‘And how many people have you met?’ Margo looked up and arched an elegant eyebrow.
‘I’ve served a fair few today, but who have I properly met? Just you. Callan. Mia. The owner of the pub where I’m staying.’ Josie held up four fingers. ‘You’re all giving the village an excellent reputation.’
‘Well, I’m sure it’ll stay that way. The people here are good people. We care for each other. Look out for each other. Even when those we’re looking out for don’t want us to.’
Josie didn’t have to ask to know Margo was referring to Callan and his resolute independence.
‘Now, enough of this chin wagging. When will the delicious-smelling cake be ready for pick-up?’
Josie smoothed down her apron, relieved the conversation had returned to work. ‘I’ll pull it out of the oven in a few minutes, then it’ll need to cool down. This afternoon would be fine – although I won’t be serving if you plan to pop in around three, I’ve an appointment …’
Margo flapped her hand dismissively. ‘Don’t worry about the appointment. The cottage is yours. Treat her with the same care you show your cooking.’
Josie felt her mouth open, then shut. Then open again. ‘You’re …?’
‘The landlady. And this chat of ours has given me all the confidence I need that you won’t up and leave me without warning. You’ve got a good way about you, Josie. And I suspect that good way isn’t surface-deep.’
Josie nodded. Not trusting herself to speak, lest her voice cracked and she showed Margo who she really was.
A satisfied smile appeared on Margo’s lips as she turned and made her way to the door. ‘I’ll drop the keys in when I pick up the cake. Oh, and Josie?’ Margo twisted round and fixed her with serious eyes. ‘You won’t know this yet. And Callan certainly will refuse to entertain the idea. But he does need you, more than he knows. You’ll be good for him.’ Margo’s gaze roamed around the walls of the bakery. ‘You’ll be good for this place.’
The door swung shut with a soft thunk.
Callan needed her? Josie hoped not. She could cook. She could teach Callan the art of baking, if he let her. But she didn’t want anyone to need her. Nothing good could come of that. She’d seen the proof in that pudding for herself.
A rustle of bags and the skittering of excited feet greeted Josie as she beat butter, eggs and sugar together, watching the bright orange of the egg yolks morph with the butter into a rich, creamy colour that would lighten until it was the perfect shade of pale pastel yellow and ready for the dry ingredients to be sifted into, then folded through.
‘Josie! Josie!’ Mia half-ran, half-danced into the kitchen, spinning and skipping, sending the little red bags she was holding flying in all directions. ‘Oopsie,’ she giggled as she crashed into Josie’s legs. ‘Sorry, Josie. You should see what we got. We got everything. We got the whole shop. And we’re going to decorate the whole shop and upstairs and Daddy bought another tree so we’d have two trees and it’s going to be the best.’
Josie grinned at Mia’s enthusiasm. Sure, Josie was about to descend into what sounded like her idea of hell, but she wasn’t going to let her dislike of the season show when the glitter and shine of Christmas was about to bring a little girl who’d lost her mum so much happiness.
She might be a Grinch, but she wasn’t a killjoy.
Besides, if she threw herself into her job and convinced Callan to let her help out more in the baking department, then there was the chance she’d get through the season without noticing anything festive at all.
Head down. Bum up. That was the way to handle the oncoming tsunami of tinsel.
‘Mia, what did I say about waiting for me?’ Callan’s disapproving tone didn’t match the Santa hat perched jauntily on his head. Or the long ribbon of red and white tinsel that was draped around his neck scarf-style. ‘Mia? Are you listening to me at all?’ He unwrapped the tinsel scarf and the green and navy-blue tartan scarf hidden beneath it, then shrugged off his long black woollen coat and hung it up on the wooden coat stand that was positioned beside the back door.
Josie tried not to laugh as she took in the jumper he was wearing. Gone was the simple grey knitted jersey he’d left in, replaced by a multi-coloured sweater in red, green and white, featuring a reindeer with bells on its antlers. Underneath it the words ‘jingle all the bells’ were emblazoned in jaunty script.
‘Nice top.’ She kept her tone even as she measured the dry ingredients into the sifter, then began jiggling it back and forth, letting the flour and baking powder fall through in a snow-like flurry.
‘When 4-year-olds attack.’
She could see Callan rolling his eyes out of the corner of her eye.
‘Once Mia saw it, I wasn’t getting out of the store alive until I forked out the money.’
Picking up a spatula, Josie began to fold the ingredients in with a figure-of-eight motion. ‘I think you made the right decision. A Christmas jumper’s not worth dying over.’ She bit her lip as heat raced over her face and down her neck. Good one, Josie, way to stick your foot right in your mouth. ‘God, I’m sorry. So sorry. Ignore that last bit. I didn’t … I wasn’t … Clearly I need to engage my brain before speaking.’
Callan shrugged her apology off. ‘Don’t worry about it. I started it with the talk of getting out alive, and I can’t have you second-guessing everything you’re about to say in case you hurt my feelings. To be honest, there’s nothing you can say or do that could. I think my pain quota is filled.’
Josie racked her brain to find something appropriately soothing to say. What did you say to a man who’d lost the love of his life? Nothing had soothed her father’s pain, even though the circumstances were entirely different. A devoted mother and loving wife passing away was a million miles away from a wife upping and leaving to go ‘find herself’ overseas, only to never return.
‘So, you managed to get everything you needed?’ Josie spooned the smooth batter into a greased and lined cake tin. ‘Did Mia leave anything for anyone else to buy?’
Callan stepped forward and inspected Josie’s handiwork. ‘I don’t recall asking you to make another cake. Just the fruitcake.’
There was no reproach in the tone, but Josie had the distinct feeling he was put out. That she was treading on his territory.
‘Oh, I had a bit of time on my hands. And I do love making lemon drizzle cake. It doesn’t have to be for the shop. I could pay you for the ingredients I used, and you and Mia could take it upstairs and have it for afternoon tea, if you’d like. Consider it a “thanks for hiring me” gift.’ She opened the oven and placed the cake on the rack, then shut the door and turned to face Callan. The tenseness had left his eyes but they were still guarded, like a man who was wondering if he were about to fall into a trap, or if by saying ‘yes’ he’d be agreeing to something else.
Which was ridiculous. She was offering him a cake. To eat. No strings attached.
‘If you don’t like lemon drizzle cake, I’m sure it would do well in the shop. It was always popular at the cafés and bakeries I’ve worked in previously.’ Josie took the empty mixing bowl to the sink and began filling it with water before the batter stuck to the sides and became an elbow-aching mission to get off.
Callan blinked, hard and fast, then shook his head. ‘I’m sure Mia would love a little cake later on for afternoon tea. And there’s no need to pay for the ingredients. As a matter of fact, once it’s cooked and cooled down, would