Page 55 of The Secret Holiday Kiss

‘Are you sure you’re going to be OK while I meet my client?’

‘You think a horde of cosmopolitan youngsters are going to drown me in matcha lattes?’ Harry glanced over from the driver’s seat. ‘It’s not a scary city.’

Daisy laughed. ‘I thought you might be bored, hanging around waiting for me.’

‘I’ve got a book with me, and there are a hundred good restaurants. If things get desperate, I can walk through the Christmas tunnel or doom scroll on my phone. I’ll be fine.’

‘It was so good of you to bring me.’

‘It didn’t seem fair for you to have to drive in. At least you can have a couple of glasses of wine. Things are going well with Lars?’

‘He seems happy with what I’ve done so far. A couple of contractors can start before Christmas, so we need to flesh that out.’

‘Good. I’m glad you’ve got something here – Norwich, I mean. Not miles from Mistingham.’

‘Me, too.’ The project with Lars was good, and this dinner would oil the wheels. She could focus on him, on making sure the conversation sparkled, rather than worrying about Avery. She hadn’t heard from him since their altercation, and she had to hold her nerve. She had to make him come to her.

‘Here we go.’ Harry parked the Land Rover in a car park opposite the Forum. Daisy was entranced by the festive glow of the city: the warm light spilling from the stained-glass windows of the church next to the market; the striped awnings like multicoloured candy canes; the front of City Hall adorned with a dancing display of red and green lasers.

‘Thank you.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

‘I’ll be close by, so whenever you’re done, just let me know.’

Daisy tightened her scarf as she walked through streets busy with evening revellers. Christmas window displays were softly lit, and the winter branches of the trees that lined the pedestrianized streets had been wound through with golden bulbs.

The air was scented with lingering coffee and fried onions, the sharp tang of cold, and a hopped-up version of a Christmas classic was playing somewhere, the low beat reverberating through her bones.

Lars was waiting for her, standing up from a corner table in the tiny, tightly packed restaurant he’d booked. A waiter took her coat and scarf, and as she wove through the gaps between tables, her client reached his arms out, eyes sliding over her, appraising.

Daisy tugged at her dress. It was navy blue, knee-length, with a boat neckline and floaty skirt, a navy belt with a gold clasp cinching the material in at the waist. It was a good balance of professional and elegant, and she felt polished but not too showy.

‘Daisy,’ he said, ‘you look magnificent.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked great too, in a black suit, a black, open-neck shirt underneath, channelling James Bond or a Mob boss.

He gestured to the seat opposite him and she sat down. Voices crowded over each other and the tantalizing smell of garlic made her mouth water.

‘This isn’t the City Drift vibe, is it?’ she said, leaning forward. ‘I love it, but cheery clutter isn’t your style.’

Lars’s eyes lit up. ‘No, this isn’t my professional vibe, but it’s my wining and dining vibe. Mostly because the food here is delicious.’

‘Excellent. I had soup for lunch. I was saving myself for tonight.’

‘Perfect,’ he said, and she realized how that must have sounded. She tried not to blush.

They perused the menu, and Daisy was spoilt for choice. In the end she went with garlic chicken and potatoes Dauphinoise, Lars picked beef stew, then suggested they share a bottle of Rioja. She noticed the decorations: gold garlands, a lot of holly and mistletoe hanging from walls already busy with small, bright paintings and vintage metal signs.

‘Holly and mistletoe represent good luck in France,’ Lars said, seeing her looking.

‘Oh. I didn’t realize.’ She’d noticed a lot of the doors in Mistingham had mistletoe tied to them, and that it was a prominent feature in Christmas wreaths, but she’d forgotten to ask what the significance was.

Lars rested his elbows on the table. ‘I quite like the more traditional meaning, though.’

Daisy smiled and decided to ignore his insinuations. ‘I love Christmas traditions. I used to host big fancy dinner parties, and I’d spend hours on the table decorations, the place settings. Getting everything just so.’ She looked at the gingham tablecloth, the bud vase with a sprig of holly and a couple of pine fronds. The work of moments, and yet it did what it meant to, conveying warmth, rustic food, good cheer.

‘That’s why you’re the best,’ Lars said. ‘Why I didn’t want anyone else when I could finally realize this dream. This café, City Drift, it matters to me, and already, I know I was right to choose you.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ she said. ‘Now we have our contractors, we know their start dates, so we can finalize the timeline. If we keep on top of it, we can have your dream turned into reality by the end of January.’ She spread salty butter liberally on a piece of bread. There was no point trying to be restrained in a place like this.