The chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mum described quite like that, but now that I think about it, you’re absolutely dead on. And, yes, she did.”

Chloe shook her head, still wrapping her brain around Archer’s big reveal. “But how did she come up with it?”

“It’s her maiden name.”

“Ooohhh. Well, that make sense then.”

“And, apparently, she’d wanted to call me Archer when I was born, but my dad thought it was a terrible name for a baby, so I was named Alan after his dad.”

“Hmm, he does have a point. Archer’s a heavy moniker to give an infant. It sits rather perfectly on you, though.” She met his eyes and didn’t flinch as he stared back into hers.

I am going to have my way with you, you beautiful man, she thought. Just then, Mrs D, retired schoolteacher, arrived with the drinks then bustled away to greet a family of four who’d just arrived, wet and harried looking.

“It’s awfully good of you, stepping in like this—with the fair, I mean,” said Archer. “It’s your holiday after all.”

Chloe shrugged. “Honestly and, I promise I am not playing the martyr here, it’s fine. Your mother seems to have everything organised, so I’ll just be like a conductor of a symphony, you know, keeping everything to time. They probably don’t even need me, but I’m happy to help. Besides, I’m a total Christmas freak.”

“Oh, really?” He seemed amused.

“I am. I am a bona fide, diehard fan of Christmas. And as a bona fide diehard fan of Christmas …” She affected a melodramatic voice and a terrible British accent and, with one hand on her chest, one held aloft, asked, “How could I leave the fate of the fete in anyone else’s hands? How, I ask you?”

She dropped her hands and gave Archer a self-satisfied smile.

“Impressive.”

“Yes.”

“Have you had training?”

“Self-taught.” She sipped her wine.

“Hmm. I would never have known if you hadn’t said.”

“It’s a talent too powerful to share, you see. The world is not ready for Chloe Sims, act-tor.”

“No, I imagine not. So, Chloe Sims, act-tor, tell me, as a diehard fan of Christmas, do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”

She nodded as though in deep contemplation. “Yes, yes, that is a question for the ages.”

He nodded along, stroking his chin, stifling a grin which seemed to break free of its own volition. “You’re quite funny,” he said, his voice tinged with admiration.

“Me? Oh, I’m frigging hilarious.” She flashed him a huge grin. “And yes, of course Die Hard is a Christmas movie.”

It was about halfway through her glass of wine—a typical British pub pour of about a third of a bottle—that Chloe forgot that Archer was one of the most famous people on the planet.

He was just a very funny, sweet, charming guy who she had an enormous crush on. He was also staying with his parents, so if she was going to have her way with him, she’d have to figure out some logistics. Fortunately, logistics were just her thing.