Page 34 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

So why was she nervous?

She was going for the ‘nice top and jeans’ outfit option, partly because it was only a coffee and not a date, and partly because that was all she had with her. She and Julia were the same size, but she doubted there was anything in her sister’s mum-wardrobe that she’d consider wearing, even if she was willing to ask.

Jen tried to push away the memories that flooded through her mind, of herself and Julia as teens, in their parents’ cottage, giggling together about boys and getting ready for dates. In those days they shared everything – clothes, make-up, stories. She once told Julia things she’d never told another soul.

Until the one thing she’d told her that she wished she hadn’t.

Jen shook away the memories. Her phone beeped; the Uber was here. Living in a place where you couldn’t walk or get public transport wherever you wanted was new to her. Julia and Dan had both offered to drive her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in a car with either of them.

The journey was a slow one, and the driver grumbled good-naturedly about the fact that the local country roads were never gritted, and that the snow was expected to continue for the foreseeable.

Waterfield was pretty as a picture in the snow, though, its cobbled streets sparkling and its pretty shopfronts twinkling with Christmas lights. She slip-slid her way along to the café, trying desperately not to fall on her backside; the weather called for wellies, but the occasion warranted something slightly dressier.

Anthony was already there, sitting in the window, a large mug steaming beside him as he gazed down at his notebook, tapping his full lips with his pencil.

‘Hi,’ Jen said as she reached him, flustered in the sudden heat of the café. Her scarf got tangled in her earring as she unwound it and she could feel a sheen of sweat gathering above her lip. Not how she’d imagined meeting him.

Anthony looked up at her, dark hair falling into blue eyes, and smiled. He had perfect teeth. Of course.

‘You look great,’ he said, rising to kiss her cheek.

She took in the sharp line of his cheekbones and the chiselled angle of his jaw. Those eyes, resting on hers. ‘So do you,’ she murmured.

Come on, Jen, she told herself crossly. Get a grip. Where was the cool girl about town she usually was?

But, as Anthony stood and pulled a chair out for her, taking her coat and placing it on the spare seat next to him, she realised with horror that that girl was nowhere to be seen. She’d been replaced with a grinning, mooning idiot.

‘Working on the novel?’ she asked, nodding at his notebook.

‘Ah.’ He closed it and slipped it into the pocket of the coat he’d hung on his chair. ‘Something like that. So how was it getting here? I didn’t know if we’d get cancelled due to adverse weather.’

He grinned, and her heart leapt. Oh dear.

Hours passed quickly. Gingerbread lattes were drunk, mince pies eaten, canned Christmas music talked over.

‘Do you want to hear my confession?’ Anthony asked, leaning in so close that she could see the dark sweep of his eyelashes.

‘Go on, then.’

‘I love a chain coffee shop.’ He looked around, indicating the one they were sitting in. He held up his palms and dipped his head. ‘Unpopular opinion, I know. Everyone loves a little indie café or whatever, and I get it, support the little man and all that. But I can’t help it, I love a chain! You know what you’re getting, it’s reliable, it’s modern – no sticky floors or wonky handmade biscuits. I’m terrible, aren’t I?’

Jen couldn’t help thinking of Marnie’s café. The pretty gingham tablecloths and the delicious, unique home-made food. The well-stocked play area for the children. It was so much more appealing than a chain.

She leaned in, twinkling her eyes. ‘Want to know a secret? I agree!’

His smile lit up his face. ‘Really? Well, there you go. We were destined to meet!’

She laughed. She didn’t believe in destiny, and certainly not one dictated by opinions about cafés. But she liked the idea that somehow, for some reason, she was meant to meet this creative, free-spirited man.

He nodded to the window. ‘What do you think his story is, then?’

Jen laughed. ‘I don’t know, you’re the writer!’

He shrugged. ‘Give it a go, though.’ His blue eyes were on hers. ‘For me,’ he said softly.

She looked at the elderly gentleman he’d pointed out. ‘Oh well – he’s obviously Father Christmas in disguise. On a reccy! Checking out who’s been good and who’s been naughty.’

He caught her eye and bit his lower lip. ‘Uh-oh. Bad news for me!’