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

The moment she’d snapped the words, she regretted them. She’d been the one in danger of needing a napkin whilst Eliza had been nothing more than polite to a man who was not only a paying guest, but who might hold the key to her brother’s future prospects. If she carried on projecting like this, she’d end up having to confess her messy feelings to her friends. The too-keen glint in Eliza’s eye said Libby’s dramatic reaction had already piqued her curiosity.

‘What’s the problem? You’ve barely exchanged more than two words with the guy and yet there’s all this animosity between you. Has he done something to upset you?’

Libby shrugged, knowing she was acting like a sulky teenager. There was nothing she could say without confessing she’d been dreaming about him like some love-sick schoolgirl. Having no boyfriend when her friends were getting cosy was bad enough without admitting the best she’d been able to do was dream about a bloke she didn’t even like! Feeling embarrassed and awkward, she couldn’t help but overreact to every mention of him.

It didn’t help that he looked better than ever tonight. The black T-shirt he’d teamed with a pair of faded jeans stretched across a set of surprisingly broad shoulders. She’d only ever seen him in a suit before, and the cut of his jacket hadn’t done justice to his physique. Libby ripped her gaze away before she did something ridiculous like climb him like a monkey. ‘He’s a stuck-up git, that’s all. Why are you and Sam so chummy with him all of a sudden?’

Eliza frowned. ‘I thought Beth would’ve mentioned it to you. Owen stumbled across Sam going over the plans for the restaurant and he offered to take a look. Having someone with his experience involved in the project can only strengthen Sam’s position, and he might even agree to invest because the bank have been dragging their heels apparently. You know how important this is to Sam—to Beth as well. This is their future in the balance. Owen told Sam he was still on the lookout for projects situated here in the bay to invest in.’ She took Libby’s hand. ‘If he’s bad news then we need to warn Sam.’

What a hash of things she was making thanks to a bit of singed pride and a ridiculous crush. Sam had been working so hard on his plans for Subterranean and Libby would be damned if she’d throw a spanner in the works. Owen seemed determined to find an investment opportunity in the area, why else would he be back down here after things had fallen through with his plan to buy up the emporium from Beth? And where better for his money to go than supporting her friends? ‘Ignore me, he…’ It was on the tip of her tongue to confess her embarrassment, but she couldn’t face Eliza’s sympathy just then. Eliza would be lovely and sympathetic and Libby would feel like even more of a failure on the romantic front. Why couldn’t she bump into a gorgeous farmer like Eliza had, or fall in love with the boy next door, like Beth? Libby snorted to herself; the ‘boy’ who lived next door to the chippy was 70 if he was a day. ‘He just winds me up for some reason.’ It sounded pathetic, but Libby was determined not to dig the hole she was in any deeper. Taking a sip of her wine to steady herself, she decided to shift the conversation onto more solid ground. ‘I wonder why he’s so fixated on our little town; you can’t get much further from the glamour of London than Lavender Bay.’

Eliza shrugged, her attention now on the small group across the room rather than on Libby, thank goodness. ‘Maybe that’s the point, who knows? Sam and I thought a friendly drink would help grease the wheels a bit.’ Which made perfect sense, much to Libby’s chagrin, and Eliza’s next words did nothing to make her feel any better about her ridiculous behaviour as she echoed Beth’s earlier sentiment. ‘If you really don’t like him then I don’t want to spoil your evening. We can probably just leave him and Sam to chat…’

Darling Eliza, always the mediator, even when she must have been beside herself with nerves over Jack coming to meet everyone. Libby gulped another mouthful of wine. ‘If it means that much to Sam then I can put up with Mr Full Of Himself for a few hours. But I’m not going to kiss up to him, so don’t expect me to.’

Eliza raised on tiptoe to give her a quick hug across the bar. ‘I’m not asking you to, just don’t shank him with a wooden spork from the chippy, all right?’ They both snorted at the idea and just like that, Libby’s bad mood evaporated.

