Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop: Celebrate Christmas in Cornwall with this magical romance!. Jane Linfoot

sack of potatoes, apparently impervious to the bite of the wind. When I finally tear my eyes away from the sculpted shadows on his forearms, he’s staring at me expectantly.

      ‘What?’ Shovelling hops into vats must work wonders for your biceps. When I finally re-divert my mind to sensible stuff, my instinct is yelling at me to do a runner of my own.

      The floodlights are bright enough to light up the curl of his try-it-on smile. ‘If it’s that easy, then I’m sure you won’t mind doing the honours. Bedtime serenade here we come.’ It isn’t even a question. It’s like he’s been taking lessons from Jules-the-dictator.

      I’m opening and closing my mouth, and my ‘Er-er-er …’ is stuck on repeat. I feel like I’m about to be sucked in by a giant vacuum cleaner. And being spat out in the heart of Rory’s home is my number one nightmare scenario. Even if it is only a temporary holiday let, it still counts as the full-blown dragon’s lair. It’s horribly close to this dead-of-night fantasy I had as a very misguided teenager, where Rory would take me back to his house for tea and worse. It probably grew from the night he took me home. Although whatever I said to Poppy, I don’t actually have much recollection of that bit, other than what people have told me. But I’d die of embarrassment if I admitted any of this, even to myself. Even transmitting the thought waves this close to Poppy, I could be dead meat.

      ‘Okay, Gracie. Panic over. Holly’s going to sing you to sleep. So what are we waiting for?’ That inscrutable smile is as infuriating as ever. ‘As you just said, it’s too damned cold out here to hang around.’

      Except from where I’m standing, with Gracie tugging on my sleeve, suddenly the inside of my fur jacket feels like a sauna.

      He’s striding ahead. ‘Straight on up the yard. It’s the cottage with the grey door.’ It takes a self-important guy like Rory to miss that all the cottage doors are grey. Luckily for the neighbours who might otherwise have been accidentally gate-crashed, Rory’s door is ajar.

      Despite the open door, as I follow him into the hallway, the warmth hits me in the face, then envelops me. Gazing past Gracie to the wide white-painted room beyond, I spot a log burner in the corner, blazing behind a fireguard. In the time it takes to drop my camera bags onto the tiled floor by the entrance and shed my leopard, my cheeks have flushed from crimson to burning beetroot.

      I scan the sofas and table for an empty space to put down my coat, and fail. ‘Good to see you aren’t a tidy obsessive.’ If were talking mess explosions, this is on a par with the bridesmaids’ room. Whereas I’m still used to Luc, who liked everything in its place. Although that insistence on order is something I never properly appreciated until I lost it.

      Rory clears a space with his boat shoe, slides Teddie onto the rug and throws the Barbour he was wrapped in behind a tub chair. ‘The mess is the downside of having a three-year-old for a housemate.’ As he rubs his forehead with his fist, there’s a disgusting flash of tanned stomach. ‘You wouldn’t believe it but Immie had this place looking impeccable this morning.’

      Actually I would. Him leaving the dirty work to someone else sounds exactly right. Which is why I need to get in and out of here like a lightning strike. ‘Okay, time for bed?’ If I wasn’t purple already, I would be after how that came out.

      ‘Sounds like a plan, Holly Berry Red Cheeks.’ There’s the lowest chuckle in his throat. ‘Bedrooms are straight through, past the kitchen.’

      I’m not even going to bother about his jibes. It’s bad enough being in his living room. If I stop to think about being near his bedroom, I might vomit again. From sheer distaste.

      As I clamp my eyes onto the sparkly snowflakes on Gracie’s top and march her across the rug, I can’t help noticing. She’s rocking the ‘Courtney Love walking out of a wind tunnel with a hangover’ look. Complete with dark shadows under her eyes and cheeks so white I’d swap with her in a heartbeat. I’m puzzling at how this fits with the super-uncle care package. ‘Have you brushed your hair today?’

      There’s another low laugh from across the room, as Rory picks Teddie up and tosses his own hair out of his eyes. ‘You already know I’m allergic to hairbrushes. Fingers work every time for me.’

      I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. ‘It might come as a surprise, but there are other people here apart from you, Rory.’ I smile down at Gracie. ‘Maybe ask Uncle Rory if you can have your hair done tomorrow.’ I turn and look daggers at Rory. ‘Before the tangles get too bad. A week like this and she’ll have dreadlocks.’

      He shrugs. ‘It’s all about priorities. There’s no time to sweat the boring stuff here.’

      I sniff. ‘I can see that.’ As I pick my way over the mayhem and pass the bathroom, on balance I decide not to mention teeth-cleaning.

      Rory’s swagger at his mantra takes us all the way to the kid’s room, where he rolls Teddie down into a travelling cot, muttering as he drops in a soft toy. ‘Instructions page two, cat stays with baby at all times.’

      Blocking out his self-congratulatory expression, I step over a tangle of t-shirts and towels as Gracie clambers into bed. Then I get out my phone and I try to sound businesslike. ‘Right, time for Let it go? We’ll have the YouTube version – with lyrics.’ It’s not strictly necessary, seeing as Frozen is one of our go-to films when we have girly nights with Poppy and the crew. Singalong? You bet we do. But there’s no way I’m about to claim I’m word perfect without accompaniment. I’m so tempted to say ‘watch and learn’ but I bite my tongue. ‘Thanks Rory, I’ll take it from here.’ Hopefully he’ll take that as a dismissal. The last thing I need is an audience.

      ‘I can’t watch?’ His disappointed wail sounds a lot like Gracie’s.

      ‘Absolutely not.’ I wait for him to move, but he’s still standing smirking, shoulder against the wall. ‘It’s a deal breaker.’

      I ignore his disgruntled sigh and wait until he’s shuffled well out of view. Then I perch on the blue-striped duvet and grin down at Gracie. ‘Ready?’ From somewhere in amongst the mess, she’s found both Immie’s snowmen and a teddy, and tucked them under the covers next to her.