I really hope she’s right.
Saturday, 17th December
At Rose Hill Manor: Records and pocket handkerchiefs
Anyone who cooks a breakfast as delicious as the one we just ate deserves to get a little bit of their own way, even if they did do it with too few clothes on. So when we finally get to work on the list of stuff to collect for the cottages, Quinn gets to decide the order of the pickups. By the time we turn into the drive to Rose Hill Manor to pick up a consignment of boxes, the hire van Alice had thoughtfully had delivered to the farm is already groaning under the weight of fifty Christmas trees in pots for inside and out at the cottages.
He gives a satisfied nod as we make our way between the avenue of huge trees flanking the approach road. As we round the final corner, and the house comes into view, the steep roofs and mellow stone facade are glowing gold in the pale-pink afternoon light.
He pulls the van to a halt. ‘There you go, Rose Hill at its rosy winter best.’
‘Wow… beautiful.’ Squinting at it through the wide windscreen of the van, I’m almost lost for words. The house is larger than I’d imagined, but its higgledy piggledy mix of windows make it wonderfully welcoming. ‘Alice is so lucky to be getting married here.’
Of everyone I know, Alice and Dan are one of the most perfect and solid couples, and they truly deserve this. And I don’t mean to imply they’re boring. It’s just I couldn’t actually imagine settling down together as early as they did myself. They met on their first day at uni and have been going out ever since. As soon as they got their degrees, Dan set up the business and Alice zoomed up her career ladder. Next came the most gorgeous Hampstead flat, and fast-forward to a textbook romantic proposal on a private launch on the Thames. Now three years later, this fabulous wedding is the icing on their perfect cake.
‘I thought you’d like it.’ Quinn’s smile is full of warmth. ‘There’s a formal garden and more parkland round the back.’ From the way Quinn’s talking, he could be describing a pocket handkerchief lawn with a barbecue on a patio. ‘Oh, and a bit of a lake too.’ Just as an afterthought, then.
I pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. ‘It’s so wintery, with the bare trees silhouetted against the land.’ I can imagine how it looks, dusted with the rime of a hoar frost. If Alice gets one of those for the day of her wedding, even though I know they don’t happen very often, it’ll be worth freezing our butts off for the pictures.
He nods at my satchel, clamped between my feet. ‘Not sure if you’ve got that far in the Wedding Story, but they’ve got a hot-shot photographer coming down. One of the best in London. Friend of a friend. I blagged them a four-figure discount.’
The more I hear, the bigger Quinn’s involvement seems to be. ‘Alice must be very grateful,’ I say.
He gives a sigh. ‘Alice and I have our moments. She doesn’t always approve of me, or my methods.’
‘She’s always been conventional,’ I admit. After a few hours with Quinn, I can see his individual brand of anarchy probably drives Alice up the wall. ‘You should be in her good books after this, anyway.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll ever make it that far.’ He gives a laugh. ‘Thank Christmas you’re more Team Dan than Team Alice.’
Whoa. ‘I wasn’t aware we were taking sides here. Isn’t this a joint effort all round?’
‘My point entirely,’ he says.
I’m not certain, but I think he just contradicted himself hugely there. Not that I’m going to point it out.
He goes on. ‘Which is exactly why you should come and join me and stay at the cottage.’
‘What?’ For some reason I haven’t kept up with the logic here. Worse, I seem to be squeaking like a strangled mouse.
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘It makes perfect sense, given we get on so well. At least until the others arrive. Bunking in together would save you running back and forwards into town.’
When I turn to examine his expression, there’s not an ounce of flirt in his eyes. Just a very direct, honest, blue green gaze. Which is actually way more unnerving. Because now I don’t know what the hell to think. Other than knowing this would be completely banned by Alice. And remembering there’s no way he’d be attracted to me with my non-existent figure and scruffy clothes.
As I open my mouth I’m unsure how to reply, but it doesn’t matter as he cuts me off short.
‘Obviously we don’t have to decide now.’ He gives me another elbow nudge, but this time there’s the thickness of an extra sweater between us, so it’s way less jolty than this morning’s naked one. ‘For the record…’ There’s a bit of a dramatic pause. ‘I do think hanging out with me twenty-four seven would do you a lot of good.’ He tops that off with one of those unapologetic grins of his.
‘Thanks for the offer,’ I say. For the record. Was that completely arrogant of him? Or just plain cheeky? Or an extremely kind thought to save me travelling time? As for exactly what he thinks I’m going to be hanging out… After this morning the mind boggles. ‘I’ll stay at home. At least for now.’
For a moment, thinking back to the shop and the best man that could have been, I consider a parallel universe where Johnny and I had just loaded fifty potted pines into the back of a van. Where he asks me to stay over. But before I decide how to answer, my sensible self takes over and stamps on that thought. Hard.
‘Okay, next job,’ Quinn says, rubbing his hands together. ‘Decorations for the cottages, from the Coach House.’ He’s suddenly sounding like Mr Efficiency. ‘And there should be a handyman guy in there doing repairs to the pony and trap Alice is hoping to arrive in.’
‘Cool.’ My reading hasn’t got as far as the bridal carriage yet. Hopefully I’ll get onto that tonight. On my own sofa.
As he pushes the gear stick forwards, his forehead creases into a frown. ‘You do realise, people don’t often turn me down, Sera.’
He seems particularly perplexed that I have. Although it’s really not exactly clear what I’ve said ‘no’ to here.
‘I don’t imagine they do.’ My lips twitch into a smile, but I can’t resist the next bit, because he said the same thing to me only half an hour ago. ‘But then I’m not “people”, Quinn.’
Me? I’m wary enough to put that easy charm and those aching good looks on hold every time. At least until I get to know him better.
In the meantime, we need to push on.
Saturday, 17th December
In the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm: Mistletoe sprigs and hearts on strings
As I reach the farmhouse, later that evening, I walk straight into Rafe giving Poppy what looks like the good-bye snog of her life on the doorstep.
‘Don’t mind him, he’s acting like he’s disappearing for a year,’ Poppy laughs, as she peels herself away. ‘He’s only going out to check the cows.’
It’s taken these two a year to make this work, but it’s been worth the wait. Believe me, if there was a guy who looked at you the way he looks at her, you’d reconsider your single status. Every time.
‘Are you still here working?’ As Poppy steps back to let me past, the scent of warm spice whooshes up my nose. ‘Come on in and warm up,