Between us, keeping track of all the cottage keys has been a nightmare. Quinn might be enthusiastic and strong, and know some hilarious jokes, but he’s a total ditz when it comes to losing things. For the first time in my life I completely understand why I’ve sent people round the bend with my vagueness in the past.
‘Look at your hessian hearts on strings, there’s so many of them,’ I say, as I take in the garlands criss-crossing the room. I thought we’d got a lot of deccies for the cottages, but seeing the number of hearts and bows in here, I’m not so sure we’ve got enough.
Poppy laughs. ‘This is Rafe’s welcome-back effort. Not a tractor part in sight either, though I’m not sure how long that’ll last.’
‘Are you baking?’ My mouth’s already watering, as I see the bowls and drifts of flour on the long kitchen table. It’s been three long months since I last wolfed down Poppy’s cakes, and I’ve missed them almost as much as I’ve missed her. Seeing as I was often in the studio at Brides by the Sea when she lived and baked her cakes in the top-floor flat, I was officially her chief taster.
‘You’ve timed it well. Fancy testing my gingerbread men?’ She nods at a pile of biscuits on a cooling tray. ‘They haven’t got any eyes yet. My icing pipes are still at the shop.’ She slides the kettle onto the Aga. ‘You’ve got roses in your cheeks from the cold. Like a drink to warm up?’
I’m suddenly so hungry I’m practically swooning at the thought of gingerbread. ‘Tea would be fab, please.’
‘I’ll make one for Quinn too.’ She pulls some mugs from the shelf. ‘You two looked like you were having fun when I saw you earlier.’
‘He’s a long way from the stuffed shirt I was expecting,’ I laugh. ‘He’ll be along soon. Great with fairy lights, too.’ Since he put his clothes on and covered up that disgustingly deep tan of his, we’ve got on better.
Poppy frowns. ‘Immie said she’d have been happy to put up the usual cottage decorations, but Alice wouldn’t hear of it.’
I pull a face. ‘I’m sorry Alice is a bit fussy. She wants every cottage themed, to match the wedding and the occupants.’ This won’t be the last time I apologise for her. ‘Actually I came to check if it’s okay to take the pig pictures down?’ Another of Alice’s specific instructions.
Poppy’s face breaks into a grin. ‘We’re all with Alice on that one. Those pigs are hideous. Leave them in the office, with any luck they won’t go back up again.’ She puts three mugs on the chunky wood table and piles a plate high with gingerbread men. ‘Is there much left for you to do in the cottages?’
Sliding onto a chair, I slip off my jacket, then grab a tea and dunk my biscuit. ‘Loads.’ I sink my teeth into a delicious gingerbread leg to stem my panic. Because ‘loads’ is a huge understatement. Each cottage has an individual tree with hand-made decorations. Then there are bespoke toiletries, wicker wreaths, pillow chocolates, rose petals, scented candles, boxes of Turkish delight, hampers, fruit bowls and a mistletoe sprig. And tasteful pictures to replace the pigs. And Christmas garlands. ‘The job’s so massive, if I hadn’t had a gingerbread intake at exactly this minute, I might actually have given up.’ I’m not joking either.
Poppy stares at me over the top of her mug. ‘Maybe Immie and I could help?’
‘No, I couldn’t possibly expect you to do that. You haven’t even met Alice yet.’
‘Really, it’s fine, Sera. We’re all here for each other. Look how you stepped in with my bestie last summer. The dress you lent Cate gave her the wedding of her dreams.’
‘But Cate let us use her photos for publicity…’ I’m hesitating, knowing the difference more hands would make.
Poppy comes over and squeezes my shoulder. ‘Think of this as payback for you making Cate’s day wonderful. That wedding might not even have happened without your dress.’ She’s being very persuasive.
‘You really have time to help?’ If I didn’t have my mouth full of gingerbread man, I’d kiss her.
She smiles. ‘I’m just back from London, with no cake orders, and no weddings to sort out. And who doesn’t love Christmas decorations?’
‘You might not be saying that when you get to the end,’ I groan. ‘But if you’re sure, I’d be so grateful.’
‘Call in first thing, show us exactly how you want things. Then leave it with us.’ Poppy’s still patting my hand when the door opens.
‘Can I smell gingerbread?’ Quinn’s rugged face appears as he dips under a heart garland. ‘I let myself in, I hope that’s okay?’
This is the measure of the guy. He’s laid back and confident enough to walk right in like he owns the place. And he gets away with it every time. Unless there’s a parking warden involved.
Poppy’s pushing crumbs into her mouth. ‘Sit down, grab some tea and tell us how the biscuits are.’
‘The good news is Poppy and Immie are going to help with the cottages.’ I say, knowing he’ll be ecstatic.
‘Amazing,’ he says. ‘Thank Christmas for that.’ He folds himself into a chair, helps himself to a biscuit and takes a bite. Then takes a few seconds to deliberate. ‘Delicious,’ he says eventually, turning to Poppy, waving his biscuit. ‘But look, you’ve bitten off the head of yours, which is pretty cruel.’ He sends me a wink. ‘Whereas Sera and I are both eating ours feet first.’ He leans over and gives me another significant nudge. Which makes four today. If you count the one where we had hysterics because I dropped the Christmas tree on his foot.
I pick up what’s left of my gingerbread man – just the head – and pop it into my mouth. Not that I’m trying to eat the evidence, but I’m not sure it’s that significant. I help myself to another and try to start at the top, but I can’t. So I begin to nibble the toes, except this time I’m eating more slowly, because I feel like I’m being watched.
‘It’s the same with chocolate teddy bears,’ Quinn goes on, chomping his way up to chest level on his biscuit. ‘The world is split into two groups – people who start with the head. And people who start with the feet. There’s no switching sides. You are how you are.’
‘When did eating gingerbread men get this complicated?’ I twist my sleeve around my fingers, take another bite and try to work out what he’s getting at here. Or if he’s just bullshitting. Which he might be.
Quinn carries on eating until only the head’s left, then he holds it up. ‘Twelve out of ten for taste.’ He nods at Poppy. ‘I’d score even higher if he had a grin.’
‘Waiting for icing pipes,’ she explains, even though Quinn probably has no idea what she’s talking about. ‘I think what Quinn’s trying to point out, Sera… very subtly…’ Poppy’s nipping back her smile. ‘… Is that you two have quite a lot of common ground.’
‘Excuse me?’ I say. I’m not sure this is what I need to hear. Because it’s patently not true.
Quinn’s waggling his next biscuit at Poppy. ‘Twelve out of ten for observation there, Pops.’
Listening to this, I’d say they’re the ones with the common ground. She didn’t even flinch when he called her Pops and she usually hates it.
‘It’s not just the gingerbread. Look at you both.’ Poppy’s laughing now. ‘The same ripped denim, the same sun-streaked hair, your sweaters are practically identical…’
Pretty appalled, I look down to remind myself what jumper I pulled off the bedside chair this morning. Yes, it’s one of my favourites. Burnt orange, sloppy. I chose it as my comfort blanket because I was stressed