thinking about it that I realise Henry and Jamie do actually look quite similar and the thought of this man being a hybrid of the two is, coincidentally, exactly what I asked Santa for this year – well, it would be, if I were remotely interested in having a man in my life.
Hmm, no, he’s definitely not a famous actor. I suppose he could be a sportsman. He’s got the build for it, but I don’t know nearly enough about sports to recognise anyone other than David Beckham.
Perhaps he’s a prince, visiting from a sexy European country, looking for a woman to be his queen, or maybe he’s a spy, deep under cover in Marram Bay for some Secret Service operation… Perhaps I’ve just read too many books.
Speaking of which, I unwrap my latest Amazon package to find a copy of Little White Lies, the latest Mia Valentina romcom. I do feel guilty, buying books when money isn’t exactly great, but the day I begrudge myself a £3.99 book (when reading is my favourite thing to do) is the day I really need to think about selling a kidney.
You can’t beat a good book, can you? The way it just drags you in, taking you into someone else’s life, into their home, their relationship – into their everything. It’s a sneak peek into something you don’t usually get to see, and I think that’s why I love it so much. Whether I’m walking through the streets in King’s Landing in A Game of Thrones or being a fly on the wall in Nick and Amy’s house in Gone Girl, people are living a million lives far more interesting than mine, and with books, I get to live them too.
I have my coffee, I have my book, I’m all snuggly and warm in my dressing gown. I know that I won’t have any customers until after lunch at least, because I never do, so there’s no harm in starting my book and enjoying my drink before I head back upstairs to get ready. One chapter turns into two, and before I know it my cup is empty and I’m almost four chapters deep. I’ll finish this one and then I’ll get back to reality.
‘Hello,’ I hear a man’s voice say in an attempt to get my attention.
I glance up from my book to see him standing in front of me – the mystery man, the athlete, the Henry Cavill-Jamie Dornan hybrid, (almost) all I want for Christmas.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘Have you been here long? I used to do the exact same thing when I was younger, just sit here behind the counter, lost in a book while my mum did all the hard work.’
‘Am I in your living room?’ he asks with a laugh.
I pull a puzzled face as I close my book and place it down in front of me. It’s only as I do that I notice the brown sleeves of my reindeer dressing gown and I remember what I’m wearing.
‘Oh, God, no, sorry,’ I babble. ‘It’s a long story. This is a shop and we’re open. I run the place. I’m Ivy.’
I hope down from my stool and walk around the counter to shake his hand.
‘Nice to meet you, Ivy. I’m Seb.’
Seb holds my hand for a few seconds as he peers over my shoulder.
‘Are…are those antlers and a red nose on your hood?’ he asks with an impossibly cheeky smile.
I feel my cheeks flush the same colour as the nose on my dressing gown. ‘Yes,’ I reply with an awkward laugh. ‘I wasn’t expecting any customers yet and it was cold…’
‘No, I like it,’ he replies. ‘It’s cute.’
If it’s even possible, my blushing intensifies.
‘So, business is quiet?’ he asks, walking across the shop, picking up a snow globe from the shelf before shaking it up and watching the flakes fall.
I can’t help but stare at him – not watch him, really stare at him. Taking him in. Seb must be over 6 feet tall, and he’s so muscular that I feel like an elf next to him, my petite, 5’3” frame resulting in me not even coming up to his shoulders.
He has perfectly neat, swept back dark hair, and a thick but short beard – combined with his sexy blue eyes, his chiselled cheekbones and those gorgeous dimples when he smiles are probably the reasons why people so easily mistook him for a Hollywood actor.
‘It’s picking up for Christmas,’ I assure him.
‘It’s a strange thing, a Christmas shop that’s open all year round,’ he muses as he strolls around.
‘It’s not that,’ I insist, following him closely. ‘My mum opened the place up when I was a kid and it was always heaving back then. I took over, after she died, and we were busy for a while. It’s since satnavs became popular. This road used to be the main way into town, so tourists would always pass the shop on their way in or their way out. These days, satnavs lead everyone along the new road, so no one even knows we’re here. We get hikers, and other shops let tourists know we’re here, and they usually remember to stop by.’
‘Hmm,’ Seb says thoughtfully. ‘So, is it just you working here?’
‘You ask a lot of questions,’ I point out.
‘I do,’ he replies. ‘It’s been said before.’
‘What do you do for work?’ I ask.
‘At the moment, nothing,’ he replies.
I raise my eyebrows.
‘What?’ Seb laughs, and there are those dimples again.
I suddenly remember what I’m wearing and tighten the belt of my dressing gown self-consciously.
‘You do nothing?’
‘Nope.’
‘How does a man who does nothing afford a suit like that? And drive around in a Porsche?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘You’ve got me, I’m a drug dealer,’ he says sarcastically. ‘No, I’m just between jobs at the moment. Does this train work?’
Seb runs his hand along the track until he reaches the miniature steam train that used to run all around the shop.
‘Not anymore,’ I admit. ‘It needs repairing.’
‘Shame,’ he says. ‘I like it.’
‘So, you’re just taking a break in Marram Bay then?’ I ask.
‘Just having a look around.’
‘Well, if you need someone to show you the sights,’ I start, before my brain has chance to catch up with my mouth and reality hits me. What am I saying? This isn’t me; I don’t talk to men. Well, I do talk to men, most days in fact, but this isn’t Pete the postman, this is a man man. I don’t know what on earth I was thinking, saying that. There’s just something about Seb that is drawing me in. I quickly backtrack. ‘I’m sure you don’t…’
‘I might just take you up on that, Ivy,’ he replies with a big smile. ‘Do all your customers get this kind of special treatment?’
‘What customers?’ I joke.
Seb takes the snow globe from the shelf
