by Poppy Blake
“Hey, lovebirds! They’re about to announce the winners,” declared Freddie, his freckled face split into a wide smirk. “Come on, there’ll be plenty of time for all this canoodling later!”
Rosie laughed, linked her arm through Matt’s and followed Freddie inside, relishing the blast of crushed pine needles coupled with a heavy base note of warm Christmas spices coming from the makeshift bar in the corner. The place was packed with people milling around the trees, chatting animatedly about their favourite design, laughter ricocheting around the canvas walls, the occasional camera flash flickering through the throng. Christmas carols tinkled from a radio in the background and children ducked and dived into the roped off areas causing their parents much consternation.
Rosie caught a glimpse of Dan Forrester, Willerby Gazette’s intrepid reporter, who made bee-line for them as soon as he spotted them. Thankfully, Freddie stepped into his path and piloted him away before he could engage Rosie or Matt in a long session of in-depth analysis of the most recent tribulations to befall the Windmill Café.
“Want to take a quick tour of the entries before the winner is announced?” asked Matt, his arm draped over Rosie’s shoulder, a gesture that infused her with a golden glow of belonging.
“Absolutely! They all look amazing – I’m so glad I passed the judging baton on to the Rev! Shall we start with Penny’s and make our way round the circle towards Theo’s?”
“Actually, Theo’s been disqualified,” said Mia, joining them on their inspection circuit, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she handed them both a glass of warm mulled wine to thaw out their frozen fingers. “His entry was inspired, though, I’ll give him that. The theme he chose was vintage toy cars, trains, vans, cycles, scooters, all hung from the branches by tiny silver chains. Must have taken him ages to source everything from the internet, and he must have spent a fortune too.”
“Wow! Penny is just so talented, isn’t she?” sighed Rosie as she feasted her eyes on Penny’s finished tree, bestowed with a cornucopia of hand-painted woodland animals scampering through its branches.
“It is gorgeous,” mused Mia, considering Penny’s artistry as though it was a Cézanne. “But if I had to choose my favourite, it would be Abbi’s. I would die for one of her hand-made handbags, even a miniature one – especially that white one embroidered with holly berries. Do you think she’ll consider selling a few of the decorations to the needy when the competition is over?”
Rosie laughed at the way Mia was drooling over Abbi’s competition entry. It was an absolute riot of colour, easiest the brightest one in the room. The kaleidoscope of colours zinged against the verdant backdrop of the dark green foliage, and there was even a full-sized handbag-wallet-keyring combo hiding the ugly brass stand.
“Oh my God!” gasped Rosie, coming to an abrupt standstill when she arrived at the next tree, her palm flying her mouth. “Mia, you are a genius! Thank you, thank you, thank you, for stepping into the breach – this is absolutely amazing.”
Rosie reached out to Mia and enveloped her friend into a tight hug of appreciation. Whilst she had been distracted with the investigation into Theo’s accident, Mia had been quietly holding the fort, not only at the café making sure all the food and drink was ready for the celebration, but she had even carved out some time to finish decorating the Windmill Café’s contribution to the Christmas Carousel competition.
Whilst all the entries were identified by a number to ensure anonymity, it wouldn’t take the winner of Mastermind to work out who each tree belonged to – and Mia and Rosie’s tree was no exception. Dangling from every branch was a tiny silver kitchen implement, from whisks, spatulas, cheese graters and slotted spoons, to egg slicers, corkscrews and even a marshmallow toasting folk. It was stunning, especially to the eyes of the culinary-obsessed Rosie who scrutinised every branch, oohing and ahhing at each new discovery.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen!” announced the gravelly tones of Reverend Coulson, his voice reverberating through the tent and encouraging the guests and competitors to gather around the makeshift rostrum that had been cobbled together for him from a couple of beer crates. “A very warm welcome to the inaugural Windmill Café Christmas Carousel competition. First of all, as you probably all know, the unpleasantness that has been lingering over our village this week is over and I hope we can quickly put the drama behind us and move on.”
Rosie giggled when she saw the stern look Roger Coulson bestowed upon Dan Forrester over his half-moon glasses. At least the reporter had the grace to blush and offer the Reverend a reluctant nod.
“Now, when Rosie and Mia asked me to step into the role of judge for this competition I had no idea how difficult it would be to choose a winner. I think you will all agree with me that every tree is a work of festive art and I think the architects of such sparkling magnificence should be given a round of applause.”
A clatter of clapping rolled through the room, accompanied by whistles and the stamping of feet. Rosie took a moment to glance around the gathering. In the absence of Carole, Grace and Josh stood next to Rev Coulson performing the role of bodyguard should the results not go the way some people hoped and they decided to bend the vicar’s ear. Both looked relaxed and happy, at last able to enjoy every minute of the lead-up to their wedding celebrations. Next to them was Freddie, his arm around Mia, happiness exuding from every pore as he leaned forward to drop a kiss on her lips.
