Snowflakes on Silver Cove: A festive, feel-good Christmas romance (White Cliff Bay Book 2)

by Holly Martin

  He and Libby crunched over the pebbles towards one of the many rock pools that had formed on the beach. She crouched down and carefully lifted one of the big rocks to see what was under it. A small pearly grey hermit crab scurried out in protest at being disturbed and a pale yellow starfish, its legs struck out at odd angles to its body, pulsated against the mossy rock face.

  ‘I do love the starfish. They’re so beautiful, like a little bit of magic washed up on the beach.’ She put the rock down gently, and picked up another one.

  He watched her with a smile, her dark hair streaming behind her like a banner, her large green eyes filled with a continual wonder at the varied sea life that ended up on Silver Cove beach every day.

  ‘If you like starfish, you’ll love the sunstar, now they’re beautiful. I’ll have to take you scuba diving one day, Lib, there’s so much more beauty out there under the waves.’

  She stood up. ‘I’d love that. Would we find seahorses? I’d love to see one.’

  ‘I doubt it – there are some breeds that live round Britain, but they’re so shy and timid I doubt we would spot any. But there’s loads of other things we would see, the visibility round here is quite spectacular.’

  ‘But doesn’t it take ages to learn?’

  ‘I can teach you the basics, and I’d look after you. Besides, we wouldn’t be going that deep, only six or eight metres, so if anything went wrong you could just come straight back up.’

  ‘That would be so exciting, do you have the gear?’

  ‘No but a mate of mine runs a dive shop in White Cliff Bay, he’d lend me what we need.’

  ‘Be a bit cold though, would we wear wetsuits?’

  ‘Are you kidding, in these waters? We would die. It’d have to be a drysuit, and a thermal undersuit and your clothes under that.’

  She laughed. ‘I’d look like a Michelin Man.’

  ‘Yeah. It’ll be better in the spring, warmer and the visibility is nicer too. If you stay until then I promise to take you.’

  ‘Maybe I can come back and visit you when it’s warmer.’

  ‘That would be great,’ George said, knowing in his heart that once she left at the end of the year he’d never see her again. They never spoke about that though. She insisted that they would stay in touch, but there were no friends in her life, no one she spoke to from her travels. When he had put his number in her phone all those months before he had been stunned to see her contacts list consisted of her agent and her publisher. It was easier to pretend they would still be friends than confront it, it was easier to ignore that when she left it would completely and utterly break his heart.

  He carried on with the façade. ‘You have to spit in the mask to stop it from steaming up too.’

  Her face fell. ‘Spit in my mask?’

  He wiped a tiny splash of muddy water off her face, then quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked away from her. ‘Yeah, and no matter if you get the best-fitting mask in the world, you always get a bit of water that seeps through, which means when you take the mask off you’ll be left with a snotty residue across your face.’

  She caught up with him, picking up a good-shaped pebble for skimming. ‘I get the feeling scuba diving isn’t the sexiest sport then?’

  ‘No definitely not, still keen?’ He turned to face her.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  He loved that about Libby: her spirit of adventure, her boundless energy. In fact he loved every little thing about her, and had been completely in love with her ever since he first set eyes on her.

  Unrequited love, he was quite the expert. As it turned out even his ex-wife hadn’t loved him.

  Libby, of course, had no idea about his inappropriate feelings for her, how he loved her with everything he had.

  He glanced over at her, her smile lighting up her face, her eyes reflecting the colour of the sea. It was about time he got over Libby. She just didn’t see him that way. Nothing was ever going to happen there, she was leaving in just over two weeks. By the end of the year he was determined he would be over this silly little crush and he could watch her leave without her ripping out his heart on the way out.

  * * *

  They walked back towards the flats, a large old house that had long ago been converted into four separate apartments and given the rather original name of ‘Sea View Court’.

  George spotted a small van parked up outside. An older man was lifting a box out the back.

  ‘Giselle?’ the man called. ‘Giselle? Where do you want this one to go?’

  A blonde girl ran down the steps wearing leggings, which showed off her wonderful long legs, and a tiny knitted jumper, which showed off her tiny waist. George swallowed. Her hair was cut short with a long fringe that swept over her eyes, but it gleamed in the sun, like gold. Her eyes were huge, an amazing intense blue. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He knew without a doubt this was the woman he was going to marry. The easiest, quickest way to fall out of love with one unobtainable woman was fall in love with another.

  ‘Oh thanks, Dad,’ the blonde vision said, ‘just put it in the lounge. I’ll sort it out once it’s all in.’

  ‘Hey, do you want some help?’ George asked, quickly leaving Libby’s side.

  ‘Oh, that’d be great, thanks.’ Giselle broke into a heart-stopping smile.

  ‘I’m George.’ He held out his hand. ‘I live at number two.’

  ‘I’m Giselle, and I’m on top of you.’ She tucked a strand of golden silk behind her ear. ‘I’m moving into number four.’

  He ignored the innuendo for the sake of future relations. ‘Excellent.’ He took the hand that was now extended towards him and shook it warmly, just as Libby arrived at the back of the van.

