Page 22 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

He frowned. ‘A writer? What do you mean, like a journalist or copywriter or something?’

‘No. Like – poems and novels and stuff. He had a notebook with him.’

‘At the bar?’ Ted’s voice rose in pitch, incredulous and full of laughter.

His reaction was somewhat lacking the admiration she’d expected, but she could never stay serious when Ted found something funny. And now she thought about it, she could see why he might find Anthony sitting writing and drinking whisky in the bar a bit odd. ‘Shut up,’ she said, smacking his thigh and grinning. ‘It’s romantic, sitting on his own drinking whisky and writing in a smoke-filled bar—’

‘It wasn’t smoke-filled.’

‘In an alcohol-fumed bar. It’s like something out of a black-and-white movie. And – and we met on the train, and we had this amazing connection, and I thought I’d never see him again and then—’

‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you walked into his.’

‘Exactly!’ Jen fell back against the sofa, closing her eyes. ‘And he – I know we’ve just met, but I really feel that he gets me, he sees me as a free spirit, like him, and I’ve never had that with anyone before.’

Ted inclined his head. ‘Well, there was that guy who was really into travelling, you said he was a free spirit and—’

‘He was living off his trust fund.’

‘. . . and the one who was going to join a commune and live off the land that you said really got you and . . .’

‘He was secretly a married accountant.’

The less said about that particular escapade, the better.

Ted winced. ‘Ooh, ouch. My condolences.’

Jen sat forward, gazing into her friend’s warm, dark eyes and grasping his arm. ‘This is different. I – I really feel like there could be something special here. And I – I don’t know, I think maybe if I was ready, to try again, to have something real, then . . . I think he might be the right person to do it with.’

Her heart stuttered as she spoke the words, reminding her of the many pieces it had been torn into, of how long it had taken to put back together and the scars it still bore. But that had been long ago. She’d hidden for years, protecting herself. Was now the time to put herself out there again?

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the snapping of the fire and the gentle creaking of an old building, as Ted looked at her, taking in her earnest expression. He raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You really like this guy.’

Jen nodded. ‘I think I really like him.’

‘Well, then.’ Ted smiled, gently this time. ‘I hope it all works out for you.’

She was smiling stupidly, far more than she meant to, and she couldn’t stop. Was this what it was like to feel something real? She remembered the pain of losing it. She’d forgotten the joy of having it. ‘Me too.’

He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Welcome to the world of grown-ups.’

‘Thanks. I’m new here.’

‘Oh, I know.’ He nodded emphatically.

‘Hey!’ She flung an arm out to slap him, but he ducked.

He grinned and shook his head, draining his glass. ‘Yeah, you’re not going to like it.’

Jen laughed, finishing her own drink. And ignoring the squirming fear in her stomach that he might just be right.

Chapter Ten

As she stood on the porch, Jen found herself blinking in the bright light that was made all the more intense by the thick blanket of snow that covered everything.

A small part of her poor, hungover, sleep-deprived brain registered that the sight was actually quite beautiful – she peered over the garden hedge to the view of rolling white fields, broken only by the occasional snow-crusted gate and fence. A robin hopped along the ground at her feet, and above, the sky was a bright clear blue that didn’t look real.