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She moved to the bay window where her patchwork armchair was empty. For so long, it had been her portal for adventures. The quiet space where she could sit and disappear. She hadn’t spent as much time there lately. Real life had called … and maybe it was still calling. She allowed herself to sink down into the chair and just pause.

And then she saw it.

The first flake of snow, followed by more of them. Gentle at first but picking up speed. The air had changed. Just a shift in the weather, that was all. Though she couldn’t help her memory rewinding to that evening when she’d first seen Shay, walking along this stretch of road through falling snowflakes. A stranger in a Dickensian-style costume that had looked more suited to a historical Christmas romance. Broad shouldered and seemingly confident in a long red velvet coat, his waistcoat misbuttoned in a way that had told her she couldn’t have imagined him. She could almost still see him. Although his outfit now had a hint of Le Père Noël.

Wait. She scratched her head and stood quickly, the chair nearly toppling behind her. This was no memory. This was a living, breathing person. Her person. At least, she hoped so. She barely dared to move as he kept striding towards her, his gaze pinning hers. Would he veer off to the left like he had before, towards his own adventures? Or was he ready to combine his hopes and tentative dreams with hers?

Chapter 53

It took all of Noémi’s resolve not to run out into the street and fling her arms around Shay, before dragging him in and bolting the shop door behind him. But he’d left for a reason, and he must have his own intentions for coming back. Gaffer-taping him to an armchair with a nice book and a tray of glittery snowman cookies was not the answer.

The jangle of the bell above the door felt like an electric shock to her heart, jolting her from the fog she’d been existing in since he’d gone. They stepped towards each other, the snow he’d swept in still swirling around him, as though his very presence conjured stardust.

Noémi opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Would it be wrong to forget the words and just kiss him? He dropped his bag, the door behind him rattling closed. Was he … staying? Tiny wings of hope fluttered in her chest.

He closed the gap between them, his eyes heavy with apology, mixed with what she could only wish was longing. How she’d longed for him, with every part of her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply, lifting a hand to her face.

As his skin grazed hers his cold touch was like fire. She burned for him.

Snowflakes still clung to his eyelashes, caramel curls of angelic hair wisping out from under his red-and-white Christmas hat.

‘Mmm hmm,’ she heard herself reply, in that moment not caring what he was sorry for or why. She just wanted her lips on his, his arms around her. To feel the softness of his beard, the gentle whisper of his breath against her ear.

The red velvet of his costume seemed to match hers perfectly, and if she’d been waiting to feel an extra swish of enchantment when she finally wore it, it was happening now. Like invisible sparks of something, pulling her towards him.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, feeling sure he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her.

‘Is that the real Santa?’ a small voice interrupted.

‘Did he bring presents in that sack?’ asked another.

‘No, it’s the man who usually plays the elf, stoopid.’

‘Top o’ the morning!’ That voice was Texan Jim’s.

Noémi’s eyes popped open, her surprised gaze meeting Shay’s. ‘You couldn’t make it up,’ she mused quietly.

‘I’ve missed this,’ he whispered back.

‘Right, let’s give Santa and Mrs Christmas some room, shall we?’ said Daniel, barging his way through, and guiding Noémi and Shay past the crowd, towards the labyrinth of bookshelves which Noémi hoped were empty.

‘Are they going to do some kissing?’ asked the first small voice.

‘They have presents to wrap,’ Daniel improvised. ‘Which means no looking! Now kindly proceed with your Brussels sprouts.’

Noémi laughed. If her best friend ever wanted children, he’d be brilliant.

A few moments later, Noémi was alone with Shay in a deserted aisle of books, the urge to throw all sense to the wind and kiss him until Boxing Day almost uncontrollable. But words had to come first. Always.

‘Did I mention you look breathtaking in that dress?’ Shay nodded at her outfit, one edge of his mouth tilting upwards. ‘And I love how you’ve made it your own.’

Noémi had asked Prisha to make her a shawl, not unlike her Coat of Many Books, but with added hand-stitched cookies in every festive shape imaginable. And of course, a few silk pencils.

‘You look excellent as Mrs Christmas.’

‘You brush up OK yourself,’ she replied, unable to keep the twinkle from her eyes. She guessed Prisha had been busy for him too, although goodness knew when. This street and its many mysteries.