Page 18 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

Train Guy glanced up. He looked confused, and for a horrible moment Jen thought that he wasn’t going to recognise her. Then he smiled, those bright blue eyes twinkling.

‘“Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney”,’ he said.

She laughed, pulling a face. ‘Not quite as impressive.’

He grinned. ‘I don’t know, you remembered all the actions.’ He closed his notebook and turned his attention fully to her. ‘Anthony,’ he said, placing a hand on his chest. ‘You?’

‘Jen.’

‘Nice to see you, Jen. Again.’ His gaze flicked over her face. He swallowed. ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.’

If Jen hadn’t believed in fate before, she did now.

‘Casablanca,’ she murmured.

He nodded. They spoke at the same time.

‘Heartbreaking.’

‘So sad.’

He smiled, shrugging. ‘I’m not as cultured as I sound, just so you don’t get the wrong impression.’

‘Uh-huh, yeah, I can tell that about you, what with you reading Hardy on the train and sitting in a bar writing in a notepad like some American novelist from the fifties and quoting classic films at me. I thought, wow, this guy’s a philistine.’

He laughed, holding up his hands. ‘I’m telling you. Don’t be fooled by first impressions.’

He pulled out the stool next to him, indicating it, and Jen sat down. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well, if you tell me you’re jotting football scores down in that notepad then I have no choice but to believe you.’

‘Ha, not exactly. I’m a writer, so—’

‘You’re a writer? Like, novels or poems or what?’

‘All of the above.’

Jen tried not to look too impressed. ‘I didn’t think I’d find a writer hanging out in Waterfield, far too bohemian for a place like this! You from round here?’

He glanced round at the buzzing bar. ‘God, no. I’m here visiting my mum, she’s twisted her ankle. The city suits me better.’

Jen nodded. ‘Me too.’

‘So you’re here for . . . ?’

‘My friends organised a get-together, we went to college round here. It’s my birthday.’ She glanced over her shoulder to where her friends stood, staring at Jen and Anthony with open curiosity. He followed her gaze and grinned, raising a hand to them, at which point they all suddenly became very interested in their drinks. ‘Sorry about them,’ she said. ‘They have very boring lives these days, they need to get any excitement where they can.’

He laughed. ‘Fair enough. But it’s your birthday? I’d better buy you a drink.’ He raised a finger, and that was all the effort needed for him to catch the attention of the barmaid. ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling, and she blushed. ‘My friend here would like . . .’ He looked at Jen quizzically.

‘A gin and tonic, please.’

‘A gin and tonic, please. Make it a double, it’s her birthday. And I’ll have another Glenmorangie.’ He turned back to Jen. ‘So do you work with kids? Or have kids?’ he asked, as the drinks arrived.

‘I – no kids!’ She forced herself to smile, the sensation of fat little arms around her neck and soft blonde curls tickling her face suddenly so strong it almost floored her. She swallowed. Took a breath, fought to bring herself back into the present. ‘I do have the most adorable niece and nephew, I don’t get to see them very often, though.’ Her stomach twisted briefly as she thought about all the occasions she’d chosen to miss: birthdays, Christmases, fun auntie outings. She took a slug of her drink, willing her mind away from this train of thought, as she always did. Willing herself to focus on the warm, noisy room. On the gorgeous man, watching her intently, waiting for her to speak. ‘I – I did qualify as . . . What makes you ask that?’

He took a sip of whisky. ‘I don’t know, you were so good with that kid on the train that—’

‘Oh, Lottie.’

‘Lottie, yeah, that I thought you must have some experience or . . . you just seemed like a natural.’