Christmas at the Lucky Parrot Garden Centre: A cosy, feel-good romcom with festive sparkle

by Beth Good

He had found the pins keeping her hair up, and now deftly pulled them out so her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

  ‘Beautiful.’ He combed his fingers through her mousey-brown strands and raised a handful to his cheek, breathing in. ‘You smell of Christmas.’

  ‘Probably the cinnamon-scented candles I was demonstrating today.’

  ‘Kiss me,’ he said softly.

  She wanted to give in, to let go of her inhibitions. But first she needed him to understand her fears. ‘Please don’t play games with me, Daniel.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I’m not cut out to be a holiday distraction.’

  ‘But you are a distraction.’ He leaned in and nuzzled the curve of her shoulder, his rough cheek gently abrading her skin. ‘And I never play games with something as serious as this.’ He set a trail of little kisses up her neck to her jaw, and she tilted her head to give him easier access, her eyes fluttering shut. ‘I’m not a prankster like those guys at the garden centre, okay? You can trust me.’

  Could she?

  His body pressed against hers, and she held her breath. What was it she had been worried about? It didn’t seem so important now. Daniel’s palm cradled the nape of her neck, and pulled her even closer so that they were standing chest-to-chest. In his bedroom too, she reminded herself, suddenly aware that his luxurious-looking bed was only a couple of feet away.

  ‘I hate pranks,’ she whispered.

  ‘I hear you.’

  Hannah rose onto her toes and pressed her lips daringly to Daniel’s. His grip on her nape tightened. ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely.

  Their kiss was wild, hot and unbearably hungry, despite the stroganoff they had both just devoured. She soon lost control over her desire- a control that had been tenuous at best, anyway – and dragged at his clothing, fumbling with buttons, then pulling his shirt loose at last and throwing it aside. His hands found the zip on the back of her dress, and suddenly she was practically naked in his arms. It did not feel wrong though, and somehow they staggered as far as Daniel’s bed without breaking contact.

  They kissed and touched heatedly for some minutes, learning each other’s bodies, then Daniel rolled over on the mattress to make it possible to remove his trousers. Struggling to sit up so she could unclasp her bra, Hannah’s elbow somehow dug into his hard abdomen.

  ‘Easy,’ he managed to gasp.

  She caught his eye, and they both laughed. Then started kissing wildly again, bare limbs wrapped together, until things went far beyond laughter, and all Hannah could hear was the blood pumping in her veins and the creaking of old-fashioned bed springs.

  Later, Hannah lay on her back staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of what had happened. She’d always thought that kind of great, uninhibited, first-time sex only happened in films. But she’d been proved wrong tonight.

  Daniel lay sprawled out next to her, breathing heavily but not quite snoring, his long, powerful legs hogging most of the bed. She gave him a gentle nudge with her foot to see if he would move over. But he didn’t budge so she kicked out a bit harder.

  ‘Why-What?’

  ‘I’ve got no room here,’ she whispered. ‘Move over.’

  He did move over, of course, being a gentleman. Yet somehow he managed to tug her with him, so they ended up tangled together anyway, her head on his broad shoulder, their legs entwined. It was sweet and rather nice, Hannah reflected sleepily. Who knew? The big man liked to cuddle. Her heart went all fuzzy, and she smiled secretly against his shoulder. Perhaps this could work, this thing they had between them, whatever it was.

  As a lover he was exceptional; he liked kissing and cuddling; he could cook fantastic meals; and he was capable of small romantic gestures. More importantly, for her at least, there was an easy companionship between them, and plenty of warm-hearted laughter. They shared a strong sense of humour, and that was something she had always sought in a partner.

  Somewhere around that equally troubling and wonderful thought, she fell asleep, still cradled in his arms.

  When she woke up, it was to find his side of the bed empty, and the early sun streaming in through gaps in his curtains.

  ‘Daniel?’

  Where had he gone?

