At the Ritz-Carlton in Arizona, there’s a life-size gingerbread house that doubles as a restaurant and seats six people!
Joss thinks sunglasses will hide how sad his eyes are as we haul a table and two chairs from the back of his van the following morning. Neither of us have mentioned last night, but the air is tight between us and communication is limited to singular words.
I was half-expecting him not to turn up after what happened, but I should’ve known Joss isn’t the kind of person to back out of a commitment because of something as trivial as a kiss, or more specifically, a not-kiss, and his van was waiting outside the bakery this morning, the usual tray of two coffees on the dashboard, like nothing’s different.
In the gingerbread house, we put the table and chairs beside the tree, where there’s plenty of room while Santa’s throne is still waiting in the van, and he runs down to collect two festive breakfasts from the coffee shop, while I turn all the fairy lights on, and lay the table in the most romantic way possible, complete with fancy plates, festive table decorations, candles, nutcracker candlestick holders, and a framed school photograph to remind Mum and Mervyn of the good old days when they still tolerated each other.
‘One last thing,’ Joss says when he comes back with the food. He’s taken the sunglasses off but he still won’t look at me as he rests a ladder against a tree trunk, and goes up it until he can snip a chunk of mistletoe from the lowest bundle.
‘You’re not supposed to do that.’ I watch him climb down, tie a loop of red ribbon around the stems and reach up to hang it from an icing rosette on the ceiling.
‘Extenuating circumstances,’ he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
It’s by far the most words we’ve said to each other all morning.
The next phase of the plan is the hard part. I get out my phone and dial Mum’s number. It’s quarter past eight, she’ll be getting ready for work by now anyway. I try to make my voice sound panicked when she answers.
‘Mum! There’s an emergency at the gingerbread house. I need your help. Can you come to Mistletoe Gardens immediately?’ I hang up, purposely not staying on the line long enough for her to ask questions, and Joss makes the same phone call to Mervyn.
‘Now we wait,’ he mutters as he hangs up and pockets his phone. He goes down a couple of steps and sits, and the robin lands on the wall and starts chirping, but Joss ignores him.
‘You aren’t even going to talk to Rob?’ I’m still standing in the bandstand, leaning on the railings, and trying not to look at the way he’s sitting, his back hunched, his shoulders drooping.
‘He’s getting too attached to me. I’m leaving – he needs to stop relying on me.’
It’s a thinly veiled insinuation. It’s not just Rob he’s talking about. ‘What if he thinks you’re worth relying on?’
‘He’d be mistaken.’ He fixes me with a hard look over his shoulder, but when I meet his eyes, he blinks and softness crosses his face, and he looks away.
‘Joss…’ I start, but the gate rattles as Mervyn arrives and Joss darts over to open it.
‘Oh, dear, dear,’ Mervyn’s muttering as he comes in. ‘Whatever’s happened now? It’s been one thing after ano— oh, hello, Essie, I didn’t realise you were here as well. What’s going on?’
‘Another little emergency.’ Joss takes over smoothly. We hadn’t planned any further than getting them both here, but luckily neither live far away, and the telltale clicking of heels on pavement saves us from having to stall for long.
‘You know what, it’d be easier to show you.’ Joss bundles Mervyn inside the house to hide him from Mum’s sight as I go over to open the opposite gate and let her in.
‘Haven’t you had enough emergencies for one week?’ Mum looks disappointed in me. ‘Honestly, this thing is more trouble than it’s worth if it’s going to keep falling apart like this.’
Joss is pretending to show Mervyn something, hiding him behind the Christmas tree as Mum approaches the bandstand.
‘Why’ve you got a candle burning in there? For goodness’ sake, what are your nan’s best Christmas plates doin—’ Mum’s marching up the bandstand steps, and the game’s up as soon as Mervyn hears her voice.
As he starts questioning what’s going on, I give Mum a gentle shove to get her inside the door at the exact same moment as Joss slips out, and between us we slam it shut, and pull a stack of bakery crates across the front to prevent them from opening it.
‘The emergency was your breakfasts going cold!’ I call in.
‘It’s the time of year for making up,’ Joss adds. ‘You two have known each other for years, you clearly care about each other, and there’s a bunch of mistletoe in there that would like to know just how much. Neither of you are coming out until you’ve apologised and admitted that you’re each other’s long-lost mistletoe kiss!’
‘You’ve got two options – you can either admit how you feel about each other, or you’ll have to break the walls down, and I know neither of you are going to do that.’ I seriously, seriously hope not, at least.