  ‘Hi, I’m Libby, I live at number one, here let me take those,’ she said, indicating the pile of books tucked under Giselle’s arm and he watched her take them, and then she was gone. He wondered what they looked like standing there, him and Giselle, smiling at each other awkwardly. Well, Giselle was smiling awkwardly, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. A Cheshire cat on Ecstasy.

  For the next half an hour, they worked diligently between them to get all of Giselle’s stuff into her flat on the second floor. There wasn’t a lot, but what there was, he noticed, was very tasteful. There was also a lot of weird cooking paraphernalia which Libby found out was used for making different kinds of sweets for her online business.

  Eventually, the van was empty and Giselle’s dad left.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Giselle said warmly, ‘you’ve both been very kind. But now, well, I guess I better go and unpack. I’ll see you around.’

  She disappeared up the stairs and George stared after her in wonderment. He heard her flat door close and then quickly bundled Libby into her flat.

  ‘George, what are you doing?’

  ‘Oh Lib, she’s beautiful.’ He leaned against the inside of the door and sank to the floor.

  ‘Yes she is, very.’

  ‘Libby, I think I’m in love.’

  She sat down next to him and gave him a playful nudge. ‘Then go and ask her out.’

  ‘Are you mad, have you seen me?’

  She frowned. ‘George, you’re lovely.’

  ‘Lovely is a polite way of saying fat.’ He absently patted his belly.

  ‘No, it’s not, you’re lovely and funny and incredibly attractive, ask her out.’

  ‘No, I need to lose some weight first, and get a haircut, maybe some new clothes.’

  ‘But then you won’t be you any more. This is you, and you’re perfect the way you are, anything else will just be a disguise. If she’s going to fall in love with you, she needs to fall in love with the real you. You above anyone else should know the pitfalls of false advertising.’

  Writing radio adverts for a living, George knew how to sell chocolate to the Easter bunny. If only he himself could be presented in such an appealing way.

  ‘You’re right, Lib, she should fall in love with the
real me.’ He looked down at himself, despondently.

  ‘Hey! You’re the loveliest, most wonderful, sweetest, kindest person I know; if she can’t see that then she’s blind.’

  He kissed her head. ‘Thanks Lib.’

  She stood up and pulled him to his feet. ‘Go on then, ask her.’

  He paled. ‘Now? No, I can’t ask her now.’

  ‘Yes you can.’

  ‘Well what do I say?’

  ‘You say, “Hi Giselle, I figured you might be tired after all this unpacking, do you fancy coming to the pub for something to eat? The Bubble and Froth does a mean steak and kidney pie.”’

  He nodded, yes he could do that. That was easy. Very casual, very simple. He opened the door and walked purposefully up the stairs and caught Libby doing a little giddy victory dance for him before she shut the door.

  He climbed to the top of the first flight then hurried back down again, but before he reached the bottom stair he forced himself to turn around. He climbed four stairs this time, stopped, climbed one more stair then ran back to the safety of Libby’s flat.

  Her face fell as he came back in. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Yeah, I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘George!’

  ‘Well what if she said no?’

  ‘What if she didn’t?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll leave it a few days, you know, let her settle in.’

  ‘Maybe you should get in now before someone else swoops in. Why don’t you practise on me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Close your eyes and ask me out, imagine I’m a beautiful woman.’

  George smiled wryly – he really didn’t need to imagine that – but he closed his eyes anyway. He could still see her though, in his mind, looking pretty in her jeans and hoodie, and funky purple boots. She had a quirky style. When she was writing her romance stuff she always had at least one pen in her hair. And though the hoodie she wore today was an old grey one, she had pinned to it the most beautiful emerald sequinned flowered brooch. It matched her eyes exactly. Though this was not helping him to prepare for asking Giselle out.

  He opened one eye and looked at her expectant face. When nothing was forthcoming, she rolled her eyes and ushered him out of the flat.

  ‘Knock on my door and ask me out.’

  ‘OK, role-play, I like it,’ he grinned, ‘though I’ll get changed first, smarten myself up a bit.’

  She shrugged. ‘If it will make you feel more comfortable.’

  * * *

  As George disappeared back to his flat, Libby switched on her laptop and smiled at the tiny snowman that had been placed next to it the day before. George was clearly determined to Christmassify her, whether she liked it or not. The computer pinged to life and she opened up her current story, set in a rural seaside town at Christmas. Her publishers had expected it to be handed in months ago but for some reason this story had stagnated on her laptop. She had no desire to finish it and she didn’t know why. She was famous for her romance stories, especially Christmas ones with snow, glitter, handsome heroes and gorgeously cosy love stories, but it was the romance parts she was having trouble with the most.

  There was a knock on the door and she went to answer it, ready to be seduced.

  George was standing there in a full tuxedo with black tie, and gleaming cufflinks. She nearly laughed except he looked so vulnerable.

  He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, fixed her with a sultry stare. ‘Hey little lady, fancy getting out of this hellhole and hitting some gin joints with me?’

  She suppressed a laugh, but he had already seen the smirk.

  ‘Too cheesy?’

