Snowflakes at Lavender Bay: A perfectly uplifting 2018 Christmas read from bestseller Sarah Bennett!

In spite of it being the hottest day of the year so far, lunch club had proven as popular as ever, and without Eliza’s help, Libby would’ve been rushed off her feet. With the fryers on, the heat inside the shop had been punishing, even with the little air-con unit on the back wall running at full blast. With the last customer served, she clicked off the power to the fryers and the heating cabinet then moved to stand beneath the air-con and let the cold air wash over her. Eyes closed, she stood there until the combination of the frigid air and her sweat-soaked T-shirt sent a shiver through her entire body.

‘Oh, that looks good.’ Opening one eye was almost too much effort, but Libby cracked a lid and watched as Eliza propped the folding chairs she’d been carrying against the wall then came to stand beside her. ‘Okay, I’m never moving from this spot.’ Eliza dragged the hygiene covering from her hair and gathered the mass of curls spilling loose in one hand to expose the nape of her neck to the chilly blast.

Since they’d been little girls, Libby had always envied Eliza for her hair. The curls always seemed full of life and vitality, not like the limp, brown mop her own hair would be without all the dye and gel. Picturing the horror show lurking beneath her hat, Libby shook her head. ‘How is it possible for you to work non-stop for two hours in Lavender Bay’s own version of Dante’s Inferno and still look like some pre-Raphaelite goddess at the end of it?’

Eliza laughed. ‘You must be joking. I caught sight of myself in that mirrored sign over there as I walked past, and my face is glowing like a neon sign.’

Libby didn’t agree but was too hot and tired to argue the point. With a healthy flush on her cheeks and a bit of life back in her eyes, Eliza looked better than she had since returning home. ‘Have you thought any more about what you want to do?’

Laughter fading, Eliza scrunched up her face. ‘Not a clue, but I’ll have to find something soon before Mum and Dad get too used to the idea of me being behind the bar again. It’s great to be home, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t fancy the idea of pulling pints for the rest of my days. Do you know what I mean?’

Not really. With the death of her mum, it had been only natural for Libby to step into her shoes and help her dad with the business. At first it had been a case of pitching in around their two-storey home above the shop, keeping the place clean so her dad didn’t stay up half the night doing chores after being on his feet all day. It had progressed to prepping the batter, stocking the cold drinks fridge and taking orders whilst Mick manned the fryers. The day he’d deemed her old enough to work them herself was still one of the proudest moments of her life. Not a grand achievement to most, but it had been a milestone on her path from adolescence to adulthood. She loved the shop, loved the ebb and flow of people’s lives through the door. Shared their triumphs and commiserated their disasters as she shook, and salted, and wrapped the food which kept them going at the end of a long day.

It was the people she loved the most. Her people. They came through that front door in good times and bad. If someone was having a hard time, it showed in the way their orders changed. When a regular customer reduced their order, her dad would often slip them an extra piece of fish or add another scoop of chips to their standard portion size. He greeted each and every customer with the same ‘What’ll it be then?’, even those whose order never deviated in the dozen years she’d been helping him out. She’d asked him about it once, and his answer stuck with her.

‘When we started out, your mum and I made a point of learning what people liked, thinking it added a personal touch when we asked someone if they’d like their usual order. Then one Thursday Bill Curtis came in, same as he always does, and when I said “the usual?” he burst into tears. Poor sod had just been laid off and he didn’t know how he was going to pay for supper, never mind tell his wife when he got home. Your mum took him out the back and told him in no uncertain terms that until he was back on his feet, Thursday supper was on the house. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I agreed with her. Took him four months to get a new job, another year after that to catch up on overdue bills and the like. The moment he was square again, he insisted on paying us back for those free suppers, not that we expected him to, but his pride had taken enough blows so we didn’t argue.’ Mick wiped his hands on his apron then put an arm around her shoulders. ‘This place is more than a chippy. We’re a community centre, a safe haven for people in trouble. I don’t have a lot, but what I have got I’ll share with anyone that needs it. Asking people what they want rather than assuming I know gives them the space to change their order without any sense of embarrassment, do you see?’

She did, and her heart swelled with love for his big, generous soul. Libby leaned into the reassuring bulk of his body. ‘I see what you do, Dad, and I think it’s brilliant.’

