Chloe had been listening intently, wondering what had happened to whom. She didn’t have to wonder for long, however, because Susan put a hand over the handset and addressed her in a loud whisper.

“Chloe, it’s Cecily on the phone,” she said, as though Chloe should know who the heck Cecily was. Her face must have betrayed her, because Susan went on to explain, “She’s the Co-chair of the committee for the Christmas Fair with Deirdre, and apparently Deirdre’s gone and turned her ankle stepping into a rabbit hole while she was out walking her dog.” This was a lot of seemingly unnecessary detail and Chloe wished she would get to the point.

“In any case, Deirdre can’t run the fair with Cecily anymore. Strict doctor’s orders for bed rest, I’m afraid. So, you see what I’m getting at, don’t you?”

Chloe stared at her blankly, her mind fuzzy from hearty food, jet lag, exhaustion and, well yes, the sherry.

“Chloe love, would you step in and help run the village Christmas Fair?”

Chapter 8

Lucy

Lucy had never been anywhere as beautiful as Breckenridge.

Her mind flew to Oxford, Cambridge, even Stratford-upon-Avon—all picturesque and perhaps all the more beautiful for their rich histories. She thought of Paris—stunning Paris, which she had been fortunate enough to see under a fresh fall of snow.

She thought of her home hamlet of Penham, which was quaint and charming, especially when fondant-like snow iced the brown thatched roofs, evoking her mum’s much-loved Christmas cake.

But none of those places were anything like this.

Shopfronts like gingerbread houses were trimmed neatly in coloured lights, their windows spilling warm light onto the footpath in cone-shaped beams. The streetlamps wore bright red velvet bows, and were wrapped like candy canes in green garlands, as if they were on their way to a posh party.

And there were thousands—maybe millions—of pinpoints of white light. Every tree was brimming with them, aglow like the flames of giant birthday cake candles. Couples, families, friends—all wrapped in brightly-coloured quilted coats and donning pompom hats and broad grins—wove in and out along the footpaths. Some parents pulled delighted children along on sledges.

As the traffic streamed slowly through the heart of the town, Lucy emitted exclamations in a constant stream of awe.

Then they passed what she assumed was the town square. “Oh, look at that Christmas tree!” It came out as a near-whisper. The enormous tree was so densely adorned, it looked like it was made from light. More people milled about the square, the crowd seeming to be in high spirits as many sipped from takeaway cups. She even saw a couple of people dressed up as Father Christmas.

She looked across at Will and saw that he was watching her. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he asked. She realised she had tears in her eyes and blinked them back. “Yeah, it can have that effect on you, for sure,” he added. They shared a smile and her gaze returned to the town. Lucy could have stayed in that car forever, watching out the window.