Thankfully, Jack arrived not long afterwards and Libby’s conflicting emotions about Owen were pushed to the back of her mind as she did her best to make him feel welcome. It wasn’t exactly a chore—Jack went out of his way to be charming, and it was clear from the way they looked at each other that there was the potential for something special between him and Eliza. She could even forgive him for refusing an offer to tour the skittle alley beneath the pub which would be the location for Subterranean in favour of spending a bit of quiet time with Eliza, leaving her without a buffer as she trooped downstairs behind Beth, Sam and Owen.

Sam’s enthusiasm for the project was infectious, and Libby couldn’t wait to see his vision come to life. Owen seemed to have forgotten their little snit at the bar, and she was only too glad to do the same. She’d chosen a seat beside him, and even managed to shift it further away from him without being too obvious about it. At least this way she could keep her eyes on the others and not stare at him like a complete idiot. They didn’t address each other directly, but the conversation flowed easily enough thanks to Beth’s subtle efforts. As they worked their way through a second round of drinks, Libby finally found herself relaxing enough to enjoy herself. Owen would be back on the train to London soon enough, and she could get back to pretending he didn’t exist.

The men drifted into a discussion over some football competition Jack’s nephew was involved in and Libby let the conversation wash over her as she checked the time on her phone. She’d have to make a move in a minute—though her dad had said he’d be fine on his own, Libby wanted to be back in the shop to lend him a hand with the late-evening influx of customers. Five more minutes and then she really needed to be off. Glancing up, she caught the intent look on Owen’s face and started to pay more attention. From the way he was talking it sounded like he intended to help Jack out at the football. ‘But if it’s next weekend, you won’t be here!’

All her worst fears were realised when Owen aimed a broad grin at her. ‘Now that Sam and I are going into business together, you’re going to be seeing a whole lot more of me about the bay.’

Oh. God.

‘You’re serious?’ Sam asked Owen, and for one desperate second Libby’s hopes rose because maybe Owen had just been trying to wind her up.

‘Absolutely. We can hammer out the details over the next few days. I’ll need to go back to London on Sunday night, but most of my current projects are well in hand so I can be here next weekend. See if you can make an appointment with the bank manager for the Monday or Tuesday afterwards. We should have things sorted between us by then I reckon.’

Monday or Tuesday afterwards? He was talking like he intended to become a permanent resident. And if he was working with Sam and playing football with Jack, then there would be no avoiding him. After her dad, Beth and Eliza meant everything to Libby so she would either have to spend less time with their group or find a way to get over this nonsense with Owen. Hanging around with two couples, how long would it be before the suggestions and teasing about them getting together started? Her stomach churned at the thought. He’d already made it clear he had zero interest in her. How humiliating would it be to have her nose rubbed in it again?

Unable to bear the thought, she stood abruptly. ‘I need to get back and give Dad a hand with the late-evening rush. I’ll see you later, B.’ There was time enough yet, but if she sat there a moment longer, she’d give the game away.

To her absolute horror, Owen stood up. ‘I’ll walk back with you. Sam was telling me earlier how you make the best fish and chips in the county. I missed dinner, so I’m starving.’

Well, what on earth was she supposed to do now? ‘Fine.’ Turning on her heel, Libby marched towards the door.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_121e2fcf-004e-592c-8696-fe96f40ef1e5)

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Owen affected an air of utter relaxation as he strolled along in the angry wake of the tiny pixie—Libby. He couldn’t quite get his head around her having such a sweet name. With all her spiky edges, and not just the rainbow-coloured ones radiating from her head, she should have been called something bolder. Libby was for a soft, sweet girl who knitted blankets for stray kittens, or some such nonsense. Maybe she did, it wasn’t like he knew the first damn thing about her—other than the fact she clearly couldn’t stand to be within five feet of him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Oh, and the fact he’d agreed to buy her father’s business.

He’d assumed Mick Stone’s cloak and dagger act over selling the chip shop to Owen—insisting on meeting him miles away from the bay and then extracting his promise to wait until New Year’s Eve to assume final possession of the chip shop—was a bit over the top, but maybe not. If Libby had any idea her dad was selling up, she’d made no indication of it. He’d snooped a time or two during her conversations with her friends, and all talk had been around long-term plans. It was never too early for women to start talking about Christmas, apparently.