With that memory warm in her heart, Libby took a deep breath, then opened her heart. ‘I’ve found my place in the world, Eliza, and it’s right here.’ She gestured around the shop. ‘I love what my parents built here, and I want to keep playing my part at the heart of our community, but I want to do it my way. Ignore the smell of hot fat and vinegar and picture little wooden tables painted in pastel shades laden with pretty plates full of cakes and sandwiches, sparkling cutlery and real cotton napkins. Replace the fryers with a glass-fronted refrigeration counter holding fresh-baked quiches, flaky sausage rolls and glass bowls full of salad. Shelves along the back wall full of specialty teas and coffees and a fridge full of traditional bottles of lemonade, ginger beer and elderflower water. I’ll paint the walls soft lemon and buttermilk with watercolour paintings of scenes from around the bay, and hang frothy lace curtains at the windows.’

A long silence followed the tumble of words and butterflies began to chase each other around Libby’s stomach. It was the first time she’d let anyone else in on her plans for the future, and she could hardly bear to meet Eliza’s gaze. Her best friend had the kindest heart and would say all the right things, but would she mean it? If she looked into Eliza’s eyes and saw pity, it might break her heart. Needing to keep busy, she took a cloth to the already spotless counter and began to clean it.

‘Libs?’ Soft fingers touched her arm, stilling her hand mid-sweep. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around. It mattered too damn much. Eliza released her only to slip her arms around Libby’s waist and prop her chin on Libby’s shoulder. ‘God, Libs, it sounds wonderful. Just perfect.’

The husky warmth in those words eased the tension holding Libby’s frame rigid. ‘You really think so?’

Eliza gave her a squeeze. ‘I know so. Watching you today was a revelation. Feeding people, taking care of them, it’s in your blood.’

Blushing, Libby stared down at the cloth now wound between her fingers. ‘I’m not exactly in Sam’s league. A few sarnies and cakes won’t hold a candle to the Cordon Bleu experience he’ll be offering.’

A finger jabbed in her ribs, making her turn with a yelp to meet a soft scowl from Eliza. ‘Don’t do that,’ she admonished. ‘Don’t talk yourself out of it before you’ve even started. Sam’s restaurant will be for people wanting a one-off experience, somewhere to celebrate a special occasion. What you’re talking about is a place people will return to time and again for everyday comforts.’

Everyday comforts. Libby liked the sound of that. She’d never seen herself as in competition with Sam, that was just her insecurity digging in its claws. Deep down, she knew her plan was a sound one. The café would fill a gap in the current market, offering healthier alternatives alongside luscious cream teas. Friday lunch club would continue, but she’d offer salmon quiche or tuna melts and salad in the summer, and thick bowls of hearty chowder or fish pie in the winter. She also had plans for a pensioners’ afternoon tea special once a fortnight. Lavender Bay had plenty of takeaways and pubs serving hearty meals and one or other of them would likely expand their menu and add fish and chips—and good luck to them. The day she never had to wash the smell of the chippy out of her hair again couldn’t come too soon, not that she’d ever admit that to anyone other than Eliza or Beth—and they’d never say a word.

‘You know I’ll make the curtains and whatever for you when it’s time. I’m making all the soft furnishings for Sam’s restaurant, and I’d love to help you in whatever way you need.’ And there it was, the reason why Libby had told Eliza before anybody else. In the same way they’d pitched in to help Beth fulfil her dreams with the emporium, Libby knew they’d throw their all behind her.

Eliza had always been a whizz with her sewing machine, whereas Libby could barely manage to sew on a button. Stick her in the kitchen, though, and that was another story. She’d learned to bake at her mother’s hip and the café was a way of honouring those precious moments and keeping them fresh in her mind. Beth was the organised one, who would help her sort out the business side of things. Libby had experience helping her dad keep the books for the chip shop, but it would still take a lot of work to adapt to a more extensive menu. Work that would be much easier with Beth to guide her through it.

Eliza removed the apron she’d been wearing over a mint green shirt and matching capri pants and hung it on one of the pegs. ‘So, what does your dad think about your plans?’ Libby screwed up her face but didn’t say anything. Her dad would be 65 next year and the years of hard work were starting to show. He’d dropped a few hints about retiring after his birthday, and that was one of the reasons she was hoping their accountant might be raising the topic at today’s meeting.

She hadn’t mentioned it herself, because she didn’t want her dad to feel like she was pushing him out the door. When he was ready to take that step, she’d sit him down and go through her ideas. ‘You’re going to have to tell him some time.’ Eliza laughed. ‘Listen to me, Little Miss Assertive telling you what to do, when I’m just as bad.’

Libby slung an arm around her friend’s shoulder and leaned close until their heads were touching. ‘We’re hopeless. Remember when we were kids how we couldn’t wait to be all grown-up and be in control of our lives?’ She sighed.

