“I love you,” he said. “Even though most of the time you drive me nuts. I’ve never met anyone like you. And now that I have, I don’t think anyone else would ever compare.” He stared hard at her, as though trying to decipher a code. “You’re not saying anything.”

“I don’t know what to say. You’ve stolen all my words.”

“Tell me you feel the same way. Tell me it’s insane but you love me too.”

“It is insane,” she said. “I hardly know you. And yet, I am utterly convinced that you are the best man I have ever met. And I am completely in love with you.”

Then they kissed for a long time in the drafty old hallway of the smugglers’ favorite haunt. And eventually, when they could wait no longer, Annie led John upstairs to the flat.

“Mr. Knightley will be jealous,” said Annie, turning on the stair.

“Mr. Knightley’s services will no longer be required,” said John, scooping her up and over his shoulder and making Annie squeal with laughter. “I can promise you that anything Mr. Knightley can do, I can do better!”

And as the two lovers discovered each other on that cold, bright winter afternoon, John Granger was as good as his word.

Epilogue

It was Christmas Day, and Annie’s tiny sitting room in Saltwater Nook was fit to burst. John had pushed the sofa and armchair against the wall to make room for a long folding trestle table, which Annie had covered with tablecloths. Celeste and Peter had made several runs up and down the stairs ferrying chairs from the café, while Greg chatted amiably with Mari as she supervised his laying of logs in the wood burner. John had declared himself to be at Annie’s beck and call for the day, and she had taken him at his word, though he’d raised his eyebrows at the volume of Brussels sprouts she’d wanted prepped.

Annie threw the window open in the tiny kitchen and fanned herself with Mari’s almanac. It wasn’t easy cooking a three-course Christmas dinner for seven people in a kitchen the size of a hamster cage.

“Is this the last of it?” asked John, picking up a serving platter piled with a mountain of golden crispy roast potatoes.

“Almost,” said Annie, motioning to two generously filled gravy jugs. “Leave room on the table for the turkey.”

John grimaced. “Much more and it’ll collapse,” he said jokingly. “There’s already enough food to feed Henry VIII, his court, and his peasants!”

“It’s Christmas,” said Annie. “If there’s not far too much food, then I haven’t done it right.”

Two saucepans rattled on the hob as the Christmas puddings steamed. Annie heaved up the giant platter holding a perfectly bronzed turkey and carried it into the warm sitting room. A cheer went up.

“Would you like to carve, Mr. Granger?”