In 1444, Swedish nuns made gingerbread as a cure for indigestion.
It’s a gorgeous night. The clouds are keeping the temperature up, and our combined body heat is doing a good job at keeping the December chill out. The roof of the bandstand is surrounded by blue cluster lights that hang down like icicles, and each one of the tall trees around the gardens is covered with a sheen of white lights, illuminating the bundles of mistletoe leaves in every canopy. The whole place is alight with fairy lights, like a perfect North Pole-esque garden where you’d expect to see Santa’s elves jingling their way between workshops.
‘This is so beautiful,’ Joss whispers.
It really does feel like the magic of Mistletoe Gardens is sparkling around us. ‘The magic of the mistletoe.’
He laughs. ‘Any tingle in the air around here is the poor National Grid frazzling as it tries to provide electricity to all those Christmas lights.’
It makes me laugh out loud because it’s such a Joss comment to make.
‘We should do something, shouldn’t we?’ He stretches like he’s waking up.
‘We’re not going to get this finished on time if we don’t.’ Even as I say it, my arms automatically tighten around him because I don’t want to let him go. But the whole project has taken longer than I thought. It’s the thirteenth of December today, and there’s only a few more days until we’re meant to be open for the public to look around.
He sounds as reluctant as I am, but the clock on the town hall behind us shows we’ve been sitting here for over an hour. It feels much colder than it was before and I miss the body contact instantly when we start to move, but he’s right, no matter how much I’d like to sit here all night, I came with the intention of icing some swirls, and decorating has to be the priority now.
He holds a piping bag while I poke in a nozzle and then squirt red gel food colouring in lines up the side of the bag, spoon in white royal icing, twist it all down, and then do another one so we’ve got a bag each. ‘The colouring will mix with the icing and give a red-and-white swirl effect. We should do rosettes up every side, underneath the overhang of the roof, around the window frames, and around the base of the chimney. Pop a real peppermint swirl sweet in the middle of each one when you’re done for a finishing touch.’
I open the bag of red-and-white swirled sweets I brought with me and stand it on the scaffolding where we can both reach it, and I start at the corner where the front and side wall meet and pipe wide rosettes of icing up the edge, and Joss goes to the opposite end and starts there. We’re both quiet, although Joss puts his phone next to the peppermint swirls and finds a station that plays old-fashioned Christmas carols, and the quiet sound of ‘Joy to the World’ fills the night.
He takes his time to avoid mistakes, and I can’t help peeking at the intense concentration on his face, the way he screws up his nose as he focuses, his jaw working as he sucks peppermint sweets. Every so often, he looks over and meets my eyes with a smile that lights up his face and sets off butterflies inside me, and our hands brush every time we reach for peppermint swirls at the same moment.
It isn’t long before the gentle soundtrack of Christmas carols is joined by yawning. It’s late, the clock has somehow crept round to 1 a.m. already, and Joss is clearly tired. His soft humming of Christmas carols is interrupted by loud yawns.
‘Do you want to go home?’ I ask from the opposite side of the gingerbread house.
‘That would involve saying goodnight to you, so no. Not yet.’
I blush at his honesty and because I’m feeling the same way.
His words make me feel warmer than the physical work does, and it’s easy to lose track of time as I refill piping bags, open the second bag of peppermint sweets, and we keep going for at least another hour before the bucket of icing is empty and the gingerbread house has its first official decorations.
We finish with me on a stepladder, piping red-streaked white rosettes along the underside of the roof, and Joss up on the scaffolding, piping them around the base of the chimney.
He’s tidying up by the time I clamber down, yawning myself now. We close the gingerbread-tiled door and stand at the bottom of the bandstand steps, looking up at our handiwork.
The rosettes have hidden the edges of the wooden frame, so it’s starting to look like a real gingerbread house, and I get the sense of childlike wonder I’d hoped for when I look up at it. What child hasn’t dreamed of living inside a gingerbread house? If I’d seen this as a little girl, I would’ve been awestruck. I’d have begged my parents to bring me here every day.
‘It’s enough to make anyone believe in magic,’ he murmurs and then holds his hand out. ‘It’s late, I’ll walk you home.’
