Page 26 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Fred

Warren’s travel piece about the Pine Bluff Christmas Market was published in the Sunday edition of the Daily News , which happened to fall on December the first. It was a glowing review, full of affection for the place and the people, with the fulsome recommendation that anyone wanting to “ experience the kind of holiday magic you thought you’d left in your childhood dreams ” should get themselves to Scotland, quick smart.

Hallow-Hart Crackers got a mention, as did Martha and Diggory’s Father Christmas Grotto, and Warren had many positive things to say about the artisanal producers across the market, with special emphasis on the food: “ Leave your packed lunches at the hotel because you will want to try as many of the foods on offer as you can before you leave .”

Word quickly spread about the article and, gossip being what it was in the town, Fred soon found her social media deluged with messages from people who had heard of her connection with Warren, and wanted her to pass on their thanks the next time she saw him.

“It’s a brilliant article,” she gushed when they caught up over a coffee.

“I’m not sure it’s ‘brilliant,’ but thanks.” He smiled at her.

They were sat at a corner table in Meg’s Coffee Cup Café, working their way through a cinnamon latte cruffin each. Warren had suggested they share one, and Fred had suggested he wash his mouth out with soap.

“You’re being very humble about it. I guess when you have articles in newspapers all the time, it becomes quotidian.”

“It isn’t that.” He sighed. “Anyone who can write could have penned it.”

“But they didn’t. You did. It’s your name on the byline, nobody else’s.”

“I’m tired of being generic.”

“Oh, trust me, you are far from generic in Pine Bluff,” she said, passing her phone across the table for him to read the messages. “You are particularly popular with the Pine Bluff Jezebels and the chamber of commerce.”

She watched his mouth twitch as he scrolled down the comments. But his smile quickly faded as he passed the phone back. “Now look at the online version,” he said.

Fred pulled up the Daily News website and found Warren’s article.

“Scroll to the comments,” he instructed her.

Again, she did as she was told. They seemed positive enough; lots of people tagging friends with comments like “Shall we?” or “Let’s go here!”

“I don’t see the problem,” she said, honestly.

“It’s just, I want to be recognized for my writing style, but these kinds of articles don’t give me anything to get my teeth into.”

“Maybe you should write the next one in the form of an acrostic poem?” she teased.

“That would get you noticed.” But it landed badly, his expression faltered, and she felt the change in the atmosphere immediately.

Years with Tim had made her hyper-conscious of those little weather fronts that other people didn’t notice.

She needed to smooth things over…but then he threw his head back and laughed.

The shock of it made her sit up straight, eyes round.

“Oh my god!” he said, slapping his thigh. “I sound like such an arrogant prick! Sorry. I am going to stop being a whiny baby this instant.”

“Okay,” she said, forcing a laugh into her voice to hide the wobble. She’d imagined it. She must have. How quickly one look cast askance, or the intonation on a single word, could send her into a tailspin of panic.

Warren was looking at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. I thought for a moment I’d offended you.”

“No, not at all, please don’t think that.

I know I can come across as a bit overzealous but I’m not a narcissist, and I don’t get annoyed when people take the piss out of me.

If anything, a spot of ridicule helps to bring me back down to earth.

” His smile was warm and genuine, and she felt silly for spiraling.

“So, I guess this means you’ll be heading back to London? Now that your article is done, I mean.” Was she sad about the idea of him leaving? Yes, she decided, she would be a little sad if he left.

Warren’s gaze trapped her in the tractor beams of his dark blue eyes. Oh, but he was lovely to look at; he made her want to sigh dreamily and bat her eyelashes, like one of Lichtenstein’s pop art characters.

“You won’t be getting rid of me just yet,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Your editor has agreed to let you try for Marcus Tenbury’s column?” she asked, reaching over and grabbing his hand excitedly, before remembering herself and pulling away.

“She did. So, I’ve extended my stay at the pub, and I’ll write something here in Pine Bluff.

There are three of us going for the position.

The submission deadline is Thursday the twelfth, and whichever article the editor likes best will be published in the Sunday edition on December the fifteenth, and they’ll be named as the new Daily News food writer. ”

“Oh my god, Warren, this is huge! Congratulations!”

He laughed. “I haven’t got it yet, and I won’t know until that Sunday’s edition hits the newsstands.”

