The Little Christmas Shop on Nutcracker Lane: The perfect cosy and uplifting Christmas romance to curl up with!

by Jaimie Admans

  It’s not just me. That’s all I can think as he reaches out and entangles his fingers with mine again. I’m not sure there’s been a fraction of a second that I haven’t spent thinking about James in the past few weeks. He feels it too. My joy must reflect in my smile because I don’t realise how tense his shoulders were until they drop with relief and he pulls me closer.

  My brain has turned to mush and my hand has landed on his neck, making him shiver as my nails run over his skin, and I’ve ended up with my back against the fence, my other hand in his hair, his broken arm around me between the fence and my back, holding me tight to him, his good arm around one shoulder, holding the side of my face, his thumb brushing my jaw.

  Our foreheads are pressed together, our noses alongside each other’s, sharing each breath as he whispers, ‘Can I ask you something?’

  I nod minutely. I’ve never needed anything more than I need him to kiss me. My whole body is on fire with anticipation and I think I’m going to burst if he doesn’t get on with it.

  ‘Just so you know it’s an option, but are you going to punch me in the ribs if I kiss you?’

  I let out a marginally deranged burst of laughter. ‘Oh my God, James, I’m going to punch you in the ribs if you don’t—’

  His lips are on mine before I can finish the sentence.

  I tilt my head up to meet him, and even though I was more than expecting the kiss, I let out a whimper at how good it feels when our lips finally connect. I’ve spent a not-insignificant amount of time imagining what it would be like to kiss James, but nothing prepares me for the onslaught of feelings that flood through me.

  It’s ridiculously soft at first, so infuriatingly gentle, the sexually charged equivalent of that kiss at the side of my mouth the other day. His lips melt against mine, and it’s such a relief after so long that it takes all my willpower to stay on my feet, constantly aware that he’s bruised and hurt and I can’t grab him with quite the force I want to. It’s like he can tell I’m holding back and he takes the lead, making the kiss more forceful, his thumb pressing carefully against my jaw, pulling me tighter when I’m trying to hold back for fear of hurting him.

  From a distance, he looks clean-shaven, but up close, he’s got the barest hint of five-o’clock shadow and it makes my skin tingle at every touch. My ears are ringing, every atom in my body is blazing towards my lips, and my hand is curled so tightly in his hair that it’ll be a Christmas miracle if I don’t come away with a few clumps.

  I lose awareness of everything around me. There is nothing but his lips and the pressure at every point that his body touches mine, and as we hit the point where I don’t think I can stop kissing him even though oxygen is becoming a severe issue, he pulls away, and our foreheads press together again as we both gasp for breath.

  I’ve never ever felt this way after a kiss before. So unsteady that it’s like I’m on a boat being tossed around by a stormy sea. I can’t open my eyes because kisses like that don’t actually happen in real life and if I open them, I’ll wake up.

  ‘Is the room spinning?’ he murmurs.

  ‘Everything’s spinning.’

  ‘Oh, thank God. It’s not just me. Did we accidentally down six bottles of wine between the outlet shop and here?’

  ‘We might have, but that was a lot more fun, and six bottles of wine would’ve made me start throwing up ages ago.’ Talking about vomit in the middle of a kiss. Well done, Nia.

  He lets out a howl of laughter and presses his lips quickly to mine again. ‘Of all the times I’ve imagined doing that, that was so much better.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think we should do it again to make sure.’

  ‘I like your way of thinking,’ he says, each word peppered with a kiss.

  I lose track of time as he kisses me properly again. Everything fades as my fingers curl into his body so tightly that he’s going to have nail-shaped indents in the back of his neck, and it takes a long while for me to risk pulling away and opening first one eye and then the other, genuinely surprised that we’re still on Nutcracker Lane because everything about that kiss felt like the world shifted underneath our feet and everything that hasn’t been right for a long while is suddenly right again.

  I look up at the giant nutcracker looming above us, and I’m sure his cheeks look redder than they did earlier. I doubt he’s used to watching that kind of display. Eight-year-olds wishing for unicorns is more his usual scene.