  Hannah slipped out from between crumpled sheets and tiptoed to the half-open door, naked and self-conscious, her skin already chilling, and her heart with it, worried he might have left her alone in Ivy’s house. But when she heard the self-explanatory sound of a shower running in the bathroom across the hall, she laughed, shaking her head at her own paranoia.

  Mystery solved.

  Her movements languid and relaxed, a smile still curving her lips, Hannah started gathering her scattered clothes from around the bed. She rescued Daniel’s clothes too and folded them neatly, placing them on the foot of his bed.

  She put on her underwear first, then her crumpled dress, which made a bold splash of scarlet against the conservative beige of Ivy’s carpet. She glanced across the room, catching a movement out of the corner of her eye, and found the snake watching from its tank with unblinking eyes as she wriggled into the dress, tugging it down over her hips. She felt ridiculous, being discomposed by his nosy snake, but soft colour flared in her cheeks as she remembered how urgently Daniel had dragged her clothes off last night.

  The shower had stopped running, she realised, and now she could Daniel singing to himself downstairs. Perhaps making them some breakfast, though she almost certainly would not have time to eat any.

  Suddenly she heard a repeated ringtone, and then Daniel’s deep tones as he answered his phone. That voice sent a series of delicious shivers down her spine as she recalled him murmuring in her ear as they made love.

  Behave, she told herself firmly. She had to go to work.

  Dragging her attention back to getting dressed, Hannah found an errant shoe behind the bedroom door and pounced on it. ‘Aha, got you.’

  Slipping it on, she cast around for the other high heel, but there was no sign of it. Puzzled, she hobbled out into the hall to look there. She had picked up her own phone from beside Woody’s tank, and now pressed the screen for the time display.

  It was later than she’d thought. If she didn’t get a move on, she was going to be late for work. After all, she still had to grab a quick shower at home herself and get changed before heading off to the garden centre.

  Daniel’s rich tones floated up to her from what she guessed was the kitchen, his words painfully clear as he said, ‘I can’t help it, sweetheart. No, I know it’s …’ He moved away, and the next words were lost in the rumbling boil of the kettle. But the damage was done. Hannah frowned, her breath hitching. They’d just been to bed together, and she distinctly remembered him saying he wasn’t into one-night-stands. So who the hell was Daniel calling ‘sweetheart’?

  With only one heel on, she crept down three stairs, keeping one hand on the banister for balance because her right leg was now four inches shorter than her left.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but something came up. I know that I promised.’ His tone had turned cajoling and low. ‘Look, I’ll make it up to you. Yes, darling, whatever you want.’ There was a long pause, as though he were listening to whoever was on the other end of that call. Then he finished warmly, ‘I love you too.’

  Hannah’s fingers tightened around the rail as her knees buckled. How stupid could she be, believing a man from a celebrity background when he said he wasn’t a game player? A man like Daniel Elliott was always playing games. And this was the oldest game around, wasn’t it? With no absence of idiotic, gullible women ready and eager to play it with him …

  Desperate not to see him again, driven by an almost primitive need to run and hide, Hannah crept down to the front door and let herself out quietly.

  Keeping to the snow-covered verge again so the gravel wouldn’t crunch and give her away, she limped home as fast as she could, hop-lurching across the road with her bare foot getting wetter and more frozen with every painful step.<
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  Damn Daniel Elliot. Damn him to hell.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hannah got to work fifteen minutes late, stumbling into the staffroom like a zombie just as the garden centre doors were being opened to the public. She threw off her jacket and studied herself in the mirror, then groaned at her wayward brown hair, hurriedly dragging it into a more professional-looking ponytail.

  ‘Your shirt buttons are done up wrong,’ Belle said behind her, closing her locker. She was a big girl, generous to a fault, with nearly waist-length red hair that Hannah would have killed for, and the loveliest smile. But, like Sam, she could be a bit of a prankster. She paused now on her way out to the shop floor, giving Hannah a wink. ‘Slept through the alarm this morning, did we?’

  ‘No, I … ’ Her voice tailed off, her brain too scrambled to reach for a plausible excuse.

