During the next few days, I didn’t have a spare second in which to start sorting the lodge or mull over the implications of Ned’s request that we should keep my plans under wraps. There was no time to fret over the plethora of feelings and unexpected regrets Sue and her kind words had unleashed either. It was all hands on deck to get ready for the grand opening event and the days flew by in a frenetic whirl of activity.
There was always someone, besides Ned and David, on-site and more often than not they needed a hand. After prioritising the design, printing and distribution of the posters and flyers Ned had asked me to make, I then moved from one hut to the next, assisting in tasks which ranged from hanging shelves, to draping lights and even arranging displays. Given the beautiful products on offer, that was my favourite task.
I made painting the bespoke door signs a clandestine evening project and had set myself up in a corner of the sitting room, after making Ned promise not to peek. I would have been happy for him to just tell me he wouldn’t look, but he’d insisted on making it a pinky promise. As he had wrapped his little finger around mine and looked deep into my eyes as he made his vow, I had felt another rush of internal fizzing, far stronger than the one which had coursed through me when I had handed over the pen on Sunday morning.
I could no longer deny, that the longer I spent in his company, the more I liked him. As in liked him, liked him, not just thought he was a good guy and the right man to buy my stake in Wynter’s Trees. There was a definite spark there and an instant attraction and I was grateful to have painting the signs to focus on when we returned to the lodge at the end of every day, rather than lounging on the sofa and talking through his plans for the place.
It was hard enough internally acknowledging that, during my time helping set up the huts, I had felt a little of the magic my father had always insisted weaved its way about the place, so I certainly didn’t need to throw developing feelings for Ned into the mix as well. Consequently, I strove to keep myself continually occupied and ignored the stirrings in my heart.
‘So,’ I said, from behind the makeshift screen I’d set up as I finished the plaque which was to adorn Abbie and Noah’s beach hut door, ‘is there much left to do tomorrow?’
I could cope better talking to Ned if he was at a distance, just far enough to make his freckles a blur was ideal. However, when I looked over the top of the screen and saw him stretched out, surrounded by paperwork and with Bandit asleep on the rug close by, my libido longed to join him. I quickly bobbed back down again.
‘The bird feeders and baths should be here between eight and nine in the morning,’ he told me, ‘so I’m going to get those set up early and then I’ll make a start on the extra lights.’
It had always been Dad’s dream to extend the nature reserve as far into the plantation as possible and Ned and I had decided to set up a couple of bird feeding stations, in and around the yard, which would hopefully help further achieve that vision. One was going to be right next to the lodge and the other, next to the barn. They were supposed to be squirrel proof and I hoped they lived up to their glowing online promises. We wanted to attract more fluffy, feathered finches and their kind, not more furry grey pillaging creatures.
‘More lights?’ I asked, quirking an eyebrow, even though Ned couldn’t see it.
Mum had always maintained you could never have too many twinkly lights and given all the extra strands Ned had already hung up, he obviously subscribed to the same sparkly seasonal theory.
‘I thought we should try and give Blackpool a run for its money this year,’ he said, and I could tell from his tone that he was smiling.
‘Or Buddy Hall, from Deck the Halls,’ I said, stretching out my back and rolling my shoulders, before standing up.
‘Don’t be absurd, Liza.’ he teased. ‘There are nowhere near enough lights to be seen from space. Although,’ he added, tapping his pen against his chin, ‘you have just given me another idea.’
I shook my head as he scribbled something extra on his lengthy to-do list, but didn’t ask what it was. My participation in the Wynter’s Trees festive plans, and achieving the final few things on Dad’s wish list, had already stretched my involvement as far as I was willing to let it go.
‘Would you like a hot chocolate?’ I asked, turning off the desk light and walking over to the kitchen.
‘Oh yes, please,’ Ned nodded. ‘That’s just what I fancy.’
‘With or without marshmallows?’
He twisted round and shot me a look loaded with disbelief. ‘Are you serious?’ he gasped.
He looked utterly outraged.
‘Oh, my mum would have loved you, Ned,’ I laughed.
The words tripped easily off my tongue but the moment they were uttered, I felt a lump form in my throat. What with Sue being a member of the beach hut crew and Ned’s fondness for festooning lights, Mum had been on my mind a lot during the last few days.
‘Do you really think so?’ he asked, as I busied myself pouring milk and cream into the pan and setting it to warm on the stove.
