Page 29 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Smoke and Soul was situated on a lazy S-bend of the high street, sandwiched between a bank and a boutique-style shop that sold scented candles, notebooks and patterned socks.

A light but relentless sleet had been falling for the last forty minutes.

Pick a weather already! Fred thought testily as a layer of slippery gray slush formed on the pavement and her feet slowly froze in their boots.

Be rain or be snow, but don’t multitask .

It was a quarter past one, and their table was booked for one; Warren was late.

Fred tried not to be irritated as she stood in the doorway of Quirky Treasures so as not to get jostled by the market shoppers.

She didn’t like being late; it felt disrespectful, especially since the Campbells were old friends of her aunts.

Also, she was hungry, and the big gooey calzones being sold at the stall just in front of her had begun calling her name.

“Hey,” said Ryan cheerily. “What are you doing skulking in doorways?”

“Fred, love, hello,” said Martha, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Ryan was wearing a dark green ski jacket and jeans, and Martha was dressed as Mrs. Claus and holding an umbrella.

Fred smiled, pleased to see them. “I gave up skulking in year thirteen. I’m just waiting for Warren; we’re meeting for lunch. Meant to be.”

“Ooh, anywhere nice?” asked Martha.

“Smoke and Soul.”

“Oh, gosh, that’s one of my favorites. Diggory can’t handle the spice, but I love it.”

“Hi, all!” said Warren, looking like a male model in a cologne ad as he came up next to them, while she resembled a wet dishcloth.

Martha shifted her umbrella slightly as he moved past her to stand beside Fred.

“You’re late.” Fred tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“I know, sorry, I got caught up with work. I called ahead and apologized.” He shot her a winning smile. “They didn’t seem to mind. Martha, lovely to see you again. Hey, Ryan, how’s it going?” Warren was all congeniality.

“Good, thanks,” Ryan replied.

“Nice to see you again too,” Martha said, smiling.

“Shall we go in?” Fred asked. “I know you phoned but still…”

“Sure, sure. Hey, why don’t you guys join us for lunch?”

Fred had assumed that this was a kind of work/date thing, but obviously Warren had other ideas.

“Oh, um…” Martha looked at Ryan. Clearly, she was surprised at the invite too.

“I have to get back to work,” said Ryan. “But thanks anyway.”

“Come on,” Warren pressed. “You’re your own boss, who’s going to tell on you? At least come in and have a drink.”

Ryan caught Fred’s eye, frowning a little. “Do you mind us crashing your lunch?”

She smiled, edging toward the door of the restaurant. “Of course not.”

He gave an all right then shrug. “Fancy a celebratory coffee, Mum?” he asked, moving to follow Fred.

“Lovely,” Martha replied.

Ryan reached the door first and held it open for the rest of them. Warren strode up to the ma?tre d’s station.

“Hello there!” he greeted the tall, beautiful woman in an orange and yellow headscarf. “Warren Reeves, I’m the numpty who called because I’m late. And now I’m here in person to grovel for forgiveness. You don’t mind if our friends join us, do you?” He offered her a winning smile.

She laughed. “No groveling required, Mr. Reeves, and of course, that’s fine.” Then she caught sight of Fred.

“Freddie? Oh my god, I heard you were back in town!”

“She’s not back,” said Ryan. “She’s just perching.”

Fred rolled her eyes and elbowed him, smiling. “Hi, Cherry, it’s been a while.”

“It really has!”

“Hello, Cherry, my love,” said Martha, popping her head around Fred’s shoulder.

“Martha!” Cherry beamed. “Lovely to see you, how are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. How’s your gran getting on? She getting used to that new hip?”

“She’s like a new woman, all up in everyone’s business more than ever. You here for some lunch?”

“Just for coffee,” put in Ryan. “We’ll make ourselves scarce when their food arrives, or we’ll be jealous.”

Cherry laughed, her eyes twinkling. “No problem. We only serve Coast Roast Coffee here, is that okay for you?”

“I’ll struggle along with it.” Ryan grinned back.

Cherry led them to a table for four in the window, and they took their seats; Warren sat opposite Fred, and Martha sat next to her.

The walls of the restaurant were painted a deep terra-cotta, and all around them were framed paintings of sandy beaches, palm trees and huge exotic flowers.

They ordered coffee, and when Cherry handed them menus, Warren said, “Don’t worry about the menu, we’ll just take a selection of whatever starters you recommend and two of your signature dishes to share. ”

Cherry cocked her head to one side. “You want me to choose your food for you?”

“Yes, please.” Warren smiled at her. “I’m writing a ‘places to eat in Pine Bluff’ piece for the Daily News , so I’d like to try the dishes you feel best showcase your restaurant. Surprise me.”

Fred cringed.

“O-kay,” Cherry said. “I’ll speak to the chef.”

When Cherry left, Ryan said quietly, “I hope lobster isn’t on the menu, or you guys are about to be hit with a massive bill.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Warren, pulling a Moleskine notebook and a pen out of his messenger bag. “Oh, well, with any luck we’ll get a discount because of the article thing.”

His flippancy made her squirm in her seat and she determined to pay full price for her meal, even if it did turn out to be lobster. She hardly dared look at Ryan for fear of what she’d see in his expression. He would most definitely be thinking that Warren was a bit of a twat.

For his part, Warren seemed completely oblivious. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he addressed Martha, “but are you in fancy dress?”

Martha looked down, as though only just realizing what she was wearing, and laughed, straightening her Victorian-style mobcap.

“I’m Mrs. Christmas, for some of the time at least. I spend so much time dashing between the hardware store and the grotto that it seems easier to keep the costume on.

This has become my Christmas uniform. We were just on our way back from the bank when we saw you. ”

“We had a business meeting,” Ryan clarified.