  Belle scrutinised Hannah more closely. ‘Hey, are you feeling okay? Poor thing, you look a bit peaky.’ Her eyes widened and she backed away. ‘I hope you’re not sickening for something. I’ve already had every bug out there this winter, I don’t want to go down with yet another mystery virus.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. Just feeling tired with all the Christmas rush,’ Hannah said, somewhat untruthfully, and kept her focus centred on rebuttoning her shirt.

  Belle didn’t look convinced but since they both had a busy day ahead, she didn’t push it any further, much to Hannah’s relief. ‘Well, I’ve got some Vitamin C tablets in my locker. If you’d like some.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  She followed Belle out and started work on the tills first, then moved to the statuary section later, which was uneventful until a three-year-old girl with a scream like a siren managed to get her finger stuck so tightly in a wood knot hole, Hannah had to cut the section of wood out, ruining a fence panel in the process, so that her worried parents could take their shrieking child to hospital.

  Rather you than me, she thought grimly, watching as the couple bundled the little girl into the back of their Volvo estate and screeched out of the car park. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready for kids, and all the worry and responsibility that came with them. It was bad enough chasing Pepper in and out of her neighbours’ houses.

  Which made her remember last night. Which made her think about Daniel and his phone call. Which made her breathing quicken and her chest hurt.

  Not to mention her heart.

  The harder she tried not to think about Daniel, the more he crept into her mind, dark and malignant, like an annoying mental tic she could not seem to shake. Last night had been … Well, it still sent tingles through her, thinking about the way he had made love to her. So passionate, yet so considerate too. Then he had left her cringing at her own naivety. But of course that was her usual experience with men. The sex might be great; it was what came after that always messed with her head. And she had to hand it to Daniel. He was a prize bastard. How could he make love to her so wonderfully, then say ‘I love you’ to somebody else on the phone, with Hannah still lying upstairs in his bed?

  Humiliation crawled up her spine, and she made such a contorted ‘Ugh’ face that an elderly couple admiring the outdoor statues and stone benches hurried away from her in alarm.

  What an idiot she was!

  She did not want to make herself feel worse. But how could she have imagined any sort of meaningful relationship with a man like Daniel, someone who lived at the other end of the country, for a start, and who also happened to hang out with Hollywood stars occasionally?

  She should put him to the back of her mind, and focus on improving her career chances instead. That was the best way forward out of this mess.

  Hannah spent her lunch break alone in the staffroom with a calculator, totting up her savings and her monthly outgoings, and wondering how much she could borrow from the bank towards a business start-up. She knew enough about landscape gardening to impress the bank manager. But perhaps not enough about finances and accounting.

  She sighed, throwing aside the calculator. No matter how many times she did the sums, the answer came out the same.

  Without a guarantor, she would need at least another year’s worth of savings before she could even think about starting her own business. With her numbers, and a shaky at best business plan, the bank would turn her down flat.

  But if she accepted the promotion Mr Turner had offered her, she’d be tied up for too long. The raise would be handy though, she could not deny that. She might even be able to treat herself to a short holiday somewhere sunny early next year, and shake off the man blues on some white, sandy beach with a cocktail in hand.

  Right now, with her heart all squashed and crumpled out of shape like an old hat, an exotic break seemed like the perfect solution.

  Still, it would mean shelving her career plans for another couple of years. Which was not ideal. So, by the time she knocked on the door to Mr Turner’s office at the end of the day, she was feeling down. Not even Chadwick could cheer her up, despite strutting up and down the boss’s desk with a knowing expression, making beeping noises that sounded suspiciously like Facebook notifications.

  ‘Come about the promotion, have you?’ Mr Turner looked at her over the tops of his glasses, his tone a touch impatient. ‘So, lass, what’ve you decided, then?’

  ‘I’ll take the job, thank you.’

  The bottom line was, she could use the increase in pay, and it would be useful experience too. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself as she waved goodbye to all those youthful dreams of starting up her own business before the age of thirty.