‘Yes,’ I huskily said. ‘I do. And,’ I added, blinking hard to banish a prickle of tears, ‘Dad would think you’re the perfect fit for this place too.’
As Dad had seamlessly settled into the routine of life at Wynter’s Trees, I hadn’t thought it possible for there to be another soul in the entire world who was as in love with Christmas as he was, but here Ned was. The embodiment of festive feeling and capable of making my heart race at breakneck speed.
‘Wow,’ he said, setting his list aside and wandering over to watch me prepare the copper hammered mugs which had always been my favourite. ‘That’s really something. And what about you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes,’ he said, sounding a little unsure. ‘What do you think?’
I let my gaze flick quickly to his.
‘Given that I hadn’t know you for longer than five minutes before I was asking you to buy me out of the business, that should be obvious, shouldn’t it?’
I could feel a blush beginning to bloom.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I guess, but I get the feeling there’s something else.’
‘Something else?’ I croaked as my mouth went dry.
‘Um,’ he nodded.
‘No,’ I said, ‘nothing else. I think you’re great.’
My cheeks glowed an even deeper shade of red.
‘Well, that’s all right then,’ he softly said, ‘because I think you’re great too.’
I’d suddenly completely lost track of what I was supposed to be doing. The pan was dangerously close to boiling over, so I quickly turned it off and turned my attention to the cupboard where Dad had always kept his supply of chocolate.
‘Liza,’ Ned throatily said.
I was just about to turn around when his phone began to ring.
‘You’d better get that,’ I said, reaching up for a bar that was eighty per cent cocoa and breaking it in half.
‘Damn,’ he muttered, pulling the phone out of his pocket as I broke the generous chocolate chunk into smaller pieces and slid them into the pan. ‘Hello.’
He was still talking when the chocolate had completely melted, turning the milk dark and velvety smooth. I placed his marshmallow-laden mug on the table next to him and quickly took myself off to bed. As I sipped my drink and slipped between the sheets, I couldn’t help thinking I was going to have to find a way to nip my developing feelings for Ned firmly in the bud and fast.
By mid-afternoon on Thursday, excitement for the evening launch had reached fever pitch. The whole of Wynter’s Trees was engulfed in a party atmosphere and I was surprised to find that I was well and truly caught up in it.
On more than one occasion I wished I could tell my dad that I finally had some idea about what he had meant when he talked about the enchantment of the place, but I was battling hard to temper my enthusiasm. I’d only been here a week and knew that when reality struck, along with the sense of post-Christmas isolation, it wouldn’t take long for the novelty to wear off.
Wynter’s Trees had proved surprisingly manageable, fun even, in this teeny tiny dose, but long-term it still wasn’t the place for me. And, as I didn’t want Ned or David interpreting my current enthusiasm and willingness to help out as anything more meaningful, I knew I was going to have to dial my reactions down a bit. I was still fully committed to my travel plans and setting up my own business. Nothing was going to sway me from those.
‘Liza!’ called Wren, beckoning me over. ‘Did you make all these?’
She pointed along the row of huts at the signs which I had very much enjoyed designing and painting. In the end, I hadn’t hung them on the doors because they were going to be pinned open, but had nailed them in place below the gable ends instead.
With the gables slightly overhanging they would be protected from the worst of the winter weather and with a small light, cleverly installed by David, fixed above each one they stood out well. And that was in spite of the extra lights which Ned had hung and which lit the yard to the point where it was almost brighter than a summer’s day.
‘I did,’ I said. ‘Do you like them?’
‘They’re wonderful,’ said Abbie, wheeling herself out from her hut and looking up at hers and Noah’s.
‘You’ve clearly still got the artistic knack, Liza,’ winked Sue. ‘You know, you could start a small business of your own selling these.’
‘That’s a nice idea,’ I told her, ‘but my heart’s still in my job.’
She looked at me and frowned and I realised I’d just hinted that my stay at Wynter’s Trees wasn’t a long-term proposition.
‘Liza!’ shouted Ned, thankfully saving me from having to think of something to say to cover my mistake. ‘Can you give me a hand?’
‘I’d better see what he wants,’ I said, readily abandoning Sue and the others.
That had been a close call.
‘What’s up?’ I asked Ned who sounded stressed.
‘I can’t get this blasted tree to sit straight,’ he huffed, pointing an accusatory finger at the potted tree which was supposed to be artfully arranged in the back of the Chevy. ‘There’s something wrong with the bloody thing.’