‘He tried to destroy your gingerbread house!’ Mum yells in indignation.
‘Mervyn didn’t do that,’ Joss says. ‘I don’t know who did, but it’s not his style.’
‘I didn’t, Bron.’ Mervyn’s agreement is muffled from behind the thick walls.
‘He wants to bulldoze Mistletoe Gardens!’ Mum shouts. I’m pretty sure I hear a foot stamp to go with it.
‘I’m sure you could persuade him otherwise.’ I waggle my eyebrows at Joss and then remember we’re on not-really-speaking terms and I shouldn’t be waggling anything in his direction.
‘This looks like a jolly nice breakfast,’ Mervyn says. ‘It’d be a shame to waste it.’
There’s a scrape of a chair being pulled out and I look at Joss again in glee. His eyes have lit up for the first time this morning. Until now, he’s looked like he’s lost the will to live. It doesn’t take away the metaphorical elephant between us, but every time we glance at each other, for just a second, it’s like last night didn’t happen.
‘We should give them some privacy,’ I say, even though I want to eavesdrop more than anything.
He half-heartedly agrees and goes to stand on the grass underneath a tree – thankfully one without mistletoe in it. I have no intention of following him, but his eyes stay on me as I walk down the bandstand steps, and he inclines his head, inviting me over.
I’m still in two minds about last night. Half of me wants to yell at him for the mixed signals. He’s let me think there was something between us, even though no matter what is between us, he wasn’t ever going to let himself feel it, but the other half of me is excruciatingly embarrassed. Did I really misinterpret his signals so badly? Did I throw myself at him? He’s been so open. So touchy-feely. He’s let me into his house, his head, and I thought his heart too. But how did I think this was going to end? Joss is surrounded by walls that are too high for anyone to get over. I’ve always known that, I just wanted to believe otherwise. Just like with Paris. If I’m honest, I knew that would be a mistake before I went, but I wanted to believe otherwise. This whole thing is just another failure that I could’ve prevented by listening to reason.
I reluctantly go and stand next to him. Any other day, I’d have been itching to get a bit closer, for him to slip his arm around me, but today, I wish I could walk away and pretend last night was nothing but a bad dream.
‘Hi,’ he says carefully, like it’s the first time we’ve spoken all morning.
‘Hello.’ I give him a polite nod. It feels weird and wrong and so very awkward. I should never have ventured anywhere near that mistletoe last night.
His hand creeps over until his little finger brushes against the back of mine. ‘Ess, I’m sor—’
‘Excuse me?’ A well-dressed man carrying a briefcase is striding towards us. Mistletoe Gardens isn’t supposed to be open to the public yet, but I never went back and locked the gate after Mum came in. ‘Are you the creators of this masterpiece?’
He looks towards the gingerbread house, and I wonder what he’d think if he knew we’ve currently got two people trapped inside it.
‘We are,’ Joss confirms.
‘Delightful work. Can’t stop thinking about it, and more importantly, my customers can’t stop talking about it. Wife’s gonna bring the kiddos at the weekend. Proposition for you – I run the Presto Hotel Group, and I want one of these in my lobby next Christmas. Actually, in all of my lobbies. We have fourteen hotels across the South Wales area, employ our own Santa every year and run our own winter wonderland in every hotel, and this is exactly the sort of thing that would give our guests that money-can’t-buy magical experience. Except money can buy, obviously, ho ho.’ He whisks two business cards out of his suit pocket and hands us one each. ‘I’d like to employ you to build one of these in each of my hotel branches next Christmas – team of chefs at your disposal and plenty of staff to help. And in our flagship Cardiff branch… Do you think you could do one for Easter? All the pastel colours and fluffy chicks and patterned eggs, home for the Easter Bunny – also on the payroll, spends every Easter weekend with us, keeps the children amused with egg hunts and crafting while parents relax and enjoy our facilities. An Easter-themed gingerbread house would be a massive draw.’
My mind is flooded with images of an Easter gingerbread house. Egg-shaped biscuits decorated in lemon, baby blue, and lilac patterns, delicate chicks, supersized chocolate-cornflake nests with Cadbury’s Mini Eggs in them instead of gumdrops on the roof, gingerbread bunnies dotted around, swirls of pastel icing finished with speckled chocolate eggs instead of peppermint sweets. Excitement dances inside me like my veins are running with fizzy pop bubbles. ‘Oh, my gosh, yes! We’d love t—’ I stop myself. I’m forgetting that Joss and I aren’t a ‘we’. I can’t speak for both of us.