  ‘My wish came true too, you know.’

  James raises one eyebrow and lowers the other in confusion.

  ‘The night before I met you in the shop, I wished for Prince Charming.’

  I thought it would make him laugh, but the smile he gives me is surprisingly tight and the look on his face is pained. ‘I wish I was Prince Charming … but I’m not, Nia. I’m so far from Prince Charming that I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I didn’t know how to go another second without kissing you, and—’

  I cut him off by kissing him again, and he stumbles into the fence and groans in actual pain as it jars a bruise.

  ‘Come on, let’s go back to mine. If you think I’m letting you go home after that, forget it.’

  He hesitates. ‘Nee, I can’t do, y’know, that. Not with these ribs. And trust me, you don’t want to see me with my shirt off at the moment. I look like … you know when you were a child and got your hands into some watercolour paints and mixed every colour together and it ended up an indistinct purple-tinged mess?’

  It makes me giggle because I remember it well. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world for, y’know, that. It was the last thing on my mind. And seeing under your shirt would make no difference to how gorgeous you are, but kissing you and staying upright at the same time isn’t working out too well for me. And when you knocked, I was contemplating getting up to make a batch of mince pies, so you can come and help with that, because it’s December 21st and no un-Grinching would be complete without a mince pie hot from the oven and freshly whipped cream.’

  He lets out a guttural groan of longing, and I gather up the bag containing the two nutcrackers.

  ‘Just so you know, I think my un-Grinching is more than complete now. You’ve completely changed the way I see Christmas. You’ve changed the way I see everything.’

  I can’t help smiling as we walk hand-in-hand towards the entrance. He’s certainly had a positive impact on my life too. I can’t wait to see where this is going and where we’ll be next Christmas, because for the first time, it feels like it might be even better than this one. It feels like there might be hope.

  Chapter 16

  My lips are actually swollen, to the point where Lily asks me if I’m wearing a new lipstick when she walks up to Nutcracker Lane with Stacey and me the next morning. School’s out for Christmas and she’s designated herself as our new sales assistant and muffin supervisor for the Nutcracker Lane bakery, and there’s something really special about seeing her love Nutcracker Lane as much as I did when I was her age.

  ‘Well, what d’ya know, looks like Flynn Rider’s been to the same make-up counter.’ Stacey raises an understanding eyebrow as we meet James getting out of his car.

  His hair is still damp from where he’s been home to shower and change, and for the first time, his jumper is not a Grinch one but a black and white Fair Isle patterned one with Jack Skellington’s face in the middle of it. Typical James, nothing too Christmassy. If it wasn’t for Lily and Stacey’s curious eyes, I’d kiss him good morning as well as the many many times we kissed last night before he reluctantly went home, but he settles for dropping his good arm around my shoulder and squeezing me into his side.

  Once opening time passes, Nutcracker Lane is busier than it’s been in the past few years put together. With school holidays and most work breaks in full swing, there are families everywhere. The chestnut seller is doling out bags of chestnuts with such speed that his arms are a blur, like the scene in Elf when Buddy starts throwing snowballs in the park. The carolle
rs have split up into three groups and are giving a synchronised concert near the magical nutcracker, the coffee shop, and the tree lot at the other end. Our line of little nutcrackers has been almost obliterated at the sides of the lane with people taking them, knocking them over, or trampling them, so now they only stand in proud lines through each shop window, an implied wooden middle finger to Scrooge.

  With families off work, Carmen and Hubert have roped in cover for their counters and are getting in a few final chances to grant wishes. With only three days until Christmas, there might not be many more chances, and somewhere I have to find the time to formulate a real business plan to show them and find out who else would be on board with my ideas for the future of Nutcracker Lane before we have to get together and tackle presenting it to Scrooge. Safety in numbers and all that.