I’d never seen him looking so stressed, not even on the day when I had told him and David of my intention to sell, and quickly climbed up into the back of the truck. The problem was immediately obvious.
‘That’s because you’ve left your hammer in here,’ I tutted, wrenching it out from under the pot, which then sat perfectly straight.
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking all over for that.’
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
I had earlier assumed that everyone was caught up in the party atmosphere, but Ned looked far from being in a celebratory mood.
‘No,’ he said, and I noticed his hands were shaking a little as I handed him back the hammer. ‘Not really.’
‘Come with me,’ I commanded, jumping back out of the truck, before whistling for Bandit and guiding the pair of them into the office where David was sat behind the desk, a pile of papers one side and a checklist on the other.
I pushed Ned into a chair and Bandit rushed to his side. Ned buried his hands in the dog’s deep, warm fur and let out a long breath.
‘What’s wrong?’ David frowned.
‘Not sure,’ I shrugged. ‘I just found him having a meltdown about a wonky tree.’
‘I was not having a meltdown,’ said Ned, looking up.
‘I was talking about Bandit,’ I joked, relieved so see a smile tugging at the corner of Ned’s mouth a moment later.
‘If you’re still worried about the insurance,’ David said to his son, ‘don’t be. I’ve been through everything with a fine-tooth comb and everything and everyone is covered.’
‘What insurance?’ I asked.
‘In fact,’ David continued. ‘I was just checking it all again, to make extra sure and it’s all fine, Ned.’
‘Insurance for the plantation, do you mean?’ I asked again.
‘For the plantation, for the huts, for serving the food, for pretty much everything,’ said Ned. ‘And then there’s Santa’s DBS check which still hasn’t come through.’
‘Yes, it has,’ said David, waving a sheet of paper. ‘It’s here. I printed it off a few minutes ago and Nick’s now getting changed ready to welcome the children.’
Ned let out another long breath and sat back in the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Bandit rested a foot on his thigh and looked adoringly up at his owner. Clearly, there was a whole lot going on behind the scenes that I knew nothing about and to be honest, I was rather grateful not to have been involved if the worry lines that were currently etched across Ned’s brow were any indicator of how stressful running the place could really be.
Dad had never shown so much as a hint of it, but then he hadn’t launched a venture which could impact the lives of anyone other than his and mine.
‘Nick,’ I said, only just realising what David had said. ‘Seriously?’
My dad’s name had been Nicholas and now we had a guy called Nick taking on the role of Santa. What were the odds? No one could accuse Wynter’s Trees of being anything other than authentic.
‘Yes,’ smiled David. ‘He’s new this year and his wife’s helping out too.’
Dad always regretted that he didn’t have time to don the red outfit, boots and beard, but in order to have managed that he would have had to clone himself. Personally, I was thankful he’d hired someone else for the role. Chelsea would have had a field day if Dad had been Father Christmas too.
‘So, Santa’s here tonight?’ I smiled, dismissing thoughts of Chelsea and remembering the lengthy queues of excited children.
‘He is,’ said David. ‘In the usual spot in the corner of the barn. And he’ll be here every time the huts are open too. Even though the school-aged children won’t be here during the week, the little ones might be and Ned’s arranged a visit from the local mother and toddler group and the playgroup, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Ned, distractedly running his hands through his hair. ‘I must have been mad. We’re never going to keep on top of it all.’
Bandit threw me a concerned look.
‘Of course, you will,’ I stoically said. ‘It’s bound to be busy though and this first extended open season will be a steep learning curve, but I’ve no doubt you’ll handle it and I’m here.’ I added. ‘I’ll carry on helping where I can.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Ned said, looking marginally calmer.
‘Of course, I am,’ I told him. ‘And if it does prove to be a bit too much, you’ll just have to draft in some extra help for a few weeks.’
There were already a couple of volunteers milling about wearing tinsel enhanced high-vis jackets to help with the parking so I knew Ned wasn’t going to be short of extra help if he really did get stuck.
‘I do have someone who helps on the farm when it gets busy,’ Ned told me, ‘and I suppose the huts will be the responsibility of the business owner’s, won’t they?’
‘Exactly,’ I said.
‘I just want everything to be perfect.’
‘Perfection is an illusion,’ said David, paraphrasing Charlie Mackesy. ‘If you’re expecting perfection, then you’re going to be disappointed, son. Far better to enjoy the good bits and deal with the odd blip as it happens.’