I look at him and his face is alight with joy. I know he’s picturing Easter substitutions in place of festive ones, like I am. And the possibilities. Building this has tapped into my creative side and shown me what’s been missing from my life. This is the sort of thing I wish I could do more of, but can’t because of the limitations of Dancing Cinnamon. Being employed to make something like this on a regular basis makes life seem limitless.
‘I honestly believe there’s no end to the magic we can create,’ the hotelier continues. ‘After Easter, maybe something for the summer too – a tropical, biscuity, summer house? I don’t know, you’re the experts, but I’d be overjoyed to discuss all possibilities with you both in the new year. I’m really excited about this and what it could bring to our hotels.’
Joss is grinning down at the business card in his hand, smiling so widely that his jaw must be aching. He looks up and meets my eyes, and… his face falls. His smile is replaced by a hard line and his forehead creases with a frown.
‘I can’t. I won’t be available next year.’ He hands the business card back to the businessman. ‘I’m sure Essie would be willing to do it again with a different builder, but I won’t be involved. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh.’ The hotelier looks as surprised as I am. ‘Well, that is a shame. Never mind, though, I’m sure we can work something out.’ He pulls a pen from his suit pocket and writes something on the business card, and then hands the second one to me as well. ‘This is my direct line. I’ll look forward to a discussion with you in January. Please do ring as soon as you can, I’d like to get contracts in place early so we all know where we stand and have ample time to plan. Thank you for your time, I must dash.’ He stops to look up at the gingerbread house as he walks away, shaking his head in wonder. ‘Marvellous. Simply marvellous.’
I stare after him, but I’m numb with shock. All the fizzing joy has gone flat. Getting to build life-size gingerbread houses for the next year is more than I’d ever dreamed of, but the thought of doing it without Joss takes away every ounce of excitement and makes it seem daunting rather than fun. The words on the card blur in front of my eyes. I’m holding an open invitation from one of the best-known hotel firms in Wales. This is spectacular, and suddenly, it feels grim and disappointing.
Joss is silent. He looks downtrodden and defeated.
‘You can’t honestly think I could do this without you?’ I stutter out eventually, my voice sounding hoarse and unsteady.
‘Builders are a dime a dozen. And now people have seen this, you won’t have so much ridicule in trying to find anoth—’
‘Joss, this house is special because of you. You’re not replaceable. You believed in me when I really needed it.’
‘When any builder sees this, they’ll believe in you too.’
‘You believed without seeing. That’s the point. That’s what Christmas is all about. Believing in magic without seeing it. Like Santa. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas if children didn’t believe in the impossible – in something they’ve never seen.’
‘You’re not Santa and I’m not a child.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re the only person who believed we could do this, no matter how impossible it seemed. I don’t want to do it again with someone else – I want to do it with you.’
‘I won’t be here, Ess. You know that.’
The hand holding the business card feels disconnected, like it doesn’t really belong to me, and Joss is pacing, his hands shoved into his pockets, and it’s all just too much, and I finally snap. ‘Joss, stop. For one freaking second, will you take off your mask?’
‘I’m not—’
‘Yes, you are, and we both know it. I know what you’ve been through, but you can’t stop life hurting you by never connecting with another human being ever again. You push people away rather than let them in. You’re the loveliest guy in the world, but you pretend to be horrible in case anyone dares to like you. You have an opportunity here – we both do. A chance to do something that matters. A chance to take your father’s company in the direction you want it to go in.’
‘I never wanted to turn it into a bakery.’
I frown at him for being deliberately obtuse. ‘Pretending not to understand what I mean doesn’t stop you hearing it. We have loved doing this. This has been the best December ever for me, and no matter how much you growl and grunt, I know you’ve loved it too. From the very beginning, you’ve told me that this creative, small-scale work is what appeals to you, and I’ve watched it make you come alive. You don’t want to go and live on an isolated island somewhere – you just think it’s the best way to protect yourself. And don’t get me started on doing a remote-based paperworky job. That’s the furthest thing from you, Joss.’
‘Exactly tha—’
‘No! Not “exactly that”. All that stuff didn’t happen because you’re you, it happened because life is cruel and it’s rubbish sometimes, but there are bright moments too, and those are the ones you cling onto with both hands – not run away from in case they end up going wrong.’