  James seems to have given up entirely on his shop because it’s shut and he’s outside walking around, and I can’t work out what he’s doing because he just seems to be talking to people. The fingers of his broken arm can grip a notebook now and he’s scribbling down comments, almost like some kind of customer satisfaction survey.

  When I’ve watched him walk past for the sixth time, Lily puts her hands on my back and shoves me out the door. ‘Me and Mum can manage here. Go and grant some wishes with your prince. He might turn back into a doll on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘You weren’t supposed to tell anyone that.’ I raise an eyebrow at Stacey, making her giggle.

  ‘It’s not like it’s actually going to happen, Nee.’

  No, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is. Even with all the kissing last night, and although we didn’t actually define that we are seeing each other, it’s pretty obvious we’ve been in some kind of relationship since the night in the storeroom, but he’s still acting like everything is going to change after Christmas.

  ‘What are you up to?’ I ask as I catch up with him between the florist and the hat shop, dodging people walking around with poinsettias under their arms and novelty hats on their heads.

  We’re near enough to a lamppost that he can get away with the mistletoe excuse and he leans down to press a brief kiss to my cheek, which although lovely, is sorely lacking after all the kissing when we got home last night.

  ‘Just seeing …’ He swallows, looking surprised that I’ve caught him. ‘Asking what customers want. Finding out what they like and dislike and trying to pin down what we need to improve for next year.’

  I like how strong his confidence is in that there will be a next year. ‘Something we can put in the business plan to try and get Scrooge onside?’

  ‘Er, yeah. Sure.’ His dark hair has gone wavy on the ends where it didn’t dry properly this morning and I resist the urge to tuck it back.

  ‘What have you got so far?’

  ‘Well, wishes are popular but what you said is right in that we need a better system and to employ dedicated wish-granters again …’ He stops as the sound of sirens reaches us from a distance and then carries on. ‘Hubert has fallen off a ladder three times this morning from where he’s pretending to fix a lamppost and Mrs Brissett has mopped the same imaginary spot on the floor so often that she’s started to wear away the paving slab itself, and …’

  The sirens are louder now, and I feel the same sense of dread and discomfort everyone feels when they hear an ambulance.

  ‘God, James, they sound really close.’ I stand on tiptoes to see over the heads of shoppers between us and the door, fully expecting to see an ambulance speeding into the car park, but there’s nothing.

  A few shoppers have stopped and are looking for the source of the sirens too.

  James points to the opposite side of the building where the factory car park is. ‘It’s coming from over—’

  ‘Oh, thank God! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ A middle-aged man wearing neon-yellow safety clothing rushes up to us, looking wide-eyed, sweaty, and out of breath. ‘Sir, there’s been an accident in the factory – you have to come now.’

  James has frozen, looking between me and the man with his mouth half open.

  ‘Please, Mr Ozborne.’ The man is almost yelling in his panic. ‘You’re the acting manager – there’s no one else to turn to. The paramedics are on site but they need someone for the official report. We need you now!’

  Ozborne. The name sounds so familiar, even though this is the first time his surname has come up.

  James still doesn’t speak, so I do instead. ‘He’s not the acting manager of the factory.’ I turn from the factory worker to him. ‘Are you? How could you possibly be a manager of the factory? That doesn’t make any sense.’

  The factory worker is bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly panicked to get back, but he’s made a mistake here and the sooner he realises that, the sooner he can find whoever he’s really looking for.

  James swallows hard. ‘I’m not the acting manager of the factory.’

  There. I knew that. Something bad has obviously happened and this poor man has got confused in the chaos. I turn to him. ‘Is everything okay? Can we help?’

  ‘Nia, I’m the acting manager of the whole place.’ James doesn’t look up as he speaks, saying it to the rounded corner of one of the paving slabs, which he pokes at with the toe of his boot.

  I laugh out loud even though this is very odd timing for jokes. ‘You’re not the acting manager of this place. Our acting manager is Scrooge.’

  James doesn’t respond. Hubert, Carmen, and Mrs Brissett are all gathered round, along with quite a few shoppers, unable to ignore the spectacle of the distressed man in yellow while sirens howl outside.

