by Sandy Barker
“Did you design this house?”
“Guilty.”
“It’s …” She struggled to find the right word and settled on, “beautiful.”
Nate dipped his head, a bittersweet smile on his face. Lucy didn’t want to dwell on why there was sadness in the smile.
“Well, if you’re offering, I’d love some toast.”
Nate clutched at his chest as though she’d wounded him. “Toast.” It came out as a ragged whisper and Lucy giggled. “How about an omelette instead?” he suggested.
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
He waved off her weak protestation and started assembling his omelette making tools on the counter. “Two, Dad,” said Will.
“Two omelettes coming right up.”
Lucy watched Nate in quiet awe, enjoying the sense of family togetherness and the hot chocolate. As two omelettes cooked in side-by-side frying pans, Nate topped her up with a wink. Will held his mug out too and when it was full again, offered it to Lucy in a toast.
“Here’s to peeing in the snow.”
Lucy let out an exasperated sigh. Nate laughed, his back to them, then took both pans off the hob and slid each omelette onto its plate in perfect sync—a little breakfast-for-dinner theatrics.
He chatted with them while they ate, doing most of the talking while Lucy and Will replied with nods and “Mmm-hmms”. When he was finished, Will leant back. “Great omelette, Dad, thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Will raised his arms above his head and stretched his neck from side to side, his T-shirt lifting to show a strip of bare stomach—bare, muscular stomach. Lucy gulped down her bite and took a sip of her hot chocolate.
When she glanced at Nate, it was clear that he’d seen the little episode. If she’d been embarrassed by Will sharing the outdoor weeing episode—and she was—this was several notches higher on the mortification scale.
Stop perving on Jules’s brother, Lucy—especially in front of their dad!
Chapter 9
Chloe
Chloe woke with a head that felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. She wasn’t sure what to blame, the sherry or the jet lag, but as she lay there looking up at Lucy’s garish light fitting, she knew one thing for certain. She was now Acting Co-chair of the town’s Christmas Fair and it was only two days away.
Why on earth had she said yes?
She threw an arm over her bleary eyes, blocking out the weak light seeping through the curtains, and indulged a long groan. Then she peeked at the clock on the bedside table. She had precisely thirty-five minutes to get up, get dressed, and head to the planning meeting. Good thing it was being held across the road.
Chloe prided herself on being good with names, but as Susan went around the circle and introduced everyone on the committee, she struggled to remember all of them.
“And this is Cecily,” said Susan, pointing to a stout woman with a particularly sour expression. She’d remember Cecily, though, with that “cat’s bum” face. Chloe nodded in greeting and Cecily’s lips pursed even tighter. Then, along with the other five committee members—Susan included—she stared expectantly at Chloe.
She was only supposed to be Co-chair, right? With Cecily? She scanned the group—five women and one man. She’d expected a grateful reception and to be looped in on the plans to date, but no, the stares continued. She wasn’t even sure if Susan was actually on the committee, or if she was just there to spectate.
Tough crowd, but Lucy had handled far worse than this.
She straightened to her full one hundred and fifty-two centimetres and pulled her shoulders back, adopting the power stance that always gave her a little boost of confidence when she needed it. She donned a bright smile. “Good morning.” It wasn’t. “I am very pleased to be here.” She wasn’t. “I am sure that you hardly need me at all, but I am happy to be of any assistance I can to make sure your Christmas Fair goes off without a hitch.” Another lie—she wasn’t happy about any of this.
Five stony faces didn’t flinch, and she glanced at Susan, who was watching her with an encouraging smile. “Right, so how about we go around the circle again, and you can tell me what each of you is responsible for.”
“We usually start with tea and biscuits,” said the man—Simon, Chloe remembered.
“Oh, right.” She looked around the group, wondering who was in charge of making tea.
“Cecily, aren’t you going to put the kettle on, dear?” Susan prompted. Cecily seemed to remember herself, tearing her scrutinising eyes from Chloe and standing.