Humming sympathetically, Eliza nodded. ‘We thought it would be so exciting, only no one told us how difficult it would be. I can’t for the life of me remember why we were in such a hurry.’

‘Because we wanted to have all that great sex we kept reading about in those copies of Cosmopolitan we used to steal from Beth’s mum.’

‘Ha! We should sue them for false advertising because we’re still bloody waiting.’ Eliza pulled back to regard her. ‘Well, I am, at least, although you’ve been very quiet in that regard. Any scorching hot love affairs you want to tell me about?’

As it had far too frequently in the past weeks, the image of Owen Coburn sprang to mind, all cocky smile and hard-bodied perfection. The fluttering that followed dissolved into a deep stab of humiliation. He’d stood out—a bright flame among the usual Saturday night crowd in The Siren, and she’d floated across the bar like a mesmerised moth driven by a fatal combination of bone-deep loneliness and a haze of hormones. And damn, had he burned her with that incredulous look in his eyes.

Men who looked like him probably had women throwing themselves at him all the time. He’d have his pick of gorgeous women with pretty hair and curves in all the right places, so she couldn’t really blame him for dismissing her unconventional looks and a figure that barely rippled from shoulder to hip.

And if the way he’d stared at her like she’d escaped from the local freak show hadn’t been bad enough, his sneering dismissal of her beloved bay had killed her attraction to him stone dead. Well, apart from when she closed her eyes at night and her treacherous brain wove alternative versions of their disastrous meeting that left her blushing in the dark and aching for something she shouldn’t want, and could never be.

Catching a curious glance from Eliza, she realised she’d been quiet for too long. In an effort to distract her, Libby pasted on a grin and waggled her eyebrows. ‘Only in my dreams. I keep trying to persuade Beth to dish the dirt on Sam so at least I’d have something to fuel my fantasies, but she just gives me that “cat that got the cream” look and refuses.’

As she’d hoped, one mention of Sam was enough to turn Eliza off the scent. Scrunching up her delicate nose, Eliza grimaced. ‘Ugh, and ew, that’s my brother you’re talking about.’ Her expression turned from disgust to something more encouraging. ‘Once the summer gets underway there’ll be lots of guys around desperate to snap you up. You’re just having a dry spell, that’s all.’

‘More than a spell, parts of my anatomy have been officially declared a desert zone.’ As they laughed together, Libby considered what Eliza had said. The influx of visitors over the summer might well increase her chances of finding someone she half-liked the look of. If she could only get a certain arrogant smile out of her head for five minutes. Owen Coburn wasn’t her type, and he’d made it crystal clear that she most certainly wasn’t his, so why couldn’t she forget about him and move on?

Not that there was anything to move on from. Those few cross words they’d exchanged had been the closest she’d come to intimacy with a man for nearly a year, which was embarrassing to the point of being pathetic. There’d been guys in her life before—even one a few years ago who’d got serious enough to start hinting at something more permanent, but he’d been hell bent on leaving the bay and couldn’t understand her desire to stay so they’d gone their separate ways—and there’d be guys again. She needed to snap out of it, and Eliza was right. Someone nice was bound to show up at some point over the summer, and Libby intended to be ready to catch him when he did. From this moment onwards, Owen bloody Coburn no longer existed.

Chapter 4 (#ulink_4c6a5508-8476-56f0-89ef-8b0287d9702d)

‘I can’t believe he’s back in town. What the hell is he doing here?’ Libby muttered as she sank down on the toilet seat in Beth’s little bathroom where her friend was putting the final touches to her make-up for the evening. She’d managed little more than a quick shower and a change of clothes after helping her dad with the early evening rush. There wasn’t any point in dressing up, it wasn’t like she would be seeing anyone worth making an effort for. ‘Liar,’ whispered the traitorous voice in her head.

Beth ran a pale-pink lipstick over her lips and pursed them together before she met Libby’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I don’t know why he’s here, but it sounds like he might be interested in what Sam’s doing with the restaurant, so it looks like we’ll be stuck with his company.’ Turning her gaze back to her own reflection, Beth ran a brush through her glossy mane of chestnut hair. ‘I don’t get what the big deal is, Libs. I know he’s a bit up himself, but you’re acting like we’re supping with the devil.’