I go to protest that I’m an adult and can manage five minutes down the road without assistance, but there’s never a bad excuse to spend extra time with Joss. I slip my hand into his, and neither of us let go until we get back to the bakery.
We stop outside and as soon as I’ve pushed the key into the lock, he holds his free hand out for my other hand. ‘Thanks for tonight, Ess. I’ve never told anyone what happened with my ex-wife and I didn’t realise how much I needed to. How can I ever thank you?’
‘Be my date for the Mistletoe Dance.’ The words come out of my mouth so fast that I’m unsure if I actually said them. ‘Just as friends. I don’t want to go with a seventy-eight-year-old man dressed as a dinosaur and my mum is not going to stop until she’s set me up with some random psychopath from the world of online dating. If this is the last year of Mistletoe Gardens, she isn’t going to rest until I’ve got a date because it’s a Browne family legacy to kiss under the mistletoe and I’m the only one who hasn’t done it yet, and if I’m going with you, she’ll at least think there’s a chance and leave me alone…’
‘Urgh, Ess, I never go to those things. Everyone is going to be there. I don’t like parties and mixing and dancing and Christmas music and…’ He’s trying to be annoyed, but his eyes are twinkling and a smile sneaks onto his face. ‘Okay.’
I throw my arms around him, and like he did the other day, he lifts me up and spins us both around, and then sets me down again, his fingers caressing my back as mine slip from his shoulder and trail down his arm. Everything around us goes very still. We’re so close. A slight tilt of my head, a tiny push up onto my tiptoes… the way his head has automatically dipped towards me. It’s the most perfect angle for a kiss, and my fingers curl into his coat, and I can feel his breath catch. His tongue touches his bottom lip and his eyes close, but neither of us makes the first move, and we stand there, frozen in time until he laughs an awkward laugh and pulls away.
‘Are you okay to get home? That’s quite a walk without the van.’
‘Only half an hour, and I could do with the fresh air. Clear my head.’
‘You say that a lot.’
‘Got a lot of things taking over my thought processes lately.’
Haven’t we all? ‘Gingerbread, right?’
His eyes lock onto mine and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. ‘Yeah. Right.’ The comment sounds sarcastic, but his eyes are dark and serious, and I know he definitely isn’t talking about gingerbread. I get a little flutter. Is Joss feeling the things I’m feeling too? I’m not entirely sure that it isn’t my brain having a conniption due to overexposure to his gorgeous aftershave that overpowers the ever-present scent of gingerbread, but if he’s feeling something too then it must be real, right?
‘Text me when you get home safe, all right?’ I force myself to say eventually, because we’re just standing here, staring at each other, willing the night not to end yet.
‘I’m a thirty-eight-year-old man. I don’t nee—’
‘You’re never too old or too male for someone to care you’re okay. I’ll worry about you all night if you don’t let me know you’ve got back safely.’
‘Okay. Goodnight.’ He’s gone all blushy as he takes a step backwards without dropping eye contact.
I’ve never had a ‘romantic comedy moment’ in real life before, but his eyes stay on mine as he walks backwards… Until he walks into a lamppost, jumps in surprise, and gives it a glare that suggests it moved itself into his path just to be awkward. It makes me giggle and he starts laughing too, and with one last smile, he turns and walks away properly.
I stay paused at the door, certain he’s going to turn back before he gets out of sight, and he does. Another moment straight out of a film. The butterflies have barely had time to settle before they take off again.
I go up to my flat, make a cuppa and have a shower, and by the time I get into bed, my phone buzzes with a message from Joss.
Home safe.
Seeing his name makes me smile, and I’m about to reply when another message flashes through.
Thanks, Ess. Been a long time since anyone cared.
I type back:
Goodnight. Sleep well.
I stare at the kiss emoji, debating whether to add it or not… Oh, what the heck. So far tonight, I’ve held his hand, forcibly hugged him, accidentally asked him to be my date, and nearly snogged him. At this point, a kiss emoji makes no difference. I add it and send the message.
The reply comes back:
Sweet dreams.
With a kiss emoji. I snuggle down in bed with my phone on the pillow and let the butterflies do their somersaults and swan dives.