“Yes, of course. My apologies everyone.” She disappeared through a doorway, presumably to the kitchen. Right, so they were in Cecily’s home.
Chloe knew she had to crack the toughest nut and get Cecily onside, so she followed her into the kitchen, hearing a cacophony of loud whispers erupt behind her. Cecily was fussing about with a tea tray and the kettle was already on to boil.
“Cecily, I meant to say before what a beautiful home you have. I was admiring your thatched roof as we crossed the road.” Flattery, flattery, flattery—in her experience, the three best ways to earn someone’s trust quickly.
Cecily started and looked at Chloe, her lips parted in surprise. “Oh. Why, thank you.” Chloe could tell that it was difficult for Cecily to take a compliment.
“What year was it built?” Chloe took in the low ceiling with its exposed beams of dark wood, which contrasted with the whitewashed, uneven plaster. It really was a beautiful building; she hadn’t been lying about that.
Cecily started placing biscuits from a tin onto a large floral plate. “Well, the original structure dates back to the sixteenth century.” Chloe’s eyes widened. She was standing in a building that pre-dated European settlement in Australia. It was one of the things she adored about visiting England.
“Actually, and you can see this better from the outside, this was once four separate structures—stables for the estate—and at some point, in the 1800s, it was converted into houses—four of them. It was only last century, before the war, that it became one house. That’s when my grandparents bought it.”
Wow, once you got Cecily onto something she wanted to talk about, she opened right up. Still, she’d yet to crack a smile. “Well, it certainly is impressive, and it has a fascinating history.” Cecily nodded, her mouth remaining in a taut line. “Can I help?” Chloe asked as the kettle boiled and switched itself off.
“Oh, well, yes, I suppose. You could take these out to the sitting room.” She indicated the plate of biscuits and a stack of matching smaller plates. “Oh, and take the napkins too, dear,” she added. She’d got a “dear” out of Cecily. Progress.
Cecily continued to flit about her kitchen with skilful efficiency, and Chloe did as she was told. Thankfully, being the bearer of biscuits seemed to win her some much-needed brownie points.
She served the committee members in turn, and as they helped themselves to one or two biscuits, each rewarded her with a smile—except Simon, but Chloe was doubtful he’d ever smiled in his entire life. As he took a handful of biscuits, which Chloe thought was extremely rude, he gave her a bit of a grunt. Perhaps it was his way of saying “thank you”.
Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. “Get that will you, Chloe,” Cecily called from the kitchen. So far, co-chairing the Christmas Fair was a lot like being a dogsbody for a bunch of pensioners.
Chloe, still holding the plate of biscuits, took herself off to the front door and opened it. In five hundred million years she would never ever, ever, have guessed who would be standing on the front step, duffel bag over one shoulder and looking even more handsome than he did on the big screen.
She nearly dropped the plate.
“Hello,” said the world’s biggest film star as he wiped raindrops from his shoulders.
“Hello,” she said, unwittingly blocking the doorway.
“Do you mind if I come in?”
She shook her head, dumbly, then realised she w
as in the way. “Oh, sorry.” What is happening?
“Thanks,” he shuffled past her and raised a hand at the room of people. “Hello everyone, is my mum home?”
“In the kitchen, darling!” Cecily sang out.
Holy frigging hell. Cecily was Archer Tate’s mother.
Once Chloe recovered from the shock of opening the door to the world’s biggest film star, the Christmas Fair meeting had gone quite well. After warm greetings from everyone, including Simon, and a kiss from his mother, Archer had left them to it, settling into the guest room while Chloe asked everyone to explain their roles and update the group on their progress.
It turned out that all Chloe would have to do was help Cecily manage the logistics on the day, so that everything from deliveries to set-up to packing up went smoothly.
The committee members departed, including Susan, all with promises to complete last-minute checks and to call if there were any problems, and Chloe had stayed to help Cecily clean up. At least, that’s what she’d told Cecily, who was putting the furniture back into its proper places while Chloe was up to her elbows in sudsy water.
