A Christmas Wish and a Cranberry Kiss at the Cosy Kettle: A heartwarming, feel good romance

by Liz Eeles

  I clamp my lips tightly together because I have a horrible feeling that I might be embarrassing myself and number five on my wish list – which will make me feel so much better if it comes off – is about to go totally tits-up. But maybe I can claw things back if I say very little from now on.

  Logan laughs. ‘Have you been drinking, Becca?’

  Oops, I’ve been rumbled!

  ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘I’m not sure now is the best time then.’

  ‘Best for what?’ I hiccup loudly.

  ‘Best for thanking you for your advice about my flatmate, and for asking if you’d like to come with me to Tuckers, that new nightclub in Oxford, after the Christmas party. I’m crazy busy at work until then but I thought we could go out when the party ends.’

  ‘You want me to go with you to Tuckers?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Just you and me.’

  ‘Well, there will be other people there but yeah, just you and me.’

  ‘To talk about the party and do a shmort of debrief?’ Oops, I think I’m slurring my words.

  ‘We can talk about the party if you like but I’d just as soon treat it as a normal date and talk about me and you. Though I don’t want to tread on Thor’s toes.’

  ‘Thor who?’

  ‘Thor, your current boyfriend?’

  ‘Oh, that Thor! Nah, he’s very liberal ’bout stuff like that.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll look forward to it. Gotta go, but I’ll see you soon. Sleep well, Becca.’

  ‘Cool,’ I say, before realising that he’s already rung off. Which is just as well because I never usually say ‘cool’ because it’s just not… cool.

  I’ve slung the empty wine bottle into the recycling bin and staggered upstairs before I realise that Logan didn’t actually wait for me to say that I definitely would go on a date with him. He just assumed that I would. Though I guess that’s not surprising. I imagine very few women ever turn Logan down.

  A date with Logan! ‘That’s wish number five ticked off the list, and defo before Chrishmas,’ I mumble out loud as I climb into bed, still fully clothed. ‘Tha’s just what I need, and totally brill.’

  It is brilliant. And exciting and scary. And it’s given my confidence a huge boost, I realise as I lie in bed and the room spins. I just wish I felt happier about it.

  It’s the drink. Alcohol does terrible things to the brain, I tell myself, before switching off my lamp. It dampens down emotion and makes brilliant things seem a bit more… blah. Damn Chardonnay! In the morning I’ll be delighted about my date with Logan and the excitement will distract me from my feelings about Zac, which probably aren’t true feelings anyway. I snuggle under the duvet, imagine I’m in The Cosy Kettle counting a huge mountain of lemon chiffon pies, and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Fifteen

  I am never going to drink again. That’s the first thought that crosses my mind when my eyes flutter open the next morning. Or rather, eye – one seems to be stuck down, along with my tongue which is flat against the roof of my mouth. It feels like sandpaper when I take a swig of my remaining water.

  I’m in love with my best friend. That’s the second thought that hammers its way into my poor dehydrated brain.

  ‘Nope. Too complicated,’ I croak out loud, clambering out of bed and walking to the window. I wince as I pull back the curtains because it’s stupidly bright outside. The sun is shining in a crisp blue sky and a layer of snow on the grass verge opposite is sparkling with a crust of frost. How dare it be so dazzlingly beautiful, and what time is it anyway? I stare at the clock radio by my bed and sigh, as quietly as possible because my head is throbbing like it’s about to explode. It’s five past eight which means I need to get ready for work.

  I stagger along the landing and pause for a moment to register that Zac’s bedroom door, open when I went to bed, is now closed. That means he got home safely after his hot date with my sister. I go into the bathroom, switch the shower on full pelt and clamber into the bath.

  As water streams over me, I fight off the clammy shower curtain which wraps itself around my thighs, and lean my head back against the tiles. I’ve bagged a date with very handsome Logan Fairweather, albeit while drunk and rather incoherent. I have vague memories of saying ‘posh’ over and over again. But it didn’t put him off. Hooray! Logan wants to take me out, the party planning is going well, and I’m feeling more assertive these days – my wishes are coming true, so I’m happy. Aren’t I?