Rosie picked out Sam and Zara and laughed when she saw that Zara was wearing a pair of clog baubles as earrings and had fashioned a long necklace from a length of brown string and one of her wooden windmills that had been painted in their signature peppermint and white colours. Abbi and Dylan stood behind them, hanging on the vicar’s every word as they waited for him to utter those immortal words.
“And the winner is….”
Complete silence descended on the tent, save for the jingle of sleigh bells that Archie had hung above the entrance alongside a huge bunch of mistletoe that swayed in the breeze.
“Tree number eight! Congratulations!”
Rev Coulson grabbed the silver trophy in the shape of a windmill and waited for the winner to rush up, grab it from him, and gush out a speech of effusive thanks, but no one arrived.
“Whose is number eight?” asked Rosie, peering over her shoulder at the carousel until her eyes came to rest on the tree in question. She hadn’t had chance to scrutinise the winning tree in detail, but she could see why the Rev had chosen it as the winner. It had none of the perfectly sculpted ornaments, nor the symmetrical aesthetics of the other entries. In fact, a first glance, it was haphazard collection of random objects. However, on closer inspection, there was a definite theme – sports equipment.
There were mini footballs, rugby balls, cricket balls, golf balls, and tennis balls; rackets, bats and paddles, tiny longbows and quivers filled with arrows, hockey sticks, fishing rods, even a tiny lacrosse stick. The winter sports hadn’t been forgotten either; there were miniature skis, taboggans, sledges, snowboards, and what Rosie suspected were curling stones. The variety of sports represented was vast and the tree could belong to only one pair.
“Oh my God! Matt, it’s yours! Yours and Freddie’s!”
“What?”
“You’ve won!”
Rosie pogoed up and down on the spot, her excitement swirling through every cell in her body. She flung her arms around Matt’s neck and kissed him, laughing when she saw the look of incredulity on his handsome face. Next to her, Mia was doing exactly the same with a stunned Freddie until the audience urged the two men forward to accept the trophy and pose for the obligatory photographs so that the eating and drinking could start.
“Three cheers for our worthy winners!”
The crowd dutifully chorused their congratulations before stampeding towards the tables that were groaning with festive fayre with almost indecent haste. Rosie hung back, letting Mia and Grace man the tables to ensure order reigned and the whole party didn’t descend into a bunf
ight.
After all, they’d had enough accidents in the last six months at the little Windmill Café to last a lifetime.
Epilogue
“Come on! Come on! Grace is getting ready to throw her bouquet!” cried Mia, dragging Rosie into the middle of a coterie of excited women waiting on the steps of the village hall, their breath spiralling into the cold afternoon air.
The meteorological gods had answered Grace’s prayers and overnight had delivered an extra layer of powder-soft snow to endow the village of Willerby with a fairy tale aura for her wedding day. The ceremony, conducted by a very proud Reverend Coulson, had been an emotional affair, particularly when he had spoken movingly of his daughter Harriet, referring to her as an angel watching the proceedings from her perch in the clouds.
“Ready?” called Grace, beaming widely, looking every inch the perfect bride in her ivory wedding gown that sparkled with a cascade of crystals. To keep off the chill, she wore a matching velvet shrug edged in faux fur and fastened with a diamante broach that had belonged to her grandmother. She held up the bouquet that Rosie had lavished such love on creating and waved it at the crowd who were waiting like coiled springs in front of her.
“Yes!” they chorused.
“Got a strategy?” whispered Mia as she jostled her way the centre stage.
Rosie giggled. “Do I need one?”
“Well, have you seen the competition? I calculate the odds as seven to one. Not bad, but with a bit of preparation, I reckon they could be lowered to four to one.”
“How?”
Rosie assessed their fellow contenders. There was Zara, but as she was already married Rosie knew she wouldn’t be elbowing anyone aside to snatch the prize. The previous evening, Sam had confided in Matt that he and Zara had decided to take the plunge and relocate with the boys to Florida where his next golf course commission was taking him. Sam had thanked them for their discretion and had assured them he had learnt his lesson and from now on his family would come first. Their move to the US was intended as a fresh start and he was well aware of how lucky he was.
She shifted her surveillance to where Abbi had staked out her place, shoulder-to-shoulder with Mia, in the middle of the circle of women. She smiled and glanced towards the door of the village hall where Dylan loitered with Matt and Freddie, a pint of beer in his hand, watching the event unfold with interest. If his grin was any wider, thought Rosie, his cheeks would split. But she was happy for him. That morning, Christmas Eve, he had received a call he had never expected to happen. A former academy student had signed a lucrative contract with a Championship football team and wanted to show his appreciation to the man who had made his dream come true by offering to sponsor the club for the next two seasons.