‘Essie…’
‘No, you need to hear this. You’re happy and you’re turning your back on that “just in case” it doesn’t last. Yes, things suck. Yes, people die, or get horrible illnesses. Yes, people cheat, but sometimes they don’t. Sometimes you meet the right people and they fall in bloody love with you, and—’
He cuts me off with such a surprise kiss that I stumble backwards and his arms encircle my body, holding me upright.
‘What are you…’ The sentence is garbled against his mouth, and somewhere in the depths of my spinning mind, I think I should be pushing him off and giving him a smack for good measure, but I also know how hurt he’s been. I know what he said last night, and I know how much he’s been holding back and how much it means for him to let himself kiss me, and I’m incapable of doing anything other than melting against him, because Joss has just given himself permission to fall in love.
It’s too late for me. I’ve been slowly falling in love with him since the moment I looked into his eyes in the debris-ridden swimming baths lobby all those weeks ago, but I’ve been holding back, knowing he’s leaving, knowing he’s too guarded to let himself go, but this kiss is the one that lets everything go.
My hand is in his hair, gripping it tightly in my fingers as our mouths explore each other’s, desperately grasping and clinging on, and I feel myself going light-headed, overwhelmed by the kiss that’s been desperate to break loose for weeks.
His hand is on my lower back, the other somehow managing to support my neck and stroke my hair at the same time, and mine is under his jacket, running up and down his chest, and happiness takes over, and everything feels right with the world again.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to let me know it’s about an immediate need to breathe and not because he wants to end the kiss, and I gulp in air too, my forehead pressed against his, my fingers shaking from how tightly they’re curled into Joss’s hair and T-shirt, and I’m not sure if I’m laughing or crying, and it’s all too much after the warring emotions since last night, too many ups and downs and near misses and almost kisses. In a park full of mistletoe, we’ve somehow managed to kiss under the one tree without mistletoe in it, and I can feel Joss being engulfed by the same emotions, can feel him trying to get shaky breaths under control, and I force myself to loosen my grip, smooth down his T-shirt and stroke his hair gently rather than trying to tear it out. I’ve always thought that if I ever kissed him, it would be a one-time thing and I’d have to get all the kiss out in one desperate, clawing, clutching go, and I have to give myself a shaky pep talk. This isn’t a one-off. This is the first of many kisses. It has to be.
When Joss’s lips touch mine again, it’s soft, gentle, and cautious. Careful and teasing in the fun way, a chance to recover my breath, to appreciate the delicious burn of his stubble, and he lets out that happy sigh that I last heard when he fell asleep in my arms, and I make a noise of contentment at how right it feels.
His arms grow tighter and mine run over more of his body, exploring, making him shiver as I caress the back of his neck, and somehow our lips leave each other’s long enough for my arms to sneak around his neck and pull him into a hug as he trails kisses across my jaw, and then lets himself be held. His hands slide across my back, lifting me up, squeezing me to him, and my lips find his cheek and press a kiss to his cheekbone, and that’s it.
I can feel the moment his walls crumble because it’s like a physical weight leaves him. His legs give out and suddenly I’m straddling him on the grass, my hand is in his hair, protecting his head from banging against tree roots as we dive back into the kiss from our now horizontal position.
When we pull back, gasping for air, I shakily sit back on my knees, my legs on either side of his body where he’s lying on the ground and he blinks up at me with a dazed look in his eyes and a dopey grin that gets wider with every second.
‘Holy mistletoe,’ I murmur, feeling fizzy and fluttery and like I’ve downed a couple of bottles of the world’s most expensive champagne. ‘What are you playing at? After last night…’
‘You deserve better than me. And I want to be better than me, so I’m trying to do the opposite of what I would’ve done before I met you, in the hopes I can somehow be the person you deserve. Does that make sense?’
‘No! Not even slightly!’
He laughs and lifts a hand to rub his eyes, stopping to tuck my hair back as he drops it again. ‘After that, my brain is too scrambled for coherent sentences.’
I know how he feels.
‘I’ve been alone for a long time, even while I was married – you’ve made me see that. You’ve made me realise I don’t have to face everything alone. You’ve shown me what it’s like when someone really, truly cares about someone else, and I’m not ready to give that up. That night I told you about my mum… I always thought it was a weakness, but telling you made me feel stronger. I don’t want to go back to the withdrawn and growly person I was before you burst into my world.’
He drops his head back into my hand that’s still between his skull and the tree root. ‘I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I wanted to kiss you so badly, but when it came to it, there were too many feelings and I ran away rather than facing them head-on, and…’
‘Okay, enough talking.’ I slide the other hand into his hair and push his head back until I can kiss him again.