  An image of Zac and Jasmine last night, standing together by the front door, shining and happy, swims into my mind, along with the thought: It should have been me. Urgh. I slide slowly down into the tub and let the water bounce off my head, down my nose and onto the chipped enamel.

  I’m definitely still in love with Zac, which is hardly surprising. Did I think my feelings would disappear overnight in a Chardonnay-fuelled puff of smoke? The water in our dodgy shower has gone cold but I carry on sitting in the bath, contemplating the irony of my situation and shivering. What seemed like an impossible wish has come true and Logan has asked me out – but, as it happens, he isn’t the one I really want to go on a date with. I’d laugh if it wasn’t all so terribly sad.

  Right now, what I wish the most is that I could talk to Zac about how I’m feeling. I know that’s impossible, and yet… a spark of bravery stirs in my poor, hungover soul as I hear his bedroom door open and footsteps going down the stairs.

  I haul myself out of the bath and get dressed quickly in my jeans and a dark sweatshirt. Then I brush my hair, put on my eyeliner with a shaky hand, and take a deep breath. Wouldn’t reinvented Becca have the confidence to speak her mind?

  ‘I know it’s early, Zac, but can we talk?’ I ask, bursting into the kitchen. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, what the—?’

  I swallow the rest of my words and hang onto the kitchen table, feeling nauseous. There in front of me are Zac and Jasmine leaning into the fridge, with their heads bent close together. They both look up at me, their faces glowing in the fridge light.

  ‘Hell’s teeth, Beccs. You look like the ghost of Christmas past!’ laughs Jasmine, taking a yoghurt from the fridge. ‘Sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘You didn’t. I had to get up to go to work.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot you work at weekends. What a bore.’ Jasmine takes the teaspoon being offered by Zac and peels the foil top from her yoghurt pot. Then she stops and pushes her face towards mine. ‘You look ever so ill.’

  ‘You look ever so undressed.’

  Why did I say that? Why did I draw attention to the fact that Jasmine is wearing nothing but one of Zac’s shirts? She sits on the end of the table and swings her long bare legs.

  ‘I stayed over because I’d had too much to drink to drive, and the taxi driver seemed a bit dodgy. Zac didn’t want me travelling home with him on my own and I didn’t fancy it either.’ Uh-huh. I bet that wasn’t all she fancied. But I nod. If she wants to be coy about it, carry on.

  Zac, in a baggy T-shirt and jogging bottoms, runs his hands through his tousled hair. He looks sleepy and vulnerable and I so want to put my arms around him and my head against his chest. I grip the table instead and take a deep breath.

  ‘Did you want to talk to me, Beccs?’ he asks, closing the fridge.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Only you said you did when you came in.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ I try to think straight for one moment. ‘I just wondered… if you’d both had a good evening.’

  ‘Yeah, great. The party was fun and Zac made a very good impression,’ says Jasmine, giving him a grin. ‘I think that was due to his rather sharp suit.’

  ‘Not due to my sparkling personality and ready wit then?’ retorts Zac, splashing milk across the worktop as he pulls the tab off the new carton.

  ‘That too,’ says Jasmine, leaping up, tearing off a wodge of kitchen roll and leaning across him to mop up the mess. Her arm brushes against his chest but he
doesn’t step back. They seem very easy together, as though they know each other really well. Which they obviously do, after spending the night together. Another wave of nausea hits me and I close my eyes. Hangovers really are the pits.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right? I’m making tea for us if you want one,’ says Zac, gently, touching me lightly on the shoulder.

  I open my eyes. ‘No thanks. I need to get in to work ’cos there’s lots to do. I’ll have a paracetamol though, if there’s one going. I’ve got a cracking headache.’

  Zac reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a box of painkillers. ‘Here you go, Beccs. You do look pale. You’re not crying, are you?’

  ‘Nah, crying’s for wimps. I’m OK.’

  ‘Can’t you take the day off?’

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine. I just had a bit too much to drink last night.’ When I point at the empty wine bottle resting on top of the recycling bin, Zac does a double take and pours me a very large glass of water.

