It’s a Wonderful Night: A delightfully feel-good festive romance for 2018!

He grunts.

‘Oh, come on. You’re not a Grinch, are you? Because I distinctly remember seeing you in here last year in your tinsel reindeer antlers and your red apron with Santa’s belt on it. Tinsel reindeer antlers are very un-Grinch-like, Leo.’

I know that Leo loves Christmas usually. He always goes all out in December. He gets in purple cups with sparkly silver swirls on them, he’s always got loads of festive coffee flavours, more than the big coffee chains get, and the shop is always decorated beautifully.

‘You have a good memory.’ He looks down at the coffee and shakes his head. ‘This is really sweet of you, but I can get a coffee literally twenty-four hours a day, I don’t deserve … at least let me give you the money back.’

The vintage till rings as he goes to open it, making me think of angels getting their wings, and I slap my hand on the counter. ‘Don’t you dare. I asked you what you’d go for, end of story.’ I pick up my own cup and tap it against his. ‘Cheers. Have a good day.’

‘At least stay and drink it with me,’ he says as I go to walk away. ‘Unless you’re rushing to get to work or something?’

I make a show of checking my watch even though I’ve got bags of time. It’s not even half past eight, I’ve got twenty minutes before I need to open the staff entrance. ‘I’ve got plenty of time, I’m really early this morning.’ I go back over to the counter, trying not to think about the unfinished window displays. I’m going to have to get the volunteers doing the take-offs this morning while I finish them in opening hours.

I lean against the counter and let my bag slip off my shoulder to the floor as I look around. I had no idea It’s A Wonderful Latte was in trouble. I mean, I know Leo doesn’t have as many customers as he used to, but I still thought he was doing okay. He always seems like he’s doing okay. If it wasn’t for what he said about his business going under last night, I would never have known.

‘Thank you,’ he says quietly. He leans his elbows on the counter and lets his head drop, and for just one second, his mask slips. In that moment, the lighting shows up the grey bags under his eyes, the taut lines around them, the stubble darkening the jaw of his usually clean-shaven face. I wish I’d looked at him more closely before. I’ve been so caught up in his infectious smile that I’ve never tried to see what it hides.

He covers it quickly, too quickly, and looks up at me with the same pasted-on smile. ‘Now I know why I call you my favourite Georgia.’

‘I’m sure you say that to all your Georgias.’

His laugh makes me smile. ‘Nope, you’re definitely my favourite. Gotta say, being bought a coffee is kind of a novelty. That’s never happened before.’

‘Well, you do make wonderful lattes.’

‘Hence the name,’ he says with a tight grin.

‘And I bet that’s the first time you’ve ever heard that joke, right?’

This time his smile reaches his clear eyes, making his eyelids crinkle. ‘It’s the first time this week, I’ll give you that.’

‘I always thought it was a play on It’s a Wonderful Life?’

‘It is. It’s named for my dad, it was his favourite film of all time, and he loved a good pun. It took me ages to come up with a clever name when I bought the place.’

‘It was my mum’s favourite Christmas film. I’m named after it too.’

‘Georgia. After George Bailey?’

I nod. ‘It helps that my surname is actually Bailey. My mum thought she’d hit the jackpot when she married my father and took his name. She knew what their first child would be called before the end of the first date.’

His jaw drops in surprise but he’s smiling too. ‘Wow. You should be, like, my mascot or something. What are the chances of a Georgia Bailey and a coffee shop called It’s A Wonderful Latte living in the same town? That’s like fate or something, right?’

Fate. Like Leo finding the leaflet I put on the bridge. Like him accidentally phoning the shop on a night I just happened to be working late.

‘That’s why I come in here. Couldn’t walk past a shop named after the same thing as me. It’s like fate is calling me in. Fate and caffeine addiction.’

I don’t add that I didn’t even like coffee until I peered in the window on the day it opened to see what it was like inside, unable to ignore it because of the It’s a Wonderful Life connection, and he flashed me that smile through the glass.

‘Oh no, really? I’ve always thought it was my scintillating charm and incessant wit.’ He pushes his bottom lip out, pretending to pout, and I force a smile, but all I can think about is the man on the bridge last night who was at rock bottom. Leo’s false confidence doesn’t seem as funny today.