Not the kind of thing someone who was preparing to leave the bay and strike out on her own would be talking about, though her dad had talked more about the freedom the sale of his business would give his daughter than his own plans for retirement. He needed to dig into it, find out what he was getting himself caught up in. ‘So, selling fish and chips is your ideal career then?’

Libby stopped so suddenly, like she’d slammed into an invisible wall, that he almost trod on her heels. As a result, when she spun to face him, they were almost nose-to-chest. Christ, she really is tiny. A gentleman would stand back so she didn’t have to crane her neck to meet his eye. Owen might be a lot of things, but a gentleman had never been one of them, so he stood his ground and waited for the tirade. It didn’t take long.

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? Running a chippy might not live up to your lofty standards, but it’s good honest work. We help the community and provide a decent meal at a reasonable price. Why is that something to sneer at?’

Well, that didn’t sound like someone ready to move on, did it? He was starting to get a really bad feeling about this. Holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, he sought to smooth her ruffled feathers. ‘Sorry. I have a habit of shoving my foot in my mouth every time I talk to you. I just wondered if you were satisfied with what you’re doing.’

She fixed a suspicious squint on him, before the tightness in her frame eased. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat, you just…’ She paused long enough he thought she didn’t mean to continue the thought, then muttered, ‘you rub me up the wrong way.’

The idea of rubbing her in any kind of way destroyed several brain cells and most of his self-restraint. With effort, Owen forced himself to move until a reasonable amount of space opened up between them. ‘We did start off rather badly.’

To his surprise, Libby threw back her head and roared with unrestrained laughter. ‘That might be the understatement of the century.’

Her laughter was infectious, and he found himself joining in. ‘At least I know I’m safe as long as I stick to the pedestrian promenade.’ At her quizzical look, he made a shoving motion. ‘No passing buses for me to fall under.’

‘Oh, that.’ The faintest hint of a blush coloured her cheeks, before she straightened her shoulders. ‘I seem to remember something about webbed fingers and arsenic, so don’t be playing the hard-done-by card with me.’ She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to the slimness of her frame as it drew her baggy top taut. ‘You started it.’

Scowling at her faulty memory, Owen mirrored her pose. ‘You started it. You called me a colossal arse.’

‘That’s because you were being a colossal arse. Look, I get that you’re some kind of sex god throwing off pheromones left, right and centre, and I’m just the weird-looking local you wouldn’t look twice at, but you didn’t have to stomp me down quite so harshly just for approaching you.’ The colour drained from her face, leaving her skin a waxy shade. Holding her hands out as though to ward him off, she backed up a few steps. ‘Oh, God! Get away from me. I can’t control my mouth when I’m around you.’ She turned on her DM-booted heels and started running.

Well now, that was all very illuminating. It would appear he wasn’t the only one feeling a spark of attraction beneath those layers of animosity. And, unlike him, Libby seemed very unhappy about it. A gentleman would turn on his heel and give her time to gather her equilibrium, but as had already been established, Owen was no gentleman. He was a sex god, apparently. Time to throw off a few more pheromones and see what happened next. With a grin he had no doubt most would call smug playing about his lips, he hurried after Libby.

With the difference in their strides, he was only a few paces behind her as Libby rushed through the front door of the chip shop. The clatter of her boots on the tiled floor turned all eyes towards them, including those of the man behind the counter. Mick Stone took one look at Owen and blurted out, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Thankfully, Libby assumed the question was aimed at her. ‘I’ve come to help you with the late shift, what do you think I’m doing here?’ she asked as she edged past the queue to slip around the edge of the counter. ‘Give me two seconds to get my coat on.’ She placed a quick kiss on her father’s cheek and disappeared out the back.

Joining the back of the queue, Owen made a show of studying the large menu on the wall above Mick’s head. ‘I heard in the pub this is the place for the best fish and chips for miles around and I had to check it out for myself. Anyone have recommendations?’ As he’d hoped, the people ahead of him were all happy to offer an opinion and a friendly, if heated, discussion started of the merits of cod over haddock.