Libby pulled a face, knowing she was overreacting to the whole business. When she’d walked away from Owen after that first meeting, she’d fully intended to forget him. He might have been the most gorgeous man ever to set foot in the county, but he’d made her feel like a bug under the microscope and been rude about her beloved Lavender Bay to boot! Unfortunately, her subconscious had other ideas and Owen kept popping up in her dreams, the details of which were lurid enough to make a sailor blush. With no prospect of Owen returning, it had seemed harmless enough to distract herself with a daydream or two.

And then Eliza had casually dropped his name into conversation during their recent girls’ night and butterflies had been somersaulting in her middle ever since. Not only was the object of several embarrassing fantasies back in the bay and staying at The Siren, he and Sam were somehow considering going into business together! In the hopes of getting him onside, Sam had asked Beth—and by association, Libby— to join them for a drink that evening.

How the hell she would be able to look him in the eye and not burst into flames from sheer embarrassment, she had no idea. ‘I don’t like him.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie… Hiding her discomfort behind a scowl, she folded her arms. ‘If I remember rightly, you’re not exactly his biggest fan, either.’

Beth turned on the stool, and it was all Libby could do not to wilt under the sweet concern in her eyes. ‘What’s got into you? The main reason for tonight is to meet Jack, and give Eliza a bit of moral support, remember? Owen’s arrogant, yes, but I don’t remember him being unpleasant. All we have to do is exchange a few pleasantries with him and leave the rest to Sam. It’s not like you to let anyone get under your skin like this.’ Beth held out her hand. ‘If it’s going to bother you, then why don’t you give tonight a miss? Eliza won’t mind.’

Their friend had met a local farmer during a visit to the lavender farm which covered the sprawling hills above the bay and they’d hit it off. Still a bit raw from her separation with Martin, Eliza was feeling a bit uncertain about things, but it was clear from the way she’d glowed when talking about him there was more than a spark of attraction between them.

Libby was delighted for her, of course, but it only served to highlight her own lack of success on the romance front. And now the source of her own personal humiliation was back in town and she’d have to deal with it somehow. It wasn’t his lack of interest in her so much as her inability to brush it off and forget him that embarrassed her down to her marrow. That and those ridiculously hot dreams. Libby shuddered, and hoped to hell the man wasn’t some kind of mind-reader or else she’d die on the spot.

Squaring her shoulders, she took the hand Beth offered to her and tugged her from the stool into a quick hug. Eliza needed their moral support, and for that Libby could cope with a little discomfort. ‘I’m being ridiculous. I know how much the restaurant means to Sam, so I can grin and bear it. Let’s go and check out Eliza’s gorgeous farmer. I promise to be on my best behaviour.’

Beth made a beeline straight for Sam, who was sitting on his own. A quick glance around showed no sign of Owen’s close-cropped dark head. Maybe he’d changed his mind about the drink? Feeling hopeful, Libby scooted over to the bar towards where Eliza was positioned behind it. Head swivelling, Libby scanned the patrons looking for Jack. ‘He not here yet then?’

‘Not yet, but there’s a lot of work to do on the farm so it’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.’ Libby couldn’t miss the hint of uncertainty in her friend’s voice as she fished a bottle of white wine out of the fridge behind her, and resolved not to tease her. Eliza held up the wine. ‘You having a large one?’

‘Does the Pope shit in the woods?’ Libby grinned as Eliza shook her head at the deliberately crude comment, but she was laughing too, which was the point.

‘Charming as ever, I see.’ Oh, great. Of course, Owen would choose that moment to pitch up. Bracing herself, Libby turned and gave herself a mental high-five for not fainting dead away. Her fevered memory had done the man a serious misjustice. From the severe crew cut to the tattoo covering his upper arm from the edge of his T-shirt sleeve to his elbow, and the faded jeans clinging to his hips, he looked dangerous and utterly delicious.

Fury at her reaction combined with embarrassment, and all her good intentions flew out of the window. ‘You didn’t fall under a bus then? That’s a pity.’ Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she deliberately gave him her back. ‘If you’re going to let any old riff-raff in here, Eliza, I might have to start drinking somewhere else.’

She could sense him step up beside her, feel the heat of him like a stroke against her skin and it was all she could do to keep her eyes fixed on Eliza. ‘A pint of lager, and I’ll buy your friend a drink if you slip some arsenic in it for me.’

He was only giving back as good as she’d given, but the dig hurt more than it should’ve. Eliza giggling like he was the most hilarious man on the planet didn’t help. And when she slid the money he’d offered back with a simpering smile, Libby barely restrained a hiss at her friend’s traitorous behaviour. ‘What the bloody hell is that all about?’ Libby demanded the second Owen walked away to join Sam and Beth. ‘“It’s on the house.” God, you were practically drooling.’