  ‘Very cheesy. Humphrey Bogart?’

  ‘No, that was all me.’

  ‘You’re overthinking it.’

  ‘What about the suit?’

  ‘You look fantastic, really suave, really sexy, but a tiny bit overdressed for a pint down the Bubble.’

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘Sexy, eh?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, if we were going to Royal Ascot together, I’d be proud to have you on my arm.’

  ‘Right, I’ll remember that next time I get offered free tickets for Royal Ascot. You can be my date.’

  ‘Definitely, though you should know I’m a terrible loser and a really bad gambler.’

  ‘I’ll hold the purse strings that day then.’

  She nodded. ‘Probably wise.’

  ‘Shall I try on something else?’

  ‘Yes, please do.’

  ‘Good, this collar is killing me.’

  ‘I’m impressed that you can do up a bow tie though, it’s not something many people can do.’

  He took it off to show her it was a clip-on. She laughed, as she closed the door.

  She walked back to the computer, her fingers hovering over a rather bland description of the sea. It wasn’t just romance scenes that were taking a battering, all of her latest writing lacked sparkle. Because she had no enthusiasm for the romance, the rest of it hung limp and flaccid on the pages too.

  There was another knock on the door just as she was poised to write something descriptive and wintery about the trees that lined the beach.

  This time George was dressed in a black suit, with a black shirt and tie.

  ‘Going to a funeral?’

  ‘Right, of course,’ he said, looking a little apologetic.

  ‘How about something that shows your sporty side?’

  ‘Right, OK.’ He trudged off.

  She closed the door again – not that it normally stopped George, but making him knock was all part of the role-play.

  She went back to the computer, looked over the last paragraph she had written and sighed.

  Another knock on her door. She doubled over with laughter when she opened it.

  ‘What?’ mumbled George, though she could see that he was trying not to laugh as well. He was dressed in a skin-tight wetsuit which accentuated every gorgeous curve of his strong body, with a mask and snorkel in his mouth and flippers on his feet.

  ‘George, it’s perfect,’ she said, clapping her hands together, trying really hard to keep her eyes above his waist. ‘Now let me see you manage the stairs in those things.’

  He waddled carefully to the foot of the stairs and carefully placed his left flipper sideways on the step. With great effort he managed to put his right flipper sideways on the next one up, looking like a very bizarrely dressed Charlie Chaplin.

  It was at this moment, as he struggled to move his left flipper up onto the third stair, that Giselle came running down the stairs towards him.

  Chapter Two

  Giselle stopped when she saw George, a shocked expression on her face. He quickly wrenched the snorkel out of his mouth. A thin string of saliva still connected it to his mouth and draped across his face like a rather attractive nose chain.

  Libby snorted with laughter as Giselle, obviously deciding that ignoring this was the best tactic, tried to get past him, but the stairs were not quite wide enough to let this happen. George clearly wanted her to be gone almost as quick as she wanted to get away; there was something that actually looked like fear in her eyes. With some effort, he managed to turn sideways, though as his flippers were too long to fit on the steps this way, he had to stick one leg out. It struck Libby, as he held on to the banister with one hand, that he now looked like a scuba diver attempting to perform ballet. She wondered if Giselle would be impressed if he executed a pirouette. With just enough space for her to squeeze past, Giselle quickly ran out the main front door.

  He pulled his mask off and looked after her sadly.

  ‘It’s OK, George,’ Libby said, putting a hand on his arm, ‘this will be something you can laugh about on your first date, it will be one of those funny things you can tell your grandchildren.’ She pulled her sleeve over her hand and gently wiped the saliva off his face.

  ‘I suppose,’ he said, directing the words at his flippers.

  Unable to bear seeing him s
o humiliated, she took his hand and led him back towards his flat. ‘Come on, why don’t I pick something from your wardrobe?’ He flapped despondently after her and she shuddered with suppressed laughter.

  While George got out of his wetsuit, she flicked through his clothes – he certainly had a unique style. There was nothing drab in here apart from the black funeral suit he had tried on moments before. And she liked his style – it matched his personality, loud and colourful. She smiled when she remembered how it had been mainly George’s clothes that had led her to believe he was gay in the first place – a completely wrong stereotype anyway, seeing as most gay men dressed unbelievably well. She concentrated on finding something for him that made him look lovely and endearing.

  ‘Ah, this shirt is perfect.’ She selected a pale blue long-sleeved shirt, and held it up to George’s chest. ‘Yes, it brings out your tan. Wear it loose over jeans.’ She flicked through his pile of jeans and picked out a dark blue pair. ‘These, they’re smart, and with the shirt you’ll look casual but suave at the same time.’

  He took the offending items. ‘Are you sure? Just the shirt and jeans?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Tie?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And what are you going to say? Ask me out,’ she insisted.

  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second. ‘Libby, would you like to go for a drink with me tonight?’

  ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Except for one tiny detail.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Make sure you get the name right.’

  He grinned. ‘Yes, of course, Giselle, Giselle, must remember, must remember.’

  She looked round his room. It was perfectly tidy – another reason why she had thought he was gay. Perfectly tidy that was, apart from one thing.