  ‘That’s smashing news.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ll get you signed up for the extra training. I think the course starts in March. Good job, by the way, in helping that kiddy this morning. Her dad’s just rung and she’s going to be fine. No permanent damage, thank goodness.’ He rolled his eyes, which was an alarming thing to watch. ‘I thought he’d rung to say he was planning to sue us. Not that it was our fault, mind you. Blooming kid sticking her finger where it don’t belong. But good to know there’ll be no come-back. All’s well that ends well, eh?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Turner.’

  ‘Off you pop, then. I’ve got a ton of paperwork to get through before I go home.’ Already picking up his pen again, he waved at her vaguely. ‘Well done again for everything … erm … Hannah. Good job.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  She turned to the door. All’s well that ends well, she found herself repeating silently. But did that mean the inverse was true? That all’s bad that ends badly?

  She grimaced, thinking again of Daniel this morning, mouthing sweet nothings to some invisible lover on the phone, and her depressing, one-shoed escape through the snow …

  Hannah was halfway through the door when Mr Turner suddenly called her back. ‘Oh, hang on a minute! I nearly forgot. I’d like you to organise a short concert too.’

  She blinked. ‘A concert?’

  ‘Christmas carols with mulled wine and mince pies. Nothing too grand, mind. Just to draw in a few extra customers on Christmas Eve.’ He winked. ‘For all those last-minute gift bargains, you know.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I thought it would be a morale boost for the staff too,’ Mr Turner continued cheerily. ‘They can sing a few carols, and maybe encourage the customers to join in, while we serve festive refreshments to get them in the mood for spending money.’ His eyes gleamed with a sudden idea. ‘We’ll put out a bucket or two to collect donations for a local charity. It should be a good do.’

  What could she say?

  ‘The local charity collection is a good idea,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I’ll put up a list in the staffroom, see who I can persuade to volunteer.’

  She imagined trying to urge Sam to sing the Little Drummer Boy in public, perhaps wearing a festive woollen cap and scarf, and had to stifle a giggle.

  Maybe Mr Turner was right, after all. Maybe it would be good for staff morale to enjoy a sing-song together an
d some warmed mince pies – not to mention a small but powerful noggin of mulled wine for everyone! – before they all broke up for the Christmas celebrations. If nothing else, it would at least provide them with some entertainment at what was always a highly stressful time of year for the garden centre staff.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ he said, and nodded her to leave. ‘Thanks, Anna.’

  ‘Hannah,’ she corrected him.

  He looked up from his paperwork, distracted. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing important, Mr Turner,’ she said, and closed the office door, adding under her breath, ‘Only my name, that’s all.’

  After telling her astonished colleagues about her big promotion to Junior Manager, and being hugged and congratulated, Hannah cycled home in the dark, her bicycle light thinly picking out the route as she went. The snow had turned to slush, and the wind had dropped, and although it was still very cold, the sky was clear of clouds and she could see an early star up above. But a hard frost would be coming soon, she’d seen it on the weather report, so she’d probably have to start taking her car to work, which she kept parked-up round the back of the cottages most of the time, only to be used for bad weather and supermarket shopping trips – and emergencies, of course. Not that she ever had any of those, she thought ruefully, unless you counted her impending emotional breakdown …

  She couldn’t help looking up the drive of Abbey Villa as she rode past. The lights were on, but Daniel was out in the garden, struggling to put some weather-proof fairy lights on one of the trees. He waved at her and called out something, but Hannah pretended she hadn’t heard him and ignored that raised hand. Hurriedly, head bent, she pushed her bike round the back of her house and locked it in the shed, then let herself in through the back door.

  She didn’t want to see him or speak to him again.

  Ever.

  Next day at work, he called her mobile. But she turned off her phone without answering. Well, she could hardly take a personal call when she was working, could she?

  He then left several voice messages, which she deleted without listening to them. There was no point hearing his excuses, or further invitations to dinner, since she wasn’t going to see him again.