Rosie caught sight of Penny, loitering on the periphery of the gathering, her camera raised as she attempted to catch the perfect action shot. Penny’s passion for her chosen profession shone from every pose she directed, and she had been overjoyed when she’d received not only compliments but requests for consultations for summer weddings. Rosie hoped that Penny would be able to put what had happened with Theo behind her and move on, just as she herself had after Harry. However, Rosie knew that Penny would be making no attempt to join in the scrum.
As the remaining women in the group were either married or Carole’s friends from the WI, it occurred to Rosie that meant Mia was including her in the mix. She knew it was only a bit of fun, but did she really want to catch the bridal bouquet as much as Mia and Abbi did? A shiver of pleasure ran the length of her spine as she caught Matt’s eye and saw him smile at her, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
“Woof!” cried Alfie, rushing over to Mia and bouncing on the spot just like his friend was doing.
“Okay! One, two, threeee…”
Grace spun round and threw her bouquet over her shoulder. A very undignified scramble ensued as, in unison, the female guests leapt into the air, their hands outstretched as they reached for the flowers. Rosie felt a sharp shove to her ribs which caused her to stumble to her left, followed by a loud squeal of delight. Abbi had managed to grab the posy and was hugging it protectively to her chest for fear it would be wrenched from her arms.
As Rosie watched, she saw Dylan pass his glass to Freddie – whose face was scrawled with amusement and not a little relief – and stride purposely towards Abbi. As the crowd burgeoned to include the whole wedding party keen to watch the unfolding drama, Dylan came to a stop in front of his girlfriend, took her hands in his and held her eyes. Rosie realised what was about to happen before Abbi did as Dylan lowered himself onto one knee.
“Abbi Jayne Spencer. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love you more than anything in the world. Will you marry me?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Abbi unceremoniously shoved the bouquet into Rosie’s hands and threw herself into Dylan’s arms to the delight of the wedding party who applauded the newly engaged couple with enthusiastic whoops and shrieking whistles.
“Never mind, Rosie. It’ll be your turn one day,” smirked Matt who had appeared at her side, nodding towards the third-hand bouquet she was clutching in her hands.
Rosie stared into his chocolate-brown eyes and a spasm of desire shot through her chest. Her thoughts drifted back to that morning when she had stood next to him whilst they watched Grace and Josh exchange their vows at the altar of St Andrew’s Parish Church. She had turned to offer him a smile of gratitude for being the best friend a girl could wish for and the intensity of his expression had made her gasp.
Dressed in his morning suit Matt was heart-stoppingly gorgeous. But the bond that had developed between them over the last six months was based on much more than a purely physical attraction. Despite resolving to leave the hearts-and-flowers stuff to Mia after what had happened with Harry, Matt had shown her how to live and love again. He’d encouraged her not only to step outside of her comfort zone but to march away from it with her head held high and with no backward glances.
Okay, so she might fall flat on her face, but so what? All she had to do was pick herself up, brush herself down and start again. And whilst she dearly hoped that there would be no further incidents at the Windmill Café that required them to dust off their metaphorical deerstalkers, she knew that whatever happened, with the support of Matt, Mia and Freddie, she would cope. Not just cope, flourish! With friends like them walking by her side, through the good times and the bad, she was truly blessed.
She reached up to kiss Matt’s cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“For being you.”
Matt’s lips curled into that familiar, mischievous smile causing dimples to appear in his cheeks as he delved deep into her eyes. A helix of electricity coiled through Rosie’s veins as Matt closed the gap between them, the fragrance of his citrusy cologne tickling her nose and caused her spirits to soar.
“Happy?”
“Absolutely,” Rosie muttered, not wanting to break the magic of the moment.
As the thrum of the music changed from a rendition of White Christmas to the Mariah Carey classic Rosie loved, it was the perfect moment for her surrender to Matt’s kiss. She couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas gift and it was a fitting end to the best day of her life.
THE END
Acknowledgements
My thanks, as always, to my fabulous editor, Charlotte Ledger, who has the amazing ability to add extra sparkle to my stories. Thanks to my family for listening to me bounce ideas around for the hundredth time without glazing over with boredom, and for taste-testing the Windmill Cafe’s Christmas recipes in the middle of June! And a ‘high five’ to my friend Carol whose namesake became the vicar’s wife in this story, along with her faithful, beloved Lhasa Apso, Alfie.
If you enjoyed Christmas Trees, then why not read the first two books in the Windmill Café series, to see where it all began?
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About the
Author
Poppy Blake is an avid scribbler of contemporary romance and romcoms. When not writing she loves indulging in the odd cocktail or two - accompanied by a tower of cupcakes. The Windmill Cafe series follows the life and loves of Rosie and Matt in the glorious countryside of Norfolk and will be opening its doors in March 2018 with Summer Breeze. Why not pop in for a visit?
@poppyblakebooks
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