Just for Christmas - Emily Harvale Page 0,34

the rich, ruby red sofas he’d ordered and a modern, patterned red, green and yellow rug that Molly had said she loved, it would look both classy and cosy. And once the fire was lit and the lights turned low, it would also be romantic.

There would be two chestnut brown leather armchairs either side of the fire, with tartan, pure wool throws to add more colour and to wrap up in if it was a particularly cold night. Some plain cushions in reds, greens and yellows and some patterned ones would add to the look even more. And Chance’s books alone would fill the built-in bookcases each side of the fireplace and chimney breast.

He’d yet to choose a coffee table but he could pick one of those up locally.

The master bedroom was now navy blue and plaster pink, as per Molly’s vision. The only things in that room so far were the two bedside lamps. He really needed to get a bed. And bedding. And curtains. And … his mind drifted off again and as always, it was Molly he saw in that bed, not Jolene.

He really needed to get a grip.

He spent the rest of the day doing his very best to avoid being too close to Molly. If she came into a room, he made an excuse to leave it. If they were about to pass one another in either hall, he detoured into another room until she had gone.

He was very glad when Sarah and Terry turned up unexpectedly with lunch of pie and chips.

‘I hope you’ve remembered what today is,’ Sarah said, as they all sat on the sitting room floor and admired his paintwork.

‘It’s Tuesday,’ Chance said.

‘It’s the annual Snowball Pie event,’ Molly reminded him. ‘And I think that when we’ve finished lunch, we should all go into the garden and practise.’

‘Throwing snowballs?’ Chance wasn’t enamoured with the idea.

‘Winning,’ Molly said, giving him a hard stare but ruining the effect by grinning.

‘Ah. Right. Okay then. If I must, I must.’

And half an hour later, all four of them were having a snowball fight. They started off in teams of two; girls against boys, but it soon ended up as everyone for themselves, although Chance seemed to be coming off the worst. But he couldn’t remember a snowball fight ever being so much fun. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he’d last had a snowball fight. Lately, he seemed to be doing and thinking and feeling a lot of things he hadn’t done, or thought, or felt for a long time. And most of that was due to Molly.

So he was determined to do his best to make sure they won the annual Snowball Pie event that evening.

Eighteen

The garden of The Piemaker’s Rest looked magical. The thick layer of snow glistened and reflected a kaleidoscope of colour from the myriad multi-coloured fairy lights hanging from the hedges, trees and posts surrounding the large open space of snow-covered grass. For the first time in years, the annual Snowball Pie would be using real snow, and no one seemed more delighted about that than Molly.

‘Everyone, line up in teams of two,’ Rupert, one of the pub’s owners, said. ‘For those of you newly joining us, one team member should collect a tinfoil baking tray which my lovely partner, Maud, is handing out. That’s the ‘pie’. The other team member must stand behind the Christmas ribbon we’ve laid out on the snow. If you cross the ribbon, you’re out. Your challenge is to pick up and throw as many snowballs into the pie as possible in two minutes and the team with the most balls in their pie, wins. No pushing or shoving of other competitors is allowed, but after the competition winners are declared, snowball fights are encouraged. Good luck, folks.’

‘And this year,’ his partner Maud, added, ‘because we’ve finally got real snow, we’re adding an extra prize. In addition to the highly coveted keyrings, the winning team will get dinner for two in our superb, but admittedly bijou, restaurant.’

A loud ‘Coooo!’ went up from the crowd, followed by much laughter.

‘Okay,’ Molly said. ‘We’re going to win this, Chance.’

‘I didn’t realise you were so competitive. I thought you were joking the other day, but you really do want to win, don’t you?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ She frowned at him.

Chance shook his head. ‘Nothing. It’s good to see someone so passionate about what they want. I’ll try not to let you down. Am I throwing or catching?’

‘Catching. I’m good