Page 1

Chapter 1

“Mince pies in August just don’t seem right . . .” muttered Mrs Evans, who’d run the souvenir shop in the Cornish seaside town of Castle Cove for as long as anyone could remember.

Lucy smiled, noticing Mrs Evans was on her third mince pie as well as her third gin and tonic, so couldn’t have been too traumatised.

“Lucy’s are so delicious, I think we should eat them all year round,” said her friend, Carrie, loyally. Carrie absentmindedly rubbed her just-showing pregnancy bump, and passed the plate to her husband, Michael, who sat next to her.

“You’re all doing me a huge favour,” Lucy said. “Choosing the best mince pie recipe for the coffee shop’s Christmas menu is a tough job.”

“Very happy to be of assistance,” said Nat, helping herself to one of the pies with orange juice in the pastry. “Are you going to have the gingerbread snowmen available again this year?”

“I think so,” Lucy said.

“Good, the kids love them.” Nat was a teacher at the local primary school, so was always on top of the playground trends.

“As do we,” added Sam, Nat’s co-worker.

“I’m glad,” said Lucy. “It’s fun to do some different things for the festive period.”

The group of local business owners and council members met in the Rose and Anchor every few months to discuss events for the town. The Christmas planning meeting was probably the most important of the year.

“I like the frangipane ones,” said Dylan, who sat on the other side of the large, wooden table they were gathered around, and who Lucy had been doing her best to ignore. She guessed it was only a matter of time before he did something to irritate her. Like breathing.

Lucy sighed. “Your opinion doesn’t count,” she remarked. “I have no idea why you’re even here. You’re not a local business owner, or a councillor wanting to discuss the Christmas light switch-on and fair!”

Dylan popped the final bite of mince pie in his mouth. “I went to the gym with Michael, who happens to be a local business owner and my best friend, and he mentioned you needed mince pie testers.”

“More like he mentioned the meeting was happening in the pub,” Lucy commented with a roll of her eyes and a glare at Michael, who shrugged and said, “The man knows mince pies.”

“Right then,” said Mary, Carrie’s rather eccentric aunt, owner of The Happily Ever After Bookshop, which Carrie managed, who’d recently been appointed a town councillor and was chairing the meeting, “in conclusion, we have a date for the Christmas light switch-on. There’ll be rides down by the seafront, stalls are already being booked by vendors, and local businesses will be encouraged to stay open later. The police have agreed to the closure of the high street for the afternoon and evening. The children’s competition to design the new Christmas lights will be run next month, and entries must be judged by the end of the first week in October. The company making the lights will provide them a week before the Christmas switch-on, and we have a contractor booked to put up the lights and the tree. I think that’s everything.”

The meeting had dragged on far longer than was necessary, as usual. Lucy had to admit, however, that Castle Cove’s Christmas celebrations should be wonderful this year, and would hopefully bring a welcome boost to income during the quieter winter months.

Lucy adored how cosy and welcoming her little coffee shop, the First Sip, was at Christmas time. She was so proud of the business she’d built up for herself, and grateful for the support she received from the community she’d made her home.

Everyone began to mill around, collecting up their things and getting ready to go home.

Carrie and Michael came over to rescue Lucy, who was being interrogated by Mrs Evans about the amount of sugar in the cupcakes she served in her shop. “Sorry to interrupt,” Carrie said. Lucy threw her a grateful glance.

“Not at all,” said Mrs Evans. “We can’t all stand around chatting.”

She walked off towards the bar, her huge black handbag swinging by her side.

Carrie stifled a laugh. “We’re driving back because Auntie Mary and I came straight from a book-buying expedition. Would you like a lift home with the leftovers?” Carrie managed her aunt’s bookshop, next door to Lucy’s coffee shop, and lived one more door down, above her husband’s bookbinding business, with her eight-year-old daughter, Poppy, and seventeen-year-old step-daughter, Layla.

“Thanks, but I fancy the walk and there’s very little left to carry back,” Lucy said. She held up the single bag she’d packed the near empty cake tins in.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Carrie said, giving her friend a hug.

“You take care of yourself and that precious bump.”

“I will. Dylan? Are you coming with us to get your car from ours?”

“I’ll walk Lucy back,” Dylan declared, relieving Lucy of her bag before she could stop him. She groaned and threw him an incredulous look. What was it with him always wanting to be the gallant hero aiding every woman he came into contact with? When would he get it through his thick skull that she was one damsel who had absolutely no desire to be rescued? And she was too much of an adult to fight him for the bag, as much as she might want to.

“I’m a gentleman, and I’d never allow a lady to journey home alone.” He gave a bow for effect.

Lucy snorted. Of course he’d think she was incapable of finding her way back without him. “It’s like a five-minute walk, Dylan. I’m pretty sure I can make it there safely by myself.”