‘That and your impressive coffee flavours,’ I say, because all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and whisper ‘I know’ in his ear, but I can’t. ‘Speaking of Christmas films, you’re late putting your decorations up this year,’ I say instead. I know from our conversation last night why he hasn’t, but he doesn’t know I know that, and even though I can’t tell him it was me, I can try to get him to open up to the real me in the real world. Now I know how bad things are, I have to help him. I have to show him how much he matters to people, like Clarence did for George in It’s a Wonderful Life. He needs a friend and he’s going to get one, whether he likes it or not. I don’t know how to make more customers come in, but I do know that Leo needs someone to talk to, someone he doesn’t have to put on his happy face with, and it’s going to be me. He has no choice in the matter now.

‘I’m already done.’

I look around for some hint of these decorations and Leo points to the front window. There’s a narrow ledge running along the inside of it; usually it’s decked out with holly garlands with bright red berries and twinkling lights and the tops of the window are draped with sparkly paper chains, but today, only a gingerbread house sits on one side of the window ledge, facing the street outside.

‘That’s it? Usually this place is …’ I wave my hands above my head to demonstrate the amount of decorations he usually has up.

‘Festooned?’ he offers. ‘Festooned doesn’t get nearly enough usage these days.’

‘Festooned is a good word.’

‘So?’ I prod when he doesn’t make any attempt to answer the question.

‘Oh, my mum made the gingerbread house. It’s an excellent gingerbread house.’

‘I wasn’t debating its merits. If the witch from Hansel and Gretel was real, she’d hire your mum as chief house builder. It’s just … usually you go all out.’

He’s quiet for a few moments and then he throws his arms out to the sides and gestures towards the empty shop. ‘What’s the point? As you can see, this place is absolutely crawling with customers to appreciate it. Honestly, I just couldn’t be bothered. Seems pointless this year.’

‘But people like festive things. We’re always told to make a big deal of our Christmas windows to attract customers.’

‘There are no customers to attract,’ he says with a shrug.

I glance out the window again. He’s got a point. Oakbarrow High Street is silent out there. Even the sky has gone from blue to dark grey, almost like it’s reflecting the mood of the few people left working on this street. ‘I remember a time when you’d be dodging delivery lorries and shopkeepers displaying their goods at this time of morning.’

His face replicates the forlorn feeling as he looks towards the window. ‘Those days are gone.’

I want to say something positive, but it’s impossible to ignore the feeling of desolation that this street bleeds out of the cracks in its concrete.

He puts his upbeat voice back on. ‘But my mum loves Christmas baking so the least I could do was display one of her gingerbread houses. She could give Mary Berry a run for her money any day,’ he says loudly, angling his head towards the kitchen so she hears.

Maggie sticks her head round the door. ‘He’s not talking me up in front of the customers again, is he?’

‘He was just telling me about your gingerbread house,’ I say with a smile. ‘It’s absolutely stunning. It must’ve taken you ages.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind things like that, lovey. The fiddly bits are my favourite part of baking. I can sit down with my feet up and take my time over it. I wanted to make some miniature ones for the shop this year, but it seems such a waste of energy. We don’t sell enough to warrant more than a batch of pumpkin spice muffins. Even my batch of decorated shortbread robins went to Bernard last week. Not that that’s a waste as he deserves food, but I like to make him something more substantial than twenty-four shortbread birds.’

Maggie is standing in the kitchen doorway looking between us sipping our coffees. ‘I must say, it’s nice to see a customer in here enjoying one of his creations. People never have time to stop for anything these days. Most of them barely look up from their phones as they order, let alone have time to read the menu or look at the bakes on offer.’

‘People don’t see what’s right in front of them nowadays,’ I say, knowing I’m just as guilty as everyone else. Maybe not with my phone because talking to Leo is more interesting than anything that could be happening online, even on the days that John Lewis premiere their Christmas advert, but I’ve always taken him at happy, smiley face value, never talked about anything deep or meaningful, and never hung around long enough to let him suspect I’ve got a crush on him. I’ve never asked him how he is. Not really, anyway. Not in anything other than a polite way, expecting nothing but a bright smile and a ‘Fine, thanks, and you?’ in return. No one would ever, ever think things were anything but fine.

Maggie’s wrists are bony and her fingers curled with arthritis, and her thinning white hair is covered by a hair net. Even at this time of day, her apron is already splashed with flour. She looks small and frail, and I get the impression that she hasn’t got much energy to waste.

I wish I could make her sit down and take over her duties. Although, if they don’t have any customers now, they can kiss the last one goodbye after I’ve got my mitts into the muffin recipe. The extent of my cooking ability is ‘three minutes on 800 watts’.

‘Ah well, onwards and upwards,’ Leo says, his cheery words sounding rather false. ‘I’m sure my new mince-pie-flavoured coffee will attract customers in droves.’