Chloe eyed the dishwasher with annoyance as she washed another teacup. Why had she been tasked with handwashing everything if there was a dishwasher? And when was Archer going to come and talk to her? As far as she could tell, she was the only person in the entire village who was even close to his age. Maybe they’d hook up. That would certainly make it a Christmas to remember.
“Hello again.” The voice startled her, pulling from her daydream of hooking up with Archer Tate the film star, right back into his mother’s kitchen where he was standing beside her, a huge grin on his face.
In a millisecond, she took in the high cheekbones, chiselled jawline, cleft chin, full lips stretched tautly over perfectly straight teeth, and the strong dark brows and thick lashes that framed two of the most famous blue eyes on the planet.
“Hello,” she said, wishing she’d opted out of the orange and yellow floral rubber gloves.
“Chloe, right?”
“Yep.” Play it cool, as if you meet super-famous people every day. She had met famous people before. Well, people who were famous in Australia. Hardly the same thing. Although, she’d met Hugh Jackman once. He’d been just as lovely as everyone said he was.
“I’m Archer.”
She stopped herself from saying, “I know,” and instead replied with a casual, “Nice to meet you, Archer. I’d shake your hand but …” She held up her sheathed hands, then went back to the dishes. He picked up a tea towel and started drying. It was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen.
“So, I’m a little fuzzy on why a gorgeous Australian woman is in my mum’s kitchen doing the washing up.” Gorgeous. He’d called her “gorgeous”. Point one for the “hooking up” daydream.
“Oh, it’s just this thing I like to do. Travel to a different country, go village to village, then door to door, and offer to wash people’s dishes. It’s becoming a bit of a craze, actually. You may have heard of it? Hashtag dirty-dish-tourism?” She handed him the next clean cup.
“Oh, right! Yes, I think I saw that trending on Instagram not so long ago. I wasn’t quite sure what it was all about, and here I am meeting one of you in the flesh.”
She giggled and looked up at him. God, he was tall. He must have been well over six-foot. She’d need to stand on a stool if she ever got the chance to kiss him. Please let me kiss him, she thought. He smelled good too. Spicy, like Christmas. When he smiled down at her, the surrealness of the moment was overwhelming. She looked back at the soapy sink.
“Really, though, I’ve been roped into helping out with the Christmas Fair. Someone named Deirdre stepped in a rabbit hole and turned her ankle, so now I’m in charge. Well, co-in charge, anyway—with your mum.”
“Lucky you.” He took the next cup and dried it with the tea towel. Yummy forearms, she thought. She was a sucker for those.
“Well, to be fair, no pun intended,” she said, “there’s not much to do until tomorrow. Everyone seems to have their bits in hand. Oh—”
“Bits in hand?” Yep. He’d heard it and his mind had gone exactly where hers had—a shared adolescent response to her gaff. Her hand flew to her mouth as a reflex just as she started to laugh, filling her mouth with soap bubbles, which she then tried to wipe out of her mouth with the same sudsy glove, making it all worse.
By this stage, she was in a fit of giggles, spluttering out soap bubbles and helplessly flailing her arms about. “Hold still.” He was laughing too as he captured her chin with his hand and wiped her face with the tea towel. “Tongue,” he commanded. It was the only time she’d been told to stick out her tongue outside of a doctor’s office and she obeyed through the laughter. He wiped off her tongue and they both dissolved into a fit of laughter so intense, neither of them was making any noise.
That was when Cecily made her appearance.
“What on earth has got into you two?” Chloe glanced up at Cecily through her fringe from her doubled-over position. She and Archer straightened in unison, their laughter instantly subsiding. Maybe Archer was slightly afraid of Cecily too.
Cecily tutted and shooed them away from the sink. “Thank you for your help, Chloe. I’ll finish up.” Chloe was being dismissed, but she didn’t want to leave. This was the most fun she’d had in ages. And besides, Archer Frigging Tate! Just wait ’til she spoke to Lucy, who for some reason, the entire time she’d known her, had never once mentioned that she lived across the street from Archer Tate.
