driveway. Even the few pumpkins left in his fields are lost under a blanket of white.
‘Did you sleep okay?’ I ask as I hoist the last tree up to him and he jumps out of the truck and closes the tailgate.
He makes an incomprehensible grunting noise, jangles the keys out of his pocket and walks around the side towards the driver’s door, then he stops and comes back. ‘I don’t know why I said that. I slept better than I have in months because of how you made me feel.’ Even in the dark morning, I can see his cheeks are burning red. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that either. I’m delirious from spruce needle inhalation. Come on, we should go. Fergus has promised gingerbread trees to mark the occasion, which will probably be the most normal thing he’s baked all year. Of course, knowing him, they’ll be pink dragonfruit trees.’
He’s in the truck before I can even blink, with the engine revving and the exhaust pipe puffing warm fumes out into the cold morning air. I sigh and walk around to the passenger’s side.
When I get in, his hand is on the gear stick ready to move, and I cover it with mine, stopping him. I reach across, slide my hand up his jaw and deliberately pull his face down and press my lips to his cheek. I don’t say anything, because he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, but I see him doing what I’ve done every day before work for the past two years – you gather yourself, steel yourself, prepare yourself to face the day while outrunning the wave of emotion inside you. You prevent yourself from feeling anything in case something as mundane as the bus driver asking you for your ticket is enough to set off a complete emotional breakdown. You live in constant fear of crying in front of someone. Of letting someone see your weakness and somehow use it against you.
I pull away to shift back across the bench seat and busy myself with putting my seatbelt on. His hand leaves the stick and slides across until it touches my thigh. He squeezes gently. ‘Thank you.’ His voice catches and he shakes himself, yanking his hand back and pulling out of the driveway with a sharp jolt.
And I smile to myself because I think I understand him a bit more than he thinks I do.
***
Even before six in the morning, the market is buzzing. It’s busier today than any other time I’ve been here. I’ve noticed a huge increase in customers recently, and there are more traders too – stalls that have been reserved but empty until now are starting to open up, selling Christmas decorations, handmade gifts and cards, and traditional festive food from different countries.
Today, there are cars and vans parked all the way along the country lanes that take us into Elffield, and the main road to the market is choc-a-block with people parked up on either side. Noel performs some impressive driving manoeuvres to squeeze past.
The market looks amazing in the dark. Everyone who works there has clubbed together and bought numerous decorations for the building, and Noel and the others have put in a good few hours of stapling up lights and garlands. The pillars on either side of the main entrance are wrapped with twinkling fairylights, the trees that Fiona requested for the outside are against the walls, laden with multicoloured baubles and sparkling lights. The sparkling continues along each edge of the building and up to the roof. Inside, through the open entranceway, the welcoming main lights of the market give us a glimpse of the Peppermint fir – an impressively symmetrical seven-foot tall specimen that Noel selected as the best – currently standing in the centre of the market, decorated with input and help from all the traders.
Noel made up a gorgeous double-sided chalkboard sign, with ‘Peppermint Branches’ written in big, swirling letters with holly leaf swashes, directing people to the tree stall on one side and advertising the opening next weekend on the other side, and I’ve been reassured by the fact that the tree has elicited a gasp of admiration from everyone who’s seen it so far.
Noel knocks his knee into mine. ‘Doesn’t it look amazing?’
‘Mmm.’ My knuckles have turned white where they’re gripping the door as Noel skirts the truck around yet another van parked on a diagonal outside the post office.
‘I’m not that bad a driver, am I?’ he asks, thankfully without taking his eyes off the road.
‘No. I just think this truck is so old that if you knock it even slightly, it will disintegrate around us.’
There’s no way he should be laughing that hard while trying to navigate this crowded street.
‘They came!’ I forget all about road safety when my eyes fall on a group of vans and cars parked near the entrance of the market, and one of the vans has the local news channel logo emblazoned across the side of it.
‘Local news?’ Noel asks.
‘Hopefully more than just them. Chelsea’s boss is in media law so I asked her to get in touch with some of their contacts, but I didn’t expect it to lead anywhere, and I’ve been emailing and tweeting every news site I could think of to tell them about trying to save the market and asking if they’d cover the competition. I didn’t get any confirmation, I was just hoping they’d turn up.’ My hand suddenly flies to my head in horror, where my hair is tied in a loose knot on top. ‘Why didn’t I at least use a mirro
r to put my hair up this morning?’
He laughs. ‘You could use a porcupine to brush it, it would still look gorgeous.’
It makes me laugh and blush at the same time. He never takes compliments but there’s something about the way he gives them that seems so genuine. I’ve always thought people only flatter you because they want something, but there’s something about the way he speaks that makes him impossible not to believe. I just wish I could get him to take a compliment once in a while too.
Thankfully, once we turn the corner behind the market, the trade entrance is clear of cars because the florist is outside in a hi-vis jacket stopping anyone who tries to park there. He waves us through the side entrance, giving us a thumbs up, the delight clear on his face. Most of the stalls are already set up as we edge through the buzzing lanes of Elffield market, and workers from the various businesses are crowded around their respective trees, making last-minute adjustments. Even Fiona is looking more colourful than usual as she sits on a stool next to Fergus, and they’re having a giggly conversation which involves lots of good body language. He keeps reaching over to touch her leg, her foot is hooked over her knee towards him and she keeps twirling a lock of lilac hair, and if they lean any closer to each other, they’re likely to crash together and fall off their stools.
‘Adorable, aren’t they?’ Noel says as he pulls up at the pumpkin stall and we sit and watch them in silence for a minute.
A minute is all we get before Fiona sees us and gets so excited that she spills her coffee, leaving Fergus to clean it up as she rushes over to the truck.
She’s waiting at the door before Noel’s even got it open. She takes his arm and drags him around to my side as I slam the door behind me, where she practically throws us together and embraces us both at the same time.
‘Good morning to you too, Fiona,’ he says, the tone of confusion in his voice making me giggle.
‘I know why you two are late!’ She squeals at a pitch that I haven’t heard since that time my grandfather sat on his hearing aid when I was little.
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm Page 24