Libby returned, still buttoning up a white coat with her wild hair tamed beneath the ugliest hair net he’d ever seen. She took one look at him, bristled, then fixed a brilliant smile on the woman at the front of the line. ‘Evening, Rose, what’ll it be for you tonight?’

Fascinated, Owen watched as Libby and her dad paid particular attention to each and every customer. Conversations rose and fell like the tide washing on the beach as others waiting joined in with their own observations and chatter. Ten minutes later and he still hadn’t made it to the front of the queue, and to his shock it didn’t bother Owen one bit.

Had he been in London, he’d have complained long before now, would likely have already walked out in disgust at being kept waiting, but the likelihood of the scene before him unfolding in any of his local takeaways was about on a par with a unicorn charging down Kensington High Street. He’d used the Chinese at the end of his street pretty much every week for the past three years and still didn’t have a clue what the couple who ran it were called. Thanks to the ordering app on his phone, he didn’t even need to speak to them beyond giving a number and saying thank you when they handed over his usual crispy beef, chicken and pineapple with a side of special fried rice in a white carrier bag. Not that they went out of their way to be chatty, either.

There was definitely a different pace to life down here, and he would have to make some readjustments now he’d be spending more time in the bay. The deal with Sam over his restaurant had come out of nowhere. Owen had been on the hunt for an early morning coffee and come across the plans spread over the kitchen table in the pub.

A day spent poring over the plans for Subterranean had left him genuinely excited by the project. Sam had a fantastic vision, and plenty of top chefs had proven success with regional restaurants. It would be a gamble, but if they could position a couple of features in the right newspapers, the punters would flock to the coast for the chance to say they’d been the first to discover a hot new talent.

As for the chip shop, it occupied an absolute prime piece of real estate right in the centre of the promenade. Like many of the buildings along the seafront, it sprawled over three storeys, with living accommodation occupying the top two floors. He hadn’t yet decided whether he’d retain the retail space below, but with a bit of rejigging—and the requisite planning permission—the upper floors could be transformed into a couple of luxury duplexes complete with roof terraces. With some discreet planting, no one would be any the wiser about the terraces and he’d be able to provide a secluded spot for the discerning sunbather without altering the façade of the building.

His eyes strayed to Libby, red-faced from the heat as she lifted a basket of piping-hot chips from the fryer and wondered if he should tell her she’d directly influenced his plans. Her comments about ugly modern apartments changing the appearance of the promenade had stuck with him. It would be important to get the locals on side as any protests from them might put a spanner in the works. Only he couldn’t tell her anything about it, thanks to the ludicrous deal he’d struck with Mick about keeping quiet until after Christmas.

The back of his neck itched. When Mick’s ‘girl’ had been some amorphous, unknown individual, Owen hadn’t given two hoots about what she did or didn’t know about the deal. He’d never referred to her by name during their discussions and it was only during a chat with Sam that morning that Owen had put two and two together. Mick had assured him he was the sole title holder to the property since the passing of his wife, so whatever family drama selling up might cause would be his problem. He’d asked Owen to hold off so he could have one last Christmas with ‘his girl’, and as the timing had suited him, Owen had no objections.

Now he knew Libby was involved, it didn’t sit so well with him, especially when his new business partner was so closely connected to her two friends. It was clear the three women were very close, and if she objected to the sale of her childhood home and place of work, it could make things very awkward for everyone. He’d have to dig a little deeper, try and get to know Libby without giving the game away. Getting a bit closer to her wouldn’t be a hardship in the least.

It was finally his turn to be served. With a polite nod to Mick, Owen fixed a big grin on Libby who was doing her best to pretend he wasn’t there. ‘Evening, Libby.’

The glare she flicked his way all but scorched the skin off his face, but she was saved from responding by Mick. ‘You two know each other then?’

Resting one elbow on the counter, Owen turned partly towards him, but made sure to keep Libby in his eyeline. ‘Yup. We’ve met a couple of times in the pub. Just spent the evening together, haven’t we?’