Page 1

Chapter 1

26 days until Christmas

Reading. A dreamlike state, where everything was just perfect.

Noémi closed the beautifully decorated cover of the book she’d been reading and placed it gently in her lap, allowing her fingers to trace the foiled lettering. If only real life was so full of promise. So wonderfully woven, with assurances of happy endings and good, sparkly things. She’d needed that moment of escape. Sometimes a story was the only way to soothe your soul when life felt daunting. Because she was not looking forward to the onerous truth she had to share later that evening. The truth that would change everything.

A noise in the street outside made her look up and rub her eyes.

Was he … real?

She tried not to stare as the tall figure walked through the wisps of snow towards her fairy-lit bookshop on Hazel View Avenue. Some might say he was more strutting than walking, in what looked like a kind of Dickensian gent costume that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in the historical Christmas romance she’d been idly stroking. He was broad-shouldered and confident in a long red velvet coat with tails that swished as he moved. And not that she was completely gawping, but was his gold swirly-patterned waistcoat misbuttoned? Well then, she couldn’t have been daydreaming. Surely imaginary men didn’t suffer from wardrobe malfunctions.

Flakes of snow landed on his top hat, yet they melted before her eyes rather than settling. Hints of caramel-coloured hair curled out from underneath it, as though bursting to make mischief. Noémi shook her head. A top hat. On a chilly November evening, in the Cotswolds. Was there a fancy-dress party she hadn’t heard about?

The man adjusted his deep red cravat with the hand that wasn’t twirling a costume-style cane – of all things. And then, seeming to notice her surprised eyes assessing him, stopped momentarily and tipped his hat at her. His hair bounced free, framing chocolatey eyes and a neat beard that looked as soft and light as her latte. Her heart raced. She cleared her throat, her gaze darting to her coffee mug on the small table next to her. She would have to watch her caffeine intake – because the only men with permission to increase her heart rate lived safely between the pages of books.

His attention moved to the blackboard outside her shop, which today read ‘Stuff life – I’d rather be reading.’ Noémi still had no idea who kept whisking away the street’s A-boards and returning them with artfully sign-written messages, but they were always apt. The corners of the man’s mouth lifted into the smallest smile, and with one last swift look at her, he veered off to the left and disappeared out of sight.

Wait. Did he just wink at her? In fact, did any of that really just happen? Noémi stood quickly, placing her book on the patchwork armchair in the shop’s bay window where she’d been sitting. She hurried to the windowpane and peered out, trying not to get too close in case her breath fogged the glass.

A low whistle from behind her suggested she hadn’t just imagined the man with the wonky waistcoat and frothy coffee beard.

‘Who was that dish?’

The question came from Daniel, Noémi’s lifelong friend, trusty shop assistant, and stater of unhelpful comments.

‘Erm, no one. I mean, no idea.’ Noémi rearranged the curtains like that was the only reason she’d been loitering by the window and swiftly turned her back to it.

‘Are your delicate cheeks blushing, Mademoiselle Blanc?’ Daniel’s hand flew to his chest.

Even though Noémi’s parents were both French, she’d been born right there in the southwest of England, so really, she was a Miss. But Mademoiselle did sound more romantic.

‘Max Factor,’ Noémi bluffed. They both knew that was a lie.

She clapped her hands, keen to take charge of the situation – even if far too much felt wildly out of control right then. ‘Things to do.’ She hoped her voice seemed breezy. It was high time they embraced the Christmas period in the shop, and there was no room for gossiping over swishy-coated strangers.

‘Did you say you wanted to talk to us about something tonight?’

‘Nooooo.’ Noémi winced.

Why on earth had she just denied it? She’d been through this in her head approximately ninety-three times and once for luck. They had to discuss the onerous thing tonight.

Of course, she could feign a library ladder face-planting incident that might necessitate her jaw being wired. Or orchestrating a book avalanche that would keep her buried until at least next Christmas was a strong contender.

Or she could just come out with it. Noémi’s stomach knotted like a mass of French knitting, her eyes sliding to the clock on the mantelpiece, which she could have sworn was ticking far too loudly.

‘Well yes,’ Noémi corrected. ‘But we should at least wait until Felix gets here.’ For once, it suited her that their third number was always late. Perhaps the snow would fall so heavily that the shop door would become wedged shut behind a snow drift and impassible unless you were one of Santa’s magic elves.

‘Excellent,’ said Daniel, stepping around the large box of Christmas decorations he’d brought out from the storeroom and sashaying to the window. ‘Then we have time for spying on the hottie.’ He whipped aside the curtain in a way that ruined any hope of discretion.

‘Daniel!’ Noémi half-yelped. She’d been hoping for a distraction, but being caught leering at strangers in an odd waistcoat wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind.

‘He won’t see us.’ It was just as well, because Daniel’s nose was squished against the glass like a fly on a windscreen. ‘I wonder who he is and where he’s going?’

The village of Hazel Blooms was small enough that everybody knew each other. And though their little row of shops on Hazel View Avenue ought not to be surprised by passing trade, business hadn’t exactly been bustling for a long time. In any case, it was early evening on the last Sunday of November, and the entire street – from the quirky vintage shop that was Barbara’s Bits & Bobs to The Kooky Craft Emporium, which sold everything from felted angels to watercolour bottoms – would be shut. Even Chai’s Lunch & Lattes van would have closed its small hatch.

‘Another one of those mysteries,’ Noémi replied. ‘Some things are better left like that.’