by Jane Linfoot
I give a grimace. ‘I don’t think it was eight years of cake baking that swung it. It was working up at the farm that gave me my confidence back.’ I smile at Rafe.
‘Holy crap Pops, do not ruin my Christmas by accepting this.’ Immie growls.
Rafe’s breath is warm on my cheek as he sighs. ‘Last time I suggested you took the job, but this time I can’t pretend any more.’ As he stops to clear his throat, everyone stops talking and turns to watch him. ‘Every bit of me wants you to come back here, Red, because I don’t want to be without you.’ He’s biting his lip as he looks down at me. ‘You’ve already made the most amazing changes at Daisy Hill, and you’ve only just begun. There’s a great partnership waiting for you up at the farm, and I think that’s where you belong.’
‘Awesome.’ Sera’s hanging onto the dress rail, one foot on top of the other. ‘That has to be the best welcome home ever.’
And she’s right. ‘Thanks Rafe.’ What can I say? ‘I know some of you thought I was running away.’ I narrow my eyes at Immie here. ‘But I’m so pleased I went back to London. This way I’m lucky enough to be able to make a choice, knowing it’s the right one for me.’ As I smile up at Rafe, his face is drawn and pale. ‘I’d always regretted leaving London. Going away helped me realise what I really value. But coming back to you all made me realise even more, that this is where I want to be. So I won’t be taking the London job.’ Talk about making it up as I go along. But there’s no doubt about it, I know now this is what I want. And now I’ve decided I can’t think what took me so long. ‘And I’ll be coming back here again, as soon as I can.’
There are whoops from all around the room, and Immie thumps me so hard on the back that I almost have a soft fruit disaster.
Rafe’s face relaxes into a happy smile again, although the colour doesn’t come back to his cheeks for quite a while. After all the hugs and congratulations have finally subsided, he leans closer, murmuring in my ear. ‘The good news is the permission’s are going through for the indoor weddings in the house and the barn too. Just saying, if you were ready, there would be plenty to get your teeth into by January.’
Later, as we leave for the car, and pull our collars up against the cold, I swallow back a big lump in my throat.
Rafe’s breath is warm in my ear. ‘Are you okay?’
I wipe a tear away from the corner of my eye. ‘It’s lovely to be back.’ I sniff back at him, praying my smudged eyeliner’s not giving me panda eyes. ‘Sometimes you have to leave and come back, to find out where you truly belong.’
‘Very true.’ He squeezes my hand tightly, and the kiss he bends to give me is incredibly sweet.
When it’s over, his voice is husky in my ear. ‘Thanks for choosing Daisy Hill, Red.’
‘You taste of raspberries.’ I laugh. ‘And it wasn’t only Daisy Hill you know, I chose you too.’
‘That makes two of us.’ He holds out his car keys. ‘Ready to go home?’
70
In the drawing room at Daisy Hill Farm: P.S.
Rafe’s as good as his word. His Christmas tree is huge and the decorations around the kitchen – garlands, and enough hearts and hessian bows for a whole house, not just one room – are to die for. His excuse – by next Christmas we might have expanded into the rest of the house, and if not, they’ll always come in for weddings. Eye rolls to that one. Since his spontaneous trip to London, he’s developed a serious shopping habit. Talking of sheets – and I know you’ll want the bedroom details – they’re new too. White with tiny silver stars on. Bought in London, the day he left me at the office. In a way I’m pleased he was certain enough to do that. And one of my presents from him, among many, is a Barbour jacket. Who’d have thought I’d ever become a country person with my very own Barbour, but somehow I almost have.
His present from me is a London T-shirt – not a six hundred pound Versace one, just a normal boy one, with a photo collage of the Shard, to add to his tractor-wear collection. And an I Heart London mug for the office. Just so he’ll always be reminded of that day he came to bring me back home again.
And on Christmas night he fills the empty drawing room with candles, and Jet and I stand in the flickering light, listening to Rafe playing the piano. The first thing he plays is I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You, and by the end we’re both crying. Because neither of us can help it. Or could help it. Or whatever.
After we’ve both blown our noses a few times, he leans his chin on his fist, and looks up at me, as I lean on the piano. ‘You do know we’ll be lambing soon, Red.’
Okay. He’s a farmer. He can’t help having a one track mind. And these days I can hold my own talking animals anyway.
‘I thought lamb was a noun, not a verb.’ I frown.
He raises one eyebrow. ‘So there will be lambs in the kitchen. For a few weeks.’
I feel my eyes go wide. ‘What, all of them?’
That seems to amuse him. ‘No, just the ill ones … and the orphans … and the ones who need extra care.’
Which in the end sounds like it could be quite a few. ‘Right …’ Where’s he going with this?
‘And sometimes we have to put them in the oven to warm up.’
What the hell? ‘Great,’ I say, even though it’s mind boggling. Although when I think about it more, it’s really not that different from cooking. ‘And your point is?’