  I let out a sound that’s half-giggle half-gurgle. ‘That would make you Scrooge. You’re not seriously telling me that you’re him, are you?’

  Every nanosecond that passes without him speaking makes my heart plummet further into my stomach. It’s not possible. It’s more likely that he’s genuinely a wooden nutcracker come to life than there being any possibility that he could be that awful, miserly accountant. Scrooge is the furthest thing from kind and generous James.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I’ve tried to tell you …’ he starts.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ I let out another snortle. ‘You are not Scrooge. You can’t be.’

  ‘Mr Ozborne, I don’t know what’s going on here but this is an emergency and we need you right now. Please, sir.’ The distraught man starts to run off in the direction of the factory, clearly expecting James to follow him.

  He hesitates, looking me in the eyes. ‘Nee, I …’

  ‘Sir!’ the factory man shouts, and James starts after him, still unable to run properly with the ribs.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nia. This is not how you were meant to find out, but someone’s hurt and I have to go. I swear to you, I’ll explain later.’ He shoves the notebook he’s holding at me. I don’t realise my hands are shaking until our fingers brush when I take it off him and I realise it’s not just my hands. My whole body is shaking like I’m standing on one of those vibrating circulation booster things they sell on late-night shopping channels.

  I stare at the empty space where he was stood for a long time. Shoppers move on around me, nuts are cracked and wishes are made, carols are sung, and there’s the constant chatter of shoppers planning Christmas dinner and talking of plans for the next few days, but I ignore it all. If I just stand here without moving, he’s going to come back and admit this is all a practical joke. If I stay right in this spot, it won’t be real.

  I don’t move until Carmen wraps her arm around my shoulders. ‘Must admit, I did not see that coming.’

  She didn’t? There is no way it can be true. James is the most trustworthy man I’ve met for years. James hates Scrooge. I’ve moaned about Scrooge endlessly to James. They cannot be the same person.

  ‘You okay, Nia?’ Hubert shakes his head as he comes over. ‘No wonder he never answered his phone. You’ve gone pale. Do you want to sit down?’ He digs around in his multiple
pockets until he eventually produces a bag of sweets. ‘Here, have a peppermint cream; that’ll cheer you up.’

  I take one of the soft round mints that are chocolate-dipped on one side, even though I think it’ll take a bit more than a peppermint cream to sort this one out. I clutch the notebook to my chest, holding it against me like if I somehow squeeze it tight enough, he’ll magically appear in front of me and offer a perfectly reasonable explanation about how someone’s got their wires crossed and this is all a huge, gigantic, monumental misunderstanding. Any minute now …

  Carmen is still smoothing my jumper down and Hubert is patting my shoulder and waving the peppermint creams in my face again, and I need space. I paste on my brightest smile and shrug them off in the politest way possible and head back to Starlight Rainbows. I can’t make sense of my own brain. I’ve heard the words, but I don’t understand them.

  ‘What’s all the commotion out there? Has something happened?’ Stacey says as soon as I step in the door.

  I half-snort and half-choke at the same time. ‘“Something” is an understatement.’

  I must look as dazed as I feel because Stacey cocks her head to the side and appraises me for a moment, and without another word, opens the till and hands a tenner to Lily. ‘Lil, run across to the bakery and get three hot chocolates and three cakes stuffed with the largest amount of cream, okay?’

  This is one of the benefits of working with your best friend.

  There are a few customers browsing and she serves a lady before turning back to me. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘He’s Scrooge.’

  ‘Who? That guy in the yellow safety gear?’

  ‘No. James.’

  It’s Stacey’s turn to burst out laughing. ‘No, he’s not. Scrooge is old and decrepit and a grouchy, nasty, angry, bitter man who takes pleasure in making others miserable. James is adorable, funny, brings people coffee, and is so perfect for you that he could have been manufactured to your specifications. If he’s anyone in disguise, it’s Flynn Rider.’