The fizzing in my belly propels me up the ladder and I place the star at the very top of the tree – it’s almost brushing the café ceiling. Getting down again is another matter.
Ben can sense my hesitation and holds on to the ladder. ‘I’ve got you,’ he says as I make my slow descent, cringing with embarrassment. A grown woman should not be this scared of a stepladder.
I’m nearly at the bottom when my foot slips off the rung of the ladder and I fall backwards, straight into Ben’s arms. Honestly, you couldn’t make it up.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say as he places me firmly back on the floor and I turn around. I notice he hasn’t taken his hands off my waist.
‘No harm done,’ he says softly.
His eyes meet mine and electricity sparks through me. He ducks his head and he’s so close I can feel his breath against my skin. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he takes his hand off my waist and brushes the hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. If I stood on tiptoe I could brush my lips against his.
‘Ellie,’ he says quietly and I don’t know if it’s a question or not as I begin to lift my heels off the floor. But before my lips meet his, there is a sudden banging on the café door and Ben whips his head away, the moment gone.
*
I move away from Ben towards the door.
‘I’ll start clearing up,’ he says as I open up the café. A young couple are standing outside wearing those big waterproof jackets that people wear on yachts.
‘Are you open?’ the woman asks. I want to tell her that no, obviously not as the door is locked and the sign is flipped to closed. But I flip the sign over to “open” instead.
‘We are now,’ I say with a smile that I hope covers up my irritation. I don’t know yet how I feel about the fact that Ben almost kissed me – it’s something I’ll have to unpack later when I’m alone. I would certainly have liked a chance to find out how I felt about him actually kissing me. But it’s time I opened up. I’ve got some afternoon teas booked in for later that I need to get ready for.
The couple step inside and start looking around at all the different teas on the shelves, reading the handwritten cards I’ve made for each tea explaining what’s in it and what it’s for.
‘We came here in the summer,’ the woman says. ‘We have a boat that we keep in the marina on other side of the Bay so we don’t often come into the town itself, but we thought we’d come back this weekend to buy a few Christmas presents.’
‘Well feel free to browse,’ I say. ‘Can I get you anything while you’re here?’
‘Can we get a pot of your Christmas tea?’ the woman says, pointing at the chalkboard advertising it. ‘And a couple of mince pies.’
‘Coming right up,’ I say.
I take one of the teapots I’ve bought especially for Christmas – dark red with sprigs of holly all over it and swill it out with hot water to warm the pot. Then three spoons of Christmas blend tea – black tea with small slices of dried apple and orange along with cinnamon, coriander and clove, it’s the ultimate Christmas blend and just the smell of it will have you singing “Jingle Bells” no matter how much of a Grinch you are.
‘I’ve put all the empty boxes and the ladder back in the storeroom,’ Ben says as he comes back out into the café. ‘If you tell me where the broom is I’ll do a quick sweep-around.’
‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘You only signed up to help me with the tree, not help out in the café.’
‘Course I’m sure,’ he says, and there’s that smile again, the one that makes me feel weak at the knees.
‘Thank you,’ I reply with genuine gratitude. I love this café so much and I’ve never once regretted giving up my life in York to come here, but it is a full-on commitment with hardly a moment to myself to sit down with a book, or go to an art exhibition, or even to kiss a handsome man. I shake my head to make that thought go away. ‘Can you just keep an eye on things here while I prep for this afternoon? We took longer with the tree than I thought we would.’
He nods and our eyes meet for a moment as unspoken words and that unfulfilled kiss float in the air between us. I look away first, heading out into the kitchen to get the mince pies and the other cakes I’ll be serving this afternoon – chocolate fudge, a brand-new walnut loaf from Bessie, Victoria sponge and thick slices of spiced Christmas cake.
When I come back the couple have chosen the gifts they want to buy – some packs of the Christmas tea, some china mugs and tea infusers and two of the night-time kits that I gave to Ben the other night. I cash it all up and take their payment.
‘Go and take a seat,’ I say. ‘I’ll bring your tea over.’
When I go over to their table they’re talking about the Brass Monkeys Open, a sailing race that’s held every Boxing Day on the other side of the Bay.
‘Are you taking part?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ the man replies. ‘We’ve got a Wayfarer dinghy so it’s eligible. It’ll be our first time doing the Brass Monkeys.’
‘Have you been sailing long?’ I ask.
‘A couple of years,’ he says. ‘We’re completely addicted!’
‘We took the boat out this morning,’ the woman says. ‘We’re trying to get as much practice as we can before the race.’
‘Are you staying in the Bay over Christmas?’
She nods. ‘Yes, but we’re staying at the guest house over by the marina so we’re closer to the boat.’
‘You do know that the weather can turn on the flip of a coin at this time of year around here don’t you?’ Ben says from behind me. I turn around and he’s standing nearby listening to our conversation, leaning on the broom.
‘Well of course,’ the man replies seeming a little flustered. ‘And we’re aware that the race could be cancelled if the organisers think that the weather will make it dangerous.’
‘I don’t think there should be a race,’ Ben says quietly. His face is pale and his eyebrows are knotted together. He looks like the man who first walked into the café on Monday night, not the man who I’ve spent the afternoon decorating a Christmas tree with, the man who almost kissed me. ‘There are too many risks,’ he mutters as he turns away. ‘December is not the time to be mucking about on boats.’
I turn back to the couple who both look a bit shocked.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ I ask, trying to draw the couple’s attention away from Ben.
‘No.’ The woman smiles at me. ‘This is great.’
‘We’re hardly mucking about on boats,’ I hear the man whisper to his partner as I walk away.
I take the broom off Ben. ‘What was that about?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice soft. Ben shrugs, but his face is like thunder and I wonder where this anger has suddenly come from.
‘I’m going to go,’ he says.
‘You don’t have to,’ I reply as he turns his back on me, picking up his coat from the back of the chair where he left it. ‘I was just wondering…’ I continue – but he’s already gone, the café door closing behind him.