Both our chests are heaving when we pull back this time, the sky has brightened into daylight, and if anyone walked past and caught sight of us in this position, they would not assume that kissing was all we’ve been up to.
I stroke his face, and let my fingers trace his jaw, still trying to get my head around this turn of events and the rollercoaster of emotions since last night.
‘So this means you’re going to—’ I don’t get a chance to ask him if he’s planning to stay in Folkhornton because the sound of banging filters through the haze of oxygen deprivation. ‘We forgot Mum and Mervyn.’
‘I don’t think they’ll mind having a little bit longer.’ He surges up to fit his mouth against mine again and it’s so easy to lose myself in him, his aftershave, his touch…
‘Essie!’ There’s a shriek from the gingerbread house. A seriously loud shriek.
Joss groans. ‘How long do you think we’ve got before they start trying to eat their way out?’
‘Essie!’ Mum’s shriek is louder this time, and it sounds distressed rather than angry.
‘Something’s wrong.’ I scramble off Joss and hold a hand out to pull him up. ‘That’s not angry shouting, that’s panicked shouting.’
My phone rings and Mum’s name is on the screen.
‘All right, all right, we’re coming,’ I say as I answer it one-handed.
‘Stop doing that! I can see you through the windows!’ she yells into the handset. ‘Don’t kiss him! I will break this boiled-sweet glass if I have to – don’t think I won’t!’
We race up the bandstand steps, trying to work out what’s gone wrong. Have they had another row? Has there been a medical emergency? Has Mervyn tried something untoward and had his fingers, or worse, bitten off?
At the sound of the bakery crate blockade being moved, Mum starts screeching from inside again. ‘Get us out of here right now!’ She sounds like the most spoilt of celebrities in a jungle with Ant and Dec on standby.
She storms out like a dragon on fire, nearly tearing the door off its hinges in her wake. I peer inside warily, but Mervyn is sitting at the table with his head in his hands. He looks unscathed and there’s no sign of blood anywhere. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing happened in there, but quite a flaming lot happened out here! Someone’s got some explaining to do!’
‘It was just a joke. We didn’t think you’d mind, Mrs Browne,’ Joss says.
She whirls around and brandishes her fist at him. ‘You! You despicable swine! Taking advantage of my daughter like that!’
‘It’s all right, Mum, I wanted to kiss him. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.’
‘He has been doing something wrong since the moment you met him!’ She turns back to me and the fury on her face melts into something like pity. ‘You’re a silly girl, Essie. A silly, silly girl. You get so caught up in romance and Christmas magic that you fail to see what’s right in front of you.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I go to take a step nearer to Joss, ready to defend him if she’s going to say he isn’t good enough for me or mention him leaving, but her hand closes around my wrist.
‘Come away from him.’ She pulls me down the steps like I’m a toddler having a tantrum in the crisp aisle. ‘He isn’t what you think he is.’
‘What?’ I say.
‘What?’ Joss says.
From inside the gingerbread house, Mervyn groans.
‘I’ve told you he was untrustworthy from day one,’ Mum barks as I try to wriggle my wrist out of her grasp. She’s going to put me in one of those anti-pull harnesses that you buy for naughty puppies in a minute.
‘No, you haven’t, you tried to set me up with him at one point.’
‘That was before! Before I got a sense of his true colours. He’s certainly got you fooled. Everyone in this town has fallen head-over-heels for his act, but he hasn’t pulled the wool over my eyes, no siree!’
Joss pinches the bridge of his nose and makes a noise of… distress? Or… understanding?
Please don’t be understanding.
I swallow hard, despite the fact my mouth has gone bone dry. I look between the two of them helplessly. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
Mum finally takes pity on my cluelessness. ‘Mervyn’s just told me some very interesting information,’ she says to me and then fixes her eyes on Joss. ‘Maybe you could do us the honour of being honest too, Mr Hallissey.’
Joss’s face has flared red and his eyes don’t lift from the ground. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
A sinking feeling washes over me from head to toe. Someone who doesn’t know what she’s talking about wouldn’t look that guilty.
Mum’s lip curls and she practically hisses at him. ‘Are you going to tell her or am I?’
That has got to be one of the worst sentences in the English language. It implies that not only is there something awful to be told, but that you’re one of the last people to know what it is.
Joss goes to speak, but nothing comes out.
‘I’ll help you out, Mr Hallissey, seeing as honesty isn’t your strong point. Why don’t you start by telling Essie exactly which contractor has been hired to tear down Mistletoe Gardens?’