“You take your mum to business meetings with you?” Warren asked. “That is adorable.”

Fred noticed Ryan’s cheeks redden.

“I’m looking to expand Coast Roast, and Mum and Dad have offered to come in with me,” he said, looking very much like he didn’t want to be having this conversation with Warren at all.

“You’re lucky to have that kind of familial support,” said Warren.

“I am,” Ryan replied, and smiled at his mum.

“Are you close with your family?” asked Martha.

“Ha. No. And I doubt they’d ever offer to help me out financially. They don’t agree with my choice of profession.”

Fred felt the need to change the subject for Warren. She didn’t want him to feel exposed or awkward about his difficult family situation. “So, you’ve taken the plunge on expanding Coast Roast,” she said to Ryan.

“I have indeed. I’ve made an official offer on the shop next door, and now we’ve applied for the loan, so fingers crossed.” Ryan looked at her and she could see from the way his eyes were lit up how much it meant to him.

“I’m so happy for you!” She really was. “I’ll keep everything crossed for you.”

Their coffees arrived along with several small plates of starters, which were greeted with sounds of approval around the table and included the peppered shrimp that Fred had often hankered after when she’d lived in London.

“Please share them with us,” said Warren to their guests. “I’d be interested in your thoughts.”

Ryan made noises about getting going, but Martha was already sinking her teeth into a small pastry patty and making appreciative sounds, so he gave up.

When the starters were polished off and the main courses arrived, Ryan excused himself, gesturing that his mum should do the same.

He handed a twenty-pound note to Fred and said, “For our coffees and toward the starters we ate.”

“Nah-uh, mate, your money’s no good here, my friend,” said Warren, plucking the note out from between her finger and thumb and handing it back to Ryan. “If there’s anything to pay, it’s my treat.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows at Fred in a way that said, This man is an absolute cock , and said, “Thank you,” to Warren in a voice that sounded as though his hand was being crushed in a vice.

While she couldn’t deny that Warren was very nice to look at, and he was a good kisser, she was feeling increasingly that he wasn’t her cup of tea.

“Do I piss Ryan off?” Warren asked, as they tucked into dishes of jerk fish, rice and peas, spicy plantain chips and chicken stew.

“Ummm…” She continued chewing long after she had swallowed her food, to buy herself some time. “You can come across as a bit…full of it?” He did ask.

His face fell, and he nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. It’s one of the reasons I’m a writer; I’m better with words than people.

” He went on, “The only way that I can function in social situations is to embody a kind of alter-ego. You know, like how Beyoncé has Sasha Fierce? Well, I have Carlton Courage.”

She laughed. That explained a lot.

“And I like you, and I thought you were unlikely to like the stuttering mess that is me in social situations without—”

“Carlton Courage,” Fred finished for him.

He nodded, glumly. “Yeah. Dumb, huh?” Then he looked up at her with big searching eyes.

“No, it’s not dumb.” She’d experienced a lot of conflicting emotions in the last hour, and it seemed set to continue. “But I’m wondering if Carlton is more of a hindrance than a help. Wait a minute…you came to dinner at my house with all those people you didn’t know.”

Warren cringed. “I know! I didn’t know how to turn your aunt down when she invited me. That’s another thing I’m incapable of: saying no.”

“Oh, Warren.” She laughed. “Okay, well, you need to know that my aunts aren’t easily offended, they wouldn’t have minded if you’d said you were busy. Was it very painful for you, meeting my entire extended family?”

“Excruciating!” He shook his head, smiling bashfully. “I was terrified the whole evening. And then, when I got back to the hotel, I couldn’t sleep for replaying all the things I’d said, over and over. That stuff about coffee not being a luxury item…god, I make myself shudder.”

She reached over and placed her hand on his, trying not to laugh at his distress. The man had layers; she’d give him that.

“So, when you invited Ryan and Martha to join us for lunch…”

“Oh, why do I do it?” he said, covering his face with his hands. “I just wanted a quiet lunch with you, but I panicked when I saw Ryan and Martha outside with you, and I didn’t know what to do, and so I ended up inviting them on our date.” He wiped his hands on his napkin. “Carlton is very pushy.”

“You panicked us into a double date with my mum’s best friend and her son.”

Warren laughed, and nodded. “That’s exactly what I did. And then I said all the wrong things…” He put his head back in his hands. “This really isn’t going how I wanted it to.”

“How did you want it to go?”

He looked up at her with big appealing eyes.

“With us getting to know each other better, and you deciding that you’re as attracted to me as I am to you.”

Oh! Goodness, he was sweet when he wasn’t being ridiculous. Maybe she shouldn’t write him off romantically just yet.

She met his gaze and held it. “If you could leave Carlton at home for the next couple of dates, I reckon I’ll be able to catch up.”

His answering smile was all relief and gratitude. “I think I can manage that.”

The rest of the date was a delight. When Cherry handed him the bill, with half the cost of what they’d eaten deducted from the total—just as Warren had implied it would be—he insisted on paying full price.

He wouldn’t hear of Fred paying her half, and he left a healthy tip.

By the time they left the restaurant, Cherry was completely smitten with him.

They walked back to the Crooked Elm the long way around, wandering through the market, their conversation relaxed now that they were alone again.

Warren wanted to get his notes about the meal down while they were still fresh in his head, and Fred had promised to take over from her mum at the hut at half past three.

She was glad to have an excuse not to accompany him to his room when he asked if she’d like a coffee first. Instead, they enjoyed a stolen kiss by the back stairs that would keep her buzzing nicely for the rest of the afternoon.

And not even the smarmy know-it-all git who suggested their crackers were probably made by exploited workers in India, or the lager lout who made a point of shouting in at her as he marched past the hut, “Smile, love, it might never ’appen!

” could pop the perfectly lovely snog-bubble she was watching the world through.