Christmas at Hope Cottage: A Magical Feel-Good Romance Novel(34)

‘Well, next thing I was telling her all my plans and she was telling me to come to the cottage to see her sister, that they would help me. She pretty much marched me over here, Pajarita, your family are forceful – forceful,’ he repeated with a wink, though he seemed to approve, quite a bit.

Emma’s mouth fell open. ‘They made a recipe for you?’

He looked at her, his eyes wide. ‘Course they did! Had to give up my favourite guitar pick and everything,’ he said with a wink. ‘Worth it though.’

‘Just a pick?’

‘Santana’s pick,’ he said with emphasis. ‘Eh.’

She just stared. She had no idea who Santana was. He looked at her, shook his head. ‘Ay, Pajarita…’ he muttered, clearly horrified at her ignorance. ‘Anyway, soon after that I approached the council about the land, got the van – hired Nico – and it all fell into place. I had some money saved up, you see. Then Evie offered me the annexe, and the rest is history.’



* * *



There was a knock on the door that afternoon. Emma opened it and was surprised to see Jack Allen standing there, a thick blue and white striped woollen scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth, the tops of his cheeks pink from cold and a bakery box in his hands.

‘Hi,’ he said, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.

‘Jack,’ she said, her mouth opening in surprise.

‘Can I come in?’ he asked with a grin, stamping his feet from the cold.

She blinked. ‘Of course.’

She was taken aback, though. Jack was usually a bit reluctant to come inside the cottage; his mother had forbidden it when they were young, and so over the years they’d spent many hours chatting just outside. It was hard to believe but even after all this time he’d never actually been inside for longer than a minute or two.

Thankfully, Evie and her aunts weren’t home. Perhaps Jack had waited until they’d left. Old habits are hard to break, she thought.

Jack stared around at the stone walls, looked from the range to the alcove, saw The Book on the table and gave a short, amazed laugh. ‘Hope Cottage,’ he said, echoing her thoughts from earlier. ‘And there’s The Book.’

She gave him a half-smile. ‘Was it what you expected?’ she asked, pulling out a chair for him to sit and adding, ‘Tea?’

‘Please,’ he said, and she went and filled the old copper kettle and set it on the range, and got two blue mugs from the dresser.

‘Gosh – old school,’ he said eyeing the kettle.

Emma shrugged. ‘Evie doesn’t trust a kettle that boils in thirty seconds. There’s something about the ritual of lighting the fire, and waiting for the water to boil… though she bought me a little modern kettle for the greenhouse – that’s where I work now – which was sweet of her.’

He looked around. ‘I’m not sure what I expected… potions and strange things in jars, maybe.’ He laughed. ‘A cauldron…’

She laughed. ‘Really?’

His face coloured slightly. ‘When I was little, yes. The way my mother spoke about this place… it’s silly when I think of it now.’

His eyes scanned the dresser, fell on Pennywort asleep on Emma’s bed, and he shook his head, smiled. Then he put the box on the table and opened it. Inside there were four perfect little muffins, topped with little reindeer in white fondant, with red glitterballs for noses.

‘I saw these in the bakery and I thought of you… remember that time when we got there just when it was opening and we got these…?’

She bit her lip. ‘Course I do.’

She had never forgotten, that was the trouble, none of it.

‘So, um, what have you been doing with yourself?’ she asked, handing him his mug. Tearing her gaze away from his.

‘I joined the family business – the Allen Printworks.’

‘Oh?’

He gave a small, self-deprecating sort of laugh. ‘I sold out…’

Jack had always spoken of escaping the family business, doing something in art and design, perhaps going to New York.

Emma shook her head. ‘It’s easy to think you’ll do things differently when you’re young.’

‘You did.’

She shrugged. ‘Yeah, well…’ She didn’t point out that she had felt like she had no choice – because of him.

‘The funny thing is, I enjoy it, more than I thought I would anyway. I run the sales department now and…’

Emma wasn’t really listening. She couldn’t take it any more; she had to know. Couldn’t just sweep what had happened the other day away and pretend it had never happened.

‘Jack?’ she interrupted. ‘What happened with Stella?’

He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s a long story, but we ended it a little while ago, and well…’

‘She isn’t taking it very well,’ Emma guessed.

‘She, um… well, she thinks I ended it because you’re back.’

Emma swallowed. He reached out, touched her hand. Emma looked up, into his hazel eyes. ‘And did you?’

He stared at her, ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Jack,’ she said, feeling her heart start to race.