“She’s not going to let you know beforehand?”

“She wants it to be a surprise.” He rolled his eyes and then shook his head glumly. “I don’t know. The other journos going for it are at the top of their game. I feel like I’m up against it.”

“You’re a great writer, anyone can see that. You’re bound to get it; I can just feel it.”

He laughed. “You have more faith in my abilities at this point than I do.”

This humbler side of Warren was seriously warming her cockles. “Then let me be your cheerleader. What can I do to help?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression pensive. “I’ve narrowed down the list I made at your place on Friday night to just three restaurants.”

Warren picked up his phone and found the list. “Um, I’ve got Demeter, the Greek place you recommended, plus Nonna’s Olive Branch and Smoke and Soul on my radar.”

“Great choices. They’ve all been here forever. Mrs. Doukas’s homemade hummus and flatbread was my favorite homework snack.”

“Would you like to join me?” asked Warren.

“On your food odyssey around Pine Bluff? I would love to.”

This time, it was Warren who reached for her hand. “I’m really glad that courier got our letters mixed up.”

“Me too.”

“Come here,” he said, leaning across the table.

She mirrored his actions, a zing of excitement in her stomach as he pressed his mouth to hers.

His lips were soft, and he tasted of cinnamon cream.

But as romantic as it was, and as nice as the kiss felt, she was conscious of the busy café around them, of being a spectacle, of being gossip fodder.

She found first kisses rather awkward at the best of times, let alone with an audience present.

And when her phone rang out noisily on the table, she was almost relieved to break their kiss.

“Hey, Aunty, what’s up?” She took a swig of her coffee to give her an excuse to wipe her mouth with her napkin.

“I need your help, sweetheart. Your mother is already at the market, and I don’t want to bother her, but Aggie’s had a bit of a fall.”

Fred’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Shit!” She stood up so quickly she went dizzy; the chair screeched loudly as she pushed it back along the floor.

“Is she okay? Does she need an ambulance?” A hundred thoughts raced through her head all at once.

Warren was looking up at her, a concerned expression on his face.

“No, no, no, now calm yourself, Fred,” said Aunt Cam.

“She’s okay, it’s just that I think she’s sprained both her wrists and so she can’t push herself up, and I can’t get her up off the floor by myself.

Would you mind cutting short your plans and giving me a hand? Getting old is such a bind at times.”

Fred let out the breath she’d been holding in a whoosh. “Of course, don’t worry, I’ll be home ASAP. Lucky I brought the car this morning. Hang tight, I’m on my way.” She ended the call.

“Problem?”

“Aggie’s had a fall, and Cam can’t lift her by herself. I have to go, sorry,” she said, pulling her coat on and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Can I help at all?” Warren stood too.

“No, it’s fine. But thank you. Let me know where our food critiquing tour begins.”

“Any preferences?”

“Surprise me,” she said, smiling as he pulled her in for a brief but passionate kiss, the tingle of which she could still feel on her lips when she reached the car and put the key in the ignition.

—

As her little car chugged up the last gradient, Ryan’s Land Rover came up behind her and followed her in through the already open gates.

She wondered briefly why he should be following her but, whatever the reason, his presence was serendipitous.

She parked quickly and jumped out, hurrying around to the driver’s side of his vehicle and rapping on the window for him to wind it down.

“Hello,” he said in his usual jovial tone, pulling two boxes from the passenger seat onto his lap. “Where’s the fire?”

Fred gave only the briefest mental acknowledgment to the fact that he was dressed as an elf again.

“No fire, Aunt Aggie’s had a fall; I’m on a rescue mission.”

Ryan’s expression morphed into concern as he killed the engine and followed her quickly into the house, dumping the boxes on the console table as they passed through the hall.

They found Aggie resting up on her elbows, hands splayed limply on the sea of tinsel and baubles she lay on, sucking up something green from a cocktail shaker through a curly straw, the layers of her organza kimono spread out in ripples around her.

Cam was kneeling on a cushion beside her, holding the silver cocktail shaker and straw to her wife’s lips.

Fred had so many questions, she didn’t know which to address first. “What in the Lindsay Lohan? How did this happen? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, don’t fuss, just hurt my wrists when I went down is all,” said Aunt Aggie. “Greetings, Santa’s Elf, nice tights! Fred thought we might need reinforcements, did she?”