This amount of tourism couldn’t be taken for granted, and people having this much of a good time shouldn’t be denied.
It was the Christmas I’d dreamed about having since I was a child. I’d have had so many happy memories if I’d been here rather than at home with my parents. Resentment mixed with regret in my gut. All children should have a Snowsly Christmas.
For the first time since I arrived, I felt like an outsider. An interloper who’d trespassed into other people’s joy because I’d never seen the market before. I didn’t have a history of Christmases in Snowsly.
Michael Bublé finally gave way to the jingling bells of Wham’s “Last Christmas,” and then just as George Michael was about to burst into song, the track jumped to Kirsty MacColl and the Pogues. Hadn’t that happened in the hotel yesterday as well? Maybe someone hated Wham!
I stood on the edge of the green, watching, debating whether or not I should disappear up to my room and fake a stomach bug when Celia stepped out of the herd of people around the stalls and started toward me. I tamped down the flicker of the smile that threatened at the edges of my mouth. I hadn’t planned on kissing Celia last night, but I couldn’t regret it. She’d tasted of red wine and oranges, and she’d been as warm as the roaring fire in the Manor’s reception.
“Your market is a triumph,” I said as she beamed at me.
“The Snowsly market is going quite well. It doesn’t belong to anyone. Certainly not me. The loss of the website hasn’t been completely catastrophic. Thanks to you.” She glanced down at the paper I was clutching. “What’s that?”
“Peter’s mailing list. He only has a hard copy. I’ve said I’ll get it transferred to an electronic format. And I’ve had my marketing department work up some graphics and wording for the market. The idea is each business can use the same templates when they mail their customers about coming to visit Snowsly in the next week or so.”
“That’s incredible, Sebastian. Thank you.”
“I made a couple of calls. It’s nothing.”
“I think you might be getting in the festive spirit.” She smoothed her hand down the front of my jacket. Every time she was near, the air seemed warmer, the stars seemed to shine a little brighter, and I stopped hating Christmas quite so much.
“It’s just business. I came to help. That’s all it is.”
“Well as long as you’re here, you’ve had your name put down for Secret Santa. I have the envelope.” She handed me a manila envelope. “Don’t open it yet because I’m likely to wrestle you to the ground just to find out who you got.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Doesn’t sound like too much of a disincentive.” I was pretty sure I could take Celia in any kind of wrestling match, but I wouldn’t mind her trying to take me on. The more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. I liked her passion and energy—even if it was aimed at Christmas. I liked her creativity and determination. And I’d enjoyed our kiss. It had been just as I’d imagined—innocent, but with a hint of spice underlying her sweetness.
She blushed under my gaze and pushed the envelope into my hand. “I’m serious, bury it in your pocket or I’m coming for you.”
“And what if I don’t want to play Secret Santa?” I always refused to participate in the one they held in the office.
“You have to!” she said. “We exchange gifts on Christmas Eve, so you don’t even have the excuse that you’re not going to be here.”
I liked the way the idea of something as inane as Secret Santa made her so happy, but I didn’t know enough about anyone in the village to be able to buy them a gift.
“No one except Ivy knows who’s buying gifts for who. It’s a complete surprise every year. And there’s a maximum budget of twenty pounds. The only other rule is that whatever you buy or make, it’s not allowed to come from Snowsly—otherwise everyone ends up getting the same thing. Come on. Why wouldn’t you want to participate?”
The fact that I didn’t have to spend more than twenty pounds wasn’t going to sway me either way. I just never bought gifts for anyone. Not since that Christmas on the deserted beach in Western Australia.
“Please,” she said. “For me.” Her eyelashes flickered around her pale blue eyes as she looked up at me. If we hadn’t been surrounded by hundreds of people, I would have pulled her in for another kiss. Instead, I huffed and pushed the envelope into my pocket. Defeated.
She knew me well enough not to crow. She just grinned at me, her face lit up at the thought that this grinch might be growing a heart. But she had the wrong end of the stick. I just wanted to avoid another conversation where she tried to convince me that Christmas was a magical time.
“Come on,” she said, linking her arm through mine in the unselfconscious way she did. “Let me show you around. You have to have a mug of Howard’s hot chocolate. I swear it’s just molten chocolate, double cream and sugar.”
“My arteries can’t wait,” I said as we strode toward the green. “The tree held up then,” I said as we joined the queue at Howard’s stand.
“Yes, thank goodness. Either the ropes kept the wind from lifting it or the saboteurs didn’t want to risk another attack. Probably thought that now that we were on notice, we’d have people watching out, or figured we’d put some of the Manor CCTV on the tree—which we totally did.”
The idea of one village tearing down another’s tree seemed completely ludicrous. But Katherine had been clear—Snowsly’s website had been hacked. I’d not told anyone because I didn’t want to stir further anger and resentment, and no doubt it would encourage conspiracy stories about Snowsville when we needed to focus on Snowsly. “I don’t think it was sabotage.”
“You can’t rule anything out. There’s a lot of money changing hands here today. And for the next twelve days. Money makes people stupid.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. “Surely they could have just sawn off the branches or something if they really wanted to cause trouble. You’re remarkably cynical about the neighboring villagers considering how . . .” I didn’t want to say naïve because it wasn’t a good description of who she was. “Christmas-postive you are.”
“Christmas-positive? Really? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
I chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“Just because I know what real life is like doesn’t mean I don’t want it to be better.” She paused as she waved at someone across the green. “I believe in possibility and potential and the idea that magic is so often waiting in the wings but just never gets called out to sing. Christmas is a time when we should invite magic into our lives. We all need to believe.”
Part of me wanted to dismiss what she was saying as some kind of school-girl Instagram post telling me that all my dreams could come true. But then another part of me was taken in by what she was saying. It wasn’t just her passion—it was that she was so earnest, so serious. For a woman who dealt in facts and data for a living, she seemed to find it surprisingly easy to suspend her disbelief.
“Two of your best hot chocolates please, Howard,” she said as we reached the front of the queue. “How’s business?”