There was a brisk knock on the door and then a belly appeared, held in by a shiny buckled belt. A rosy cheeked face came next, surrounded by a haze of white hair and a slightly unkempt beard.
‘There’s quite a crowd gathering,’ beamed the guy who could only be Nick.
I couldn’t rein in the smile which spread across my face. His voice was so deep I had no doubt that his laugh would be wonderful.
‘Thanks, Nick,’ said David. ‘We’re coming now.’
He tottered off to take up his station in the screened off corner of the barn which had always served as a grotto. It had its own tree and electric woodburning stove, and was softly lit, with festive music playing, to add to the magical ambience. The memory of it almost tempted me to go and pay a visit myself.
Ned and David stood up and I clipped Bandit’s lead to his collar, just in case he got a bit too excited.
‘Where did you find the cushion for Santa’s belly?’ I quietly asked David.
Father and son looked at each other and grinned.
‘He brings his own padding,’ David told me with a wink and together we left the office laughing.
Nick had been right. Since I’d dragged Ned into the office, lots of people had arrived and were standing in a noisy group, waiting for someone to step up and officially open proceedings. I was just beginning to panic that person would have to be me, when Ned jumped into the back of the Chevy and the crowd fell quiet. David stood beside me and I ran a hand over Bandit’s fur to settle the flutter of nerves which had bubbled up in anticipation of what Ned was going to say.
‘Good evening,’ he said, smiling broadly and looking much happier than he had just a few minutes before, ‘and welcome to the launch of the first ever Wynter’s Trees festive shopping night.’
Everyone cheered and I could see the beach hut crew all eagerly waiting outside the huts to welcome the visitors and make some sales. Wren gave me a thumbs up and I waved back.
‘As you know,’ Ned continued, ‘the beach huts were originally destined for Wynmouth but we think they look right at home here, and we hope you do too.’
This was met with more cheers and some enthusiastic clapping.
‘By we of course,’ Ned carried on, ‘I mean David, my wonderful dad who has been running this place for the last four years and none other than Liza Wynter herself, who we are thrilled to have here with us tonight.’
More clapping followed and Ned looked at me and grinned. I wondered if he thought the crowd’s enthusiastic response to my presence might have some impact on my decision to sell. Blushing as a few curious glances came my way, I knew it wouldn’t.
‘This is going to be my dad’s last Christmas at the farm,’ Ned then carried on, his voice catching as he looked fondly at his father, ‘and I’m determined to make it a good one. Wynter’s Trees is a truly magical place and even though we have made a few changes, I want you all to know that Nicholas Wynter’s legacy and his love for Wynmouth and the surrounding countryside is still at the heart of everything we do.’
‘Hear! Hear!’ shouted David, making me jump.
As everyone clapped again, I felt Bandit lean heavily into my legs, as if he knew I needed some extra support.
‘I’m delighted to have Liza’s blessing for this exciting new venture,’ said Ned, smiling down at me again, ‘and I would dearly love to invite her up here to say a few words.’
He laughed as I returned his look with what must have been one of sheer terror.
‘However,’ he said, ‘I don’t think she would ever forgive me so, without further ado, I declare the evening, open!’
A breath I hadn’t realised I had been holding, rushed out of my lungs and the crowd surged forward. Some people headed straight for the huts, while others made a beeline with their little ones to queue for an audience with Santa and the rest were seduced by the smell of the delicious food Hope and Sophie had cooked up. That pair were the pied pipers of the food world.
‘I’m just going to take Bandit back to the lodge,’ I said to David, before Ned reached us. ‘He’s a bit restless.’
‘Good idea,’ David agreed. ‘Then you can have a proper look at everything.’
Bandit made no protest when I settled him in front of the log burner with a chew from his treat box and I took a moment to compose myself before venturing back outside.
The atmosphere was amazing. The scent of mulled cider and wine filled the air, mixing and mingling with the food. There were carollers singing, lights twinkling and overall, there was the sound of laughter. The queue for photos in front of the Chevy was almost as long as the line to visit Santa and the throngs of people going in and out of the huts carrying brown paper parcels and bags suggested that the tills were ringing too. It was all absolutely perfect and I hoped everyone would continue to come back in droves in the run-up to Christmas.
As I wrapped my gloved hands around a warming mug of cider, and looked about me, I knew that this clever idea was exactly what Wynter’s Trees needed to move it forward and that the clever, handsome and kind man behind it, had fast found his way into my heart.
