Page 5 of Under the Mistletoe with You

He checks the labels.‘Oh, these are all for the Yangs.’

‘Give them here.Tammy lives on my street.Then you can close up.’

‘It’s too early.What if someone else comes?’

She looks around.‘My sweet friend, it is deader than a graveyard in here.Plus, did I mention it’s witches’ tits out there.Everyone will be heading home if they have sense.Come on, lock the door behind me and finish for the day.What’s the worst that could happen?’

‘That’s not a thing to ask me.’He laughs awkwardly.

‘I’m telling you, it’ll be fine.You need a bath and an early night.’

The voice in his head that sounds worryingly like his mother tuts, but Shaz is right.If anyone does come, he’d hear them knocking on the bakery door anyway.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Christopher, give me the puds.’

He hands them over, and she runs off to the front door with all her bags before he can change his mind.‘See you next year!’she shouts as she rushes out, only pausing outside the big window to mime opening champagne, filling glasses and doing shots.Christopher takes this to be some kind of promise or perhaps a threat of a future celebration.

And once again, it’s just Christopher and his bakery.But this time, he can lock the door.

Thanks to Shaz, his break has officially begun.

Chapter Two

Christopher

The next morning starts in the same way pretty much any holiday does for Christopher.He gets up nice and early to shower, and once he uses something, he packs it in his travel bag, so everything is present and accounted for.

The only difference is, today he goes into host mode, setting out fresh sheets and towels, and fresh, fancy miniatures to replace his hidden-away half-used bottles.It looks nice in the end.Rustic.

Seeing as his mother would be proud, he takes a picture of his handiwork for her.For some reason, it won’t send, though that’s not unusual.The phone and Wi-Fi signal is always all over the place here, fluctuating even when you’re standing still; hopefully it’ll send when he’s downstairs.

The very last thing he does is open the curtains.

Outside, there is snow.

Alotof snow.

So much snow in fact that the broken-down bakery van, which he also got from the bakery’s previous owners, is completely submerged.

When he first moved here, he had somewhat falsely presumed winters would be snowy.But something about being so close to the sea meant it was too warm for snow, and instead the coast got whipping icy winds and sleet.And yet ...

This is fine, he tells himself.Absolutely fine.No need to panic yet.

Admittedly, it is a bit startling to discover a lot of snow when you’re not expecting it, but still.He carries his cases downstairs and decides to make a coffee.It is a little expensive to run the huge bakery coffee machine just for him, but it is delicious and will give him something to do to settle his nerves.Not that drinking coffee has ever made him feel particularly chilled out.But going through the motions of grinding the beans, tamping down the softly powdered coffee, and running the steaming hot water through it slows his brain down.He breathes deeply, purposefully, as he watches thecremalayer over the top.

Coffee in hand, he leans against the counter, connects his phone to the café’s Wi-Fi, and navigates to the Met Office website.

He’s greeted by an alarming amount of red.

There are, somehow,multiplesevere weather warnings – for snow, clearly, but also for ice, for wind, for general inclement weather.In the north and south of the UK, there are flood warnings.It’s somewhat apocalyptic.

And worst of all, warning banners across the page announce that no one should travel unless there is a medical emergency.Christopher is fairly sure being a little burned out does not count.

From the big bakery windows, he looks out across the village.Everything is less snow-dusted and more snow-buried.Piles of snow seem to climb up against the buildings where it’s been blown around.

And somehow, it’s still coming down.Sideways.