‘They’re very cute. There’s nothing like a baby lamb wiggling its tail as it drinks from the bottle. You’ll love it. But I’m just flagging it up … in advance … so you have time to get used to the idea.’
And then I get it. We’re parading worst moments here. Before they happen. So we can get them out of the way.
‘I’m guessing I can live with that.’ I say. ‘Which just goes to show how much I love you.’
He bites his lip, thoughtfully. ‘You know I think I started loving you that day with Cate’s dogs, when I hauled you out of the mud.’
‘Love at first bite?’ I laugh. ‘I remember thinking if you were mine, I wouldn’t have let you out of bed so early, so you definitely made an impression. So long as you remember, don’t volunteer for too many dawn starts for milking.’
Rafe turns and grins up at me, his stubble etching the shadows of his cheek bones. ‘Just think, Red, years from now, we’ll be able to tell our grandkids we met in a ditch.’
Actually, I’ve heard that somewhere before – thank you Immie – so I don’t react. Instead Jet and I stay silent, and arch an eye brow at each other. Because we both know, he’s winding me up. Not that I’d ever envisaged that my future would contain so much mud. But if that what it takes to be with Rafe, I’m happy to work with that.
‘So what shall I play next? Silent Night? Life on Mars?’ Rafe narrows his eyes. ‘Or there is this other one I’ve been practising an awful lot while you’ve been away. Because it reminded me so much of you.’
The four chords he plays resonate through me. I recognise it immediately. ‘Don’t Stop Me Now?’
‘It’s pretty much your signature tune. But it’s got to be played really, really loud.’ His mouth is bunched up as he tries to hold back a grin. ‘And obviously, you’ll have to do that air punching thing where you run around the room.’
Shit. ‘You know about the actions?’ My insides are withering, as I let out a squeak of panic. ‘But how?’
‘Two small words.’ His cheeks are bursting. ‘Office window.’ Then he lets his grin go.
‘Oh crap, surely not?’ To say I’m dying of embarrassment is an understatement.
‘Used to be the highlight of my day. Everyone else’s too. It’s for stuff like this I love you so much.’ It takes a few seconds for his laugh to subside. ‘So what do you say?’ He slides me a wink. ‘As you said once before, that track seems like a suitably up-beat way for us to begin?’
And finally, he’s come round to my way of thinking. ‘I can’t argue with that.’ I grin, and swoop in for a kiss, because at this moment, we have to be the happ
iest people in Cornwall.
A moment later, Rafe’s hands come crashing down on the piano keys, and as the opening bars of Don’t Stop Me Now thunder around the empty drawing room, I reach up and punch the air.
Acknowledgements
A big thank you …
To my hugely talented editor Charlotte Ledger, who works tirelessly with amazing flair, and somehow distils the chaos of ideas, and the mess of a manuscript into a finished book. This series is as much hers as it is mine. To Kimberley Young and the team at HarperCollins, for a wonderful cover, and all round expertise and support.
To Debbie Johnson and Zara Stoneley, and my writing friends across the world for sharing and caring. To my friends, the fabulous bloggers, who spread the word.
To Samantha Birch for her awesome wedding tips. A special shout out for Emily Bridal of Sheffield, and Alexandra Anne Bridal Boutique at Chatsworth. Those beautiful shops provided so much inspiration for Brides by the Sea. And thanks to Caroline Tranter for baking Poppy’s cakes, and providing photos.
Big hugs to India and Richard, for their wonderful wedding. The wedding shops we visited were where this series began. I wish we could do it all over again. And to Anna and Jamie for carrying on where they left off. To all my family, for constantly cheering me on. To Max for the techy stuff, for reminding me it’s time for tea, that the garage needs tidying, and that we need a new shed. And big love to my own hero, Phil … for never letting me give up, and for always being there.
Jane Linfoot
I write fun, flirty fiction with feisty heroines and a bit of an edge. Writing romance is cool because I get to wear pretty shoes instead of wellies. I live in a mountain kingdom in Derbyshire, where my family and pets are kind enough to ignore the domestic chaos. Happily, we’re in walking distance of a supermarket. I love hearts, flowers, happy endings, all things vintage, most things French. When I’m not on Facebook and can’t find an excuse for shopping, I’ll be walking or gardening. On days when I want to be really scared, I ride a tandem.
You can follow me on Twitter @janelinfoot.
Also by Jane Linfoot
The Vintage Cinema Club
High Heels & Bicycle Wheels
The Right Side of Mr Wrong
How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates
Coming Soon from Jane Linfoot
Sequins and Snowflakes, Christmas at the Little Wedding Shop Book 2
About HarperImpulse
HarperImpulse is an exciting new range of romance fiction brought to you from the women’s fiction team at HarperCollins. Our aim is to break new talent from debut authors and import the hottest trends from the US, bringing you the very best in romance. Whether that is through short reads for your mobile phone or epic sagas that span the generations we want to proudly publish romance fiction that gets everybody talking.
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Writers, we are simply looking for good stories! So, what are you waiting for? To submit, e-mail us at [email protected].
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