  ‘It’s not like you to drink on your own.’ Jasmine licks yoghurt off her teaspoon with one eye on Zac. ‘You’re usually fairly sensible about that kind of thing.’

  ‘I was celebrating,’ I blurt out. ‘Celebrating being asked out by Logan Fairweather, the bloke whose Christmas party I’m arranging in The Cosy Kettle. He rang me last night and asked if I wanted to go to Tuckers with him at the end of the party. It’s a proper date.’

  I stare at my sister as defiantly as my banging headache will allow. She might have just slept with the man I’ve very inconveniently realised I’m in love with, but hey, I’ve been asked out by the local heartthrob.

  ‘Wow.’ Jasmine looks properly impressed with me for the first time since… nope, I can’t remember when. ‘Are you going?’

  ‘Of course I’m going. I’m crazy about him and looking forward to the start of a beautiful relationship.’

  ‘Brilliant. That’s really good news, then, isn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ I say, as brightly as I can muster.

  Jasmine glances at Zac, who’s pouring Coco Pops into a bowl. ‘What do you think about it, Zac?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s good news,’ he says, without taking his eyes from his breakfast. ‘If you’re quite sure that’s what you want.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure! He’s the man of my dreams.’

  That’s over the top but it’s none of Zac’s business who I’m seeing, not now he’s so keen on my sister. I know Zac. He wouldn’t spend the night with someone unless he really, really liked them. And he certainly wouldn’t spend the night with my sister if he had even the slightest twinge of romantic feelings for me. A faint stirring of hope that my feelings for him might be reciprocated – so faint I hadn’t acknowledged it until now – fades away. So that’s that, then.

  Another wave of nausea hits me and I gulp down two paracetamol.

  ‘Right, I’d better be off and leave you to it,’ I mutter, wondering if they’ll be taking their cups of tea back to bed. I scurry into the sitting room, grab my jacket and charge out into the blindingly bright December morning.

  Brrr! I have seriously underestimated how cold it is out here and I shiver as I crunch my way through the snow. Several small shops are already open and the High Street is bustling with Christmas shoppers who haven’t been put off by the weather.

  Zac and Jasmine are a couple. I try to push the thought out of my mind and keep walking. Ahead of me, the hills rising above Honeyford are coated in white and smoke is curling from cottage chimneys. A number of small stalls have been set up under the stone arches of the market house and trading has already begun.

  Two of the people I love most in the world are together. I give up, as I walk past the town Christmas tree and the festive bunting looped from lamp post to lamp post, and let the thought take hold. It might not last – Jasmine’s track record with relationships isn’t great. But even if by some miracle Zac and I ever did get together, he chose Jasmine first which means I’d always feel more second best than ever.

  It’s hard to think straight with a banging hangover, but the way ahead is clear. Let Zac’s relationship with Jasmine play out and keep quiet about my unrequited feelings. Push them down deep until they lose their painful edge, and keep myself occupied working to make my Christmas wish come true. I won’t go to pieces like I did after Charlie left.

  I crunch on through the glinting snow and past picture-perfect cottages, but the soothing magic of Honeyford isn’t working on me today. It’ll be OK, I tell myself. I’ll get past these difficult feelings and become the person I want to be. Mary is helping me to update my wardrobe tomorrow, the Cosy Kettle party will wow everyone, and then I’m going on an actual proper date with super-hunky Logan. That thought does cheer me up a tiny bit, actually.

  Two pints of water and three very strong cups of coffee later, I’m starting to feel much better – at least on the hangover front. We’ve been inundated with frazzled shoppers seeking warmth and a breather from the Christmas crowds, but I’ve still found the time to put up the new decorations that arrived in a big parcel yesterday. Keeping busy has been good for me because it leaves no time to dwell on the fact that I’m in love with my best friend.

  Late morning, I stand behind the counter, next to the coffee machine, and look around the café. White frosted-glass baubles and macramé stars adorn the tree and I’ve tied white ribbon bows onto the branches. Large green wreaths dotted with fir cones are hanging on the walls and an arch of greenery dotted with tiny white fairy lights is pinned above the door to the garden. Logan’s company has covered the cost of the decorations and they’ve certainly done the trick – The Cosy Kettle looks terribly tasteful.