“Oh, sure, no problem.” Chloe removed the still-sudsy rubber gloves and placed them on the kitchen counter.
“You sure, Mum? We don’t mind helping out.”
Chloe was beyond surprised at what Cecily said next. “I’m fine with it, love. Why don’t you take Chloe on a walk around the village? She only arrived yesterday, and I’m sure she’d love to see more of it than the inside of this house.”
Was Cecily playing matchmaker?
Archer met Chloe’s eyes. “How does that sound?” he asked.
Hmm, let me have a think? What to do, what to do? What human being on the planet would say no?
“Sure, that sounds great,” Chloe replied, casually. No biggie—just going to mosey about the village with Archer Tate.
“Archer, I’ve that large umbrella in my wardrobe. You can take that,” Cecily said to him.
“Oh, right, perfect. Thanks, Mum.”
He disappeared, leaving Chloe alone with his mother. “You know,” said Cecily as she pulled the plug from the sink. “Archer just broke up with that horrid girl …”
Horrid girl? Oh, she means the aptly named Madison Strumpet. Chloe had seen the headlines splashed all over Women’s Monthly—a terrible name for a women’s magazine, she thought. “Oh?” Play it cool, play it cool.
Cecily turned to face her, wiping her hands on a fresh tea towel. “That Madison. She never deserved him, and she broke his heart running off with that actor.” She said the word “actor” as though it was akin to “devil”, clearly ignoring that her son was one too. “In any case, he’s single now—still nursing a bruised heart, but single. Just so you know.”
Chloe nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Yep, she’d definitely won over Cecily.
Chapter 10
Jules
“Hey,” Matt said, bursting back through the door from the stairwell, “thanks for keeping an eye on the wine.” He lifted the box from the floor and added, “I’m guessing you’re okay with your other bag?” Something clicked in Jules’s mind.
“Other” bag … as in one bag?
The horror of her mistake hit her like a punch in the gut. “Oh, shit,” she said breathlessly.
Concern crossed Matt’s face. “Are you okay?”
Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes locked onto his. “Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she half-whispered, half-whined.
“Jules?”
“I left my carry-on …” She could barely ge
t the words out.
“You left it somewhere?”
She nodded, mouth agape. “On the bus. From the airport.” Tears welled up, stinging her eyes.
“Okay, hey, it’ll be okay. Let’s get you upstairs and we’ll call them, okay?”
She felt a tear escape down her cheek, and she brushed it away like she was swatting a mosquito. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything. “I’m so stupid,” she spat out. How could she have forgotten her carry-on?
“Hey, don’t say that. We’ve all done stuff like this, okay? Come on, just follow me. We’ll sort it out.”
Jules was unconvinced. There was no way in hell that someone didn’t take off with her bag, the bag with all the presents she’d brought for Chloe’s friends, the bag with her—
Oh, SHIT!
With her passport.
There was never a good time to call a call centre, but this was possibly the worst—calling an airport shuttle bus company three days before Christmas. Jules had been in the queue on speakerphone for forty-two minutes. At this rate, she wouldn’t have any nails left.
Ash and Matt had been great, though, reassuring her. They’d each left something important somewhere. Ash had left her work laptop at Friday night drinks, only realising the next Monday morning. She got it back. And Matt had left his phone in the back of a cab. He got it back.
Perhaps there was hope. Jules hoped there was hope, because how was she supposed to fly back to the States next week without a passport?
“Hello, thank you for calling Sky Bus. This is Alicia. How can I help you?” Jules’s eyes flew to the phone. All the tension of the past hour threatened to overwhelm her, and she took a deep breath before she spoke, so she didn’t lose it.
She explained what had happened and gave a detailed description of the carry-on, as well as her best recollection of what time she’d boarded the bus. She was put on hold. Her stomach churned again, and this time it had nothing to do with jet lag or being overtired or the good-looking guy who stood watching her, his chocolate brown eyes intensely focused on her.
