The Christmas Bookshop(43)

‘Blair Pfenning!’ she managed. ‘I … I love you!’

‘Well, how nice,’ he said smoothly, carrying on moving even as she fumbled for her camera with frozen hands.

‘Goodness,’ said Carmen. ‘Does that happen a lot?’

‘Not nearly enough,’ said Blair. ‘For example, some people just leave me stranded in a strange city without a flight out.’

‘Hot chocolate,’ said Carmen firmly, steering them into the little café at the bottom of the hill, its windows all steamed up. They ordered two for staying in, while Blair stabbed buttons on his phone and made large sighs.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Carmen, as they sat down by the window, watching the lovely street taper up into the snowy horizon, the cut-out white snowflakes fluttering prettily above their heads, the scent of cinnamon heavy on the air. It was ridiculously adorable, particularly without being thronged with its usual thousands of tourists. Although, thought Carmen with her business head on, it would be quite nice if they came back fairly quickly.

‘Give me one of your marshmallows,’ she said, having finished her own.

‘No!’ said Blair, pouting. ‘Why should I?’

‘Because if you give me one of your marshmallows, I’ll sort out your flights for you.’

His grin was back, although he hastily damped it down.

‘Really?’

She took his phone and pulled up the airline’s website. Sure enough, with his booking reference and the airline being well aware of the thundersnow situation, it took her about six minutes to complete the transaction.

‘Put me in a window seat,’ he said quickly. Then he came over to sit next to her. ‘It is business, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Carmen. Goodness. Flying off to sunny LA in business class. That would be something.

He sighed.

‘Honestly. You’d think they’d bump me up to first for all this inconvenience.’

She looked at him, shaking her head.

‘Yes, all the terrible hot chocolate and shopping-based inconvenience.’

She handed back the phone while he busied himself with making sure he had the right seat.

‘I mean, 1A is obviously ideal,’ he was saying, ‘but it looks like someone else has it and frankly you’d rather be in, like, row six than with someone next to you who wants to talk to you. Worse if they’ve read your books.’

The sweet waitress, her hair in plaits, came forwards timidly.

‘Excuse me, are you Blair Pfenning?’

‘Yes, hi?’

She beamed.

‘Hot chocolates are on the house!’ she said.

‘Oh well, that’s fantastic,’ said a man who’d just spent four figures on a new outfit. Then, sotto voce to Carmen: ‘We should have ordered extra marshmallows.’ He turned his beam on the waitress. ‘Would you like a photo?’

Blair was being super-charming and Carmen was trying to be snooty about it. Although, if she was strictly honest with herself, it was actually quite exciting being next to a famous person when everyone was incredibly nice to you all the time and brought you free hot chocolate and they chatted idly to you about where exactly you should sit when travelling business class to Los Angeles, as if that were something she could feasibly have an interest in.

Also, there was something rather sweet about him, dressed in his new Edinburgh clobber, proud as a peacock. She was more used to her boyfriends turning up in trackie bottoms with stains on them of unmentionable provenance. She wished Sofia could see her now. Not that she could ask for a selfie – that would be so annoying, and make her exactly the same as the waitress. Whereas anyone seeing them … together … sitting together … might think they were boyfriend and girlfriend. Although that would be absurd: he was awful.

But people didn’t think that, she thought to herself. Everyone else reckoned he was amazing, people who didn’t know him. Look how lovely he’d been to the woman in the street, and the waitress. They would think she was lucky.

She refused to let herself pursue that thought as the door opened with a howling jet of wind and a tall figure, not at all well-dressed against the weather, bundled in, blowing on their hands, standing politely behind where Carmen and Blair were sitting, waiting to be called forward.

‘I mean, if you’re going to go to LA, you kind of have to go in style?’ Blair was saying, still looking at the airline’s website.

‘Oh, I totally agree,’ Carmen said. ‘Definitely. Goodness, who doesn’t think that?’

‘Hi, Oke!’ said the waitress to the person who’d just come in.

Carmen stiffened, then glanced behind her.

‘Oh hi,’ she said. She was annoyed with herself for being caught out in a boast she didn’t really mean, which was absurd as it wasn’t like she knew Oke; he was just a customer who came in her shop.

Oke smiled. ‘Isn’t it amazing?!’ he said, gesturing outside. ‘So beautiful.’

‘You don’t look dressed for it,’ said Blair, and Oke’s face fell.

‘Well. No. No. I suppose not.’

And Carmen felt even more embarrassed; he was wearing a T-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a jumper and a jacket over the top of that and he still looked absolutely freezing. It must be warm in Brazil, she thought.