  There’s just one more thing to do while there’s a lull in customers. I pick up the cardboard box at my feet, walk over to the shelf that runs along one wall and stand with my hands on my hips. It’s daft but I’ve not been looking forward to this bit. Carefully, I start taking down the copper kettles that gave the café its name. They belonged to Stanley’s late wife, Moira, and have been on display since The Cosy Kettle first opened. The burnished copper catches the light and feels smooth under my fingers as I pack the kettles away and replace them with three large silver reindeer.

  They’re the only reindeer in the café now. The light-up reindeer on the counter was one of the first decorations to go. Kids coming in loved him and patted his glowing red nose with huge smiles on their faces. But he’s been banished to the shop’s attic, along with the paper garlands and flashing fairy lights and everything else considered too tacky for Logan’s sophisticated guests.

  I bite my lip and take a deep breath to ease my churning stomach. Even a batch of freshly baked cinnamon buns weren’t enough to tempt me this morning so I’ve had nothing to eat since last night.

  ‘Good morning, Becca.’ When I turn around, Luna is standing next to the Christmas tree. Her long white tunic and white, wide-legged trousers match the ribbon-bows tied to the branches behind her. ‘My word. Flora said you were busy changing things round and she was right. It’s quite the transformation.’

  ‘Hello, Luna,’ I say, feeling a familiar nag of unease as she steps forward and holds out the palms of her hands towards me. ‘Do you like The Cosy Kettle’s new look?’

  ‘Do you?’ she asks, her silver hair falling over one shoulder as she tilts her head.

  ‘Yes, I think so. The café has a more upmarket atmosphere which is what Logan wants for his party. He’s expecting sophistication.’

  ‘Do you always do what people expect, Becca?’

  ‘I do when they’re paying to host an event here,’ I snap, miffed that Luna seems to be implying I don’t have a mind of my own. Not long ago I’d have immediately apologised for being bad-tempered but I don’t feel minded to today. My head’s aching, Zac is probably snogging the life out of Jasmine right now, and I don’t have to be shy and quietly spoken all of the time. My Christmas wish will never come true if I keep being the same old anxious Becca.

  Lu
na doesn’t seem fazed by my unusual display of bad temper. In fact, she smiles one of her mysterious smiles and lowers her hands. ‘Could you make me a decaffeinated flat white with oat milk when you have a moment? To go, because I need to get back to my emporium. You’d be surprised how many people come in to browse when they’ve run out of ideas for presents.’

  She winks and follows me as I slip behind the counter and start making her coffee. She’ll give me her verdict on my aura and energies and spiritual health any moment. I prepare myself for it as I get the oat milk from the fridge and pour her finished coffee into a cardboard cup. But it doesn’t come. Luna stays quiet, running her finger along the counter as she considers the array of delicious cakes and pies for sale.

  ‘Thank you, Becca,’ she says, handing over her money when I place the cup in front of her. ‘I wish you a happy and fulfilled day.’ Then she turns to go.

  ‘Um, and how are you doing?’ I ask, feeling disappointed, for some strange reason, that Luna has kept the state of my aura to herself.

  When she turns back to face me, her amber eyes lock onto mine. ‘I and my family are very blessed. Flora has brought a new healing energy to Starlight Cottage. How are you?’

  ‘I’m… bearing up. I had a bit of a heavy night with the Chardonnay ’cos of… stuff going on.’ Oops, too much information. Why am I telling scary Luna all this?

  I start drumming my fingers on the counter until she places her hand on top of mine. Her skin is soft and warm and I know it’s bonkers, but I feel a sudden whoosh of calm envelop me from my head to my toes.

  ‘All will be well, Becca, if you remain true to yourself,’ she says, over the hubbub of conversation from café customers. ‘You’re rather lost right now but I’m sure you’ll find your way.’ She lets go of my hand and smiles. ‘And so will the café.’

  ‘Does that mean you don’t like the new decorations?’

  Luna glances around her and frowns slightly. ‘They don’t quite fit. Remember that even buildings have a soul, a unique ambience that resonates for good or ill with those who pass through it.’