Page 27 of Christmas All the Way

Keeley flashed a bland smile his way. ‘No, I live locally so I pop in quite often,’ she said, reaching for another feather. ‘And Grace works nearby.’

‘Oh?’ Jesse said, eyeing Grace with more interest. ‘In Flaxwood?’

She shook her head. Now that he was closer, she realised he was older than she’d first assumed; there were strands of grey among the brown waves at his temples and creases around his eyes that suggested he was well into his forties rather than mid-thirties. ‘I work at Santa’s Secret,’ she said.

His eyebrows rose. ‘I see. Right on our doorstep.’ He glanced at Keeley, whose gaze was still trained upon her handiwork. ‘Are you colleagues?’

‘No,’ Keeley replied.

If Jesse picked up on the brevity of her reply, he didn’t mention it. ‘You certainly seem to have an artistic streak. That’s a magnificent wreath.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, not looking up.

When it became clear she wasn’t going to add anything more, a slightly awkward silence filled the air. The florist glanced at Grace’s wreath and pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Why don’t I pop back in a minute and see if we can rescue that?’

For a moment, Grace was overcome with indignation. It wasn’t that bad, surely? Then reality asserted itself and she saw the wreath through the florist’s eyes. She wanted to leave with something she wouldn’t be ashamed to hang on her front door, after all. ‘Yes, please,’ she said.

Jesse flashed another too-wide smile, and Grace decided his perfect white teeth must be the result of a very expensive trip to the dentist. ‘Lovely to meet you both,’ he said, but his eyes lingered on Grace. ‘Santa’s Secret, eh? I’ll be popping in for a long overdue chat with Ivy in the coming weeks – perhaps our paths will cross again.’

She tipped her head, wondering at the whisper of unease that rippled through her. ‘Maybe.’

A moment later, he was gone. Checking to see his back was turned, Keeley grimaced. ‘Urgh. Why do I feel like I need a wash?’

Grace knew exactly what she meant. The conversation with Jesse had been brief, and he’d been amiable enough, but there was something off about him that she couldn’t put her finger on. Perhaps he’d tried too hard to charm them, she thought, or perhaps it was simply the effect of Keeley’s unflattering reports about his popularity at the garden centre. Or maybe it had been the flash of those too-white teeth, wolfish and hungry. Whatever the reason, she found herself wondering what the overdue chat with Ivy was going to involve. Strictly speaking, it was none of her business but it made her uneasy all the same.

Shaking the thought away, she turned her attention back to Keeley. ‘It’s probably all the moss,’ she said, then waved a plaintive hand at the wreath in front of her. ‘Look, there’s only thirty minutes to go. Do you reckon you can do something with this?’

Immediately, her friend stopped what she was doing. ‘Of course,’ she said, reaching for a handful of grasses. ‘What you need is more, not less. We’ll have it whipped into shape in no time.’

CHAPTER NINE

‘A single kiss. Oh, torture me not, sweet Penelope.’

Broadstairs House, ELIZA NORTON

The rain gave way to blue skies after the weekend, which gave Keeley the confidence to hang her wreath on the front door of Juniper Cottage. It drew a number of admiring comments, which pleased her, and she’d even contemplated sending a photo to Xander, although she’d chickened out at the last minute. Perhaps she would make a more traditional one ahead of the Christmas tours, thick with holly and ivy as Grace’s had been, and decked with slices of dried orange and cinnamon sticks. Xander had observed that wreaths were more pagan than Christian and Keeley didn’t mind that at all. She felt certain Eliza would approve too.

‘Did you order the sunshine?’ Xander asked as he greeted Keeley in the garden of the cottage just before six o’clock on Wednesday evening.

She smiled. ‘I assumed you did.’

‘Not this time,’ he replied, turning to admire the still blooming flowerbeds basking in the golden light of the dipping sun. ‘But the rain has kept everything fresh, at least. It’ll look great on camera.’

The gardens were not the only things looking fresh, Keeley thought, giving Xander a surreptitious once-over. Did he sneak away to the Cote d’Azur every weekend to top up his tan? He didn’t seem like the type to fake it but the healthy glow he exuded showed no sign of fading. Could she ask? Or would she seem unforgivably nosy? But Xander’s attention had now been snared by the wreath. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Someone’s been busy. Did you make this?’

She nodded, trying to squash the treacherous bubble of pleasure his praise had created. ‘Grace and I took a class at the weekend. It turned out quite well.’

‘I’ll say,’ Xander replied, and whistled. ‘I can’t wait to get some pictures.’

His enthusiasm made Keeley wish she’d been brave enough to send him her own photograph but she supposed he’d capture a much better image than she ever could. She observed the sagging rucksack slung over his shoulder. ‘Did you decide against the leaves?’

He grinned. ‘Nope, they’re in the car – a whole bin liner full. But I thought I’d check out what nature had provided before I started making an artful mess.’

‘Oh,’ Keeley said, and felt a little surge of dismay. ‘I asked Marco to sweep them all up this afternoon. I thought you’d prefer a blank canvas.’

‘No problem. Let me go and get the bag and we’ll make a start.’ He squinted up at the cloudless sky, now gently tinted with pink and gold. ‘I want to try to use as much of this light as we can, then we’ll move on to the interior shots.’

In the messages they’d exchanged earlier, he’d mentioned wanting to take some photos of the library. Keeley hoped it wouldn’t take too long; she had a mountain of paperwork waiting for her at home. ‘Do you need any help carrying the leaves?’ she asked.