Christmas at the Little Clock House on the Green: An enchanting and warm-hearted romance full of Christmas cheer. Eve Devon
the tiniest hesitation hover behind those brunia berry eyes and then Emma was smiling warmly and gushing, ‘Everything is perfect.’
‘You’re sure?’ Juliet queried maybe seeing the merest hesitation as well. ‘Heating’s a bit temperamental and I meant to warn you about the cats.’
‘Ah. I think I met one of them this morning. I woke up with the weirdest feeling like I was being stared at. Turned over, and discovered I was.’
Juliet laughed. ‘If it was a ginger Tom it was probably Aramis getting a quick look to report back how stunning you are. If it was a Persian and staring at you like he’d never met a stupider human, then it was Catty McCatface.’
‘It was definitely the second one.’
‘Sorry about Catty. He knows we’ve moved house, but,’ Juliet sighed, ‘well he’ll do anything to maintain his ornery rep.’
‘I probably shouldn’t try to make friends, then?’
‘God no, it’ll only make him laugh at you more. The best way to win him over is to pretend he doesn’t exist.’
‘Treat him mean, keep him keen, huh?’
Jake watched Emma’s bee-stung lips form a quick smile. It occurred to him that she didn’t look like she had a mean bone in her body, but then looks could be deceiving, couldn’t they?
‘So you two have already met?’ Kate asked looking between Emma and Jake.
‘We certainly have,’ she replied, and then with a huge wink, added, ‘He thinks I’m beautiful.’
‘She prefers to call me, Sir,’ he quipped back.
‘Sir?’ Daniel asked as he walked into the room carrying one small box of lights. ‘That’s a new one. Hi, I’m Daniel,’ he said, offering his hand in introduction to Emma, ‘and I’m pretty sure this one,’ he said with a nod to Jake, ‘actually answers to Oi, You, as well, okay?’
‘Good to know,’ Emma said and looking at him added, ‘I actually tried him out on Eeyore.’
‘Eeyore?’ Daniel threw his head back and laughed. ‘Priceless.’ And then made the mistake of looking at Jake, and correctly interpreting the glint of murderous violence in his gaze, cleared his throat and said, ‘Um … that doesn’t sound like him at all.’
Emma gave Jake a look suggesting she wasn’t often wrong and it annoyed the hell out of him that he should care what she thought. ‘I’ll probably come up with a few other names for him while I’m here,’ she added.
‘Depends how long you’re here for, I suppose,’ Jake replied, and if she wanted to infer from his statement that he didn’t think she’d last five minutes, he had absolutely no problem with that.
‘Unless I decide to bar him on opening night, that is,’ she said with another grin at him.
‘What the hell could you bar me for?’ he asked with a frown.
‘Oh, I don’t know … maybe cruelty to cows?’
He opened his mouth but before he could say anything she turned and asked, ‘Daniel, what’ll you have to drink?’
‘Cappuccino please.’
‘Coming right up.’
‘And I’d like a Cortado, please,’ Jake decided, thinking he might cope better with the bar between them.
‘Sure,’ she said, walking up to the machine that had been installed behind the bar and then busied herself pressing buttons and pulling leavers, giving every impression she was the new Doctor getting the TARDIS started.
With Juliet making a call on her phone and Daniel and Kate talking about the scary non-existence of Christmas lights on the shop shelves, Jake had no choice but to stand at the bar waiting for his coffee.
‘You might want to remove some layers,’ he said, disliking that he’d noticed that the dusky pink wrap gave her skin a warm glow. ‘We have this thing called central heating now.’
‘How modern,’ she threw over her shoulder, before casually unwinding the pashmina to reveal a soft grey v-neck jumper.
She tossed the pashmina at him and he caught it automatically, his hands clenching around the soft wool. He could still feel her body heat. Any moment now he’d sniff it like a horny teenager.
Thank God she was behind the bar so that the glimpse of long legs, despite her height, encased in skinny jeans that had probably once been black but were now so faded and silvery-soft, was mostly barred from his view.
‘Oh, guys,’ Emma said, looking over at Kate and Daniel. ‘Did you get the footstall ordered?’
‘Yep,’ Kate said. ‘It’s out the back in the kitchen.’
‘Great.’ She popped back in front of him to pass him the coffee she’d made for him. ‘It’s such a chore being short,’ she confided.
Jake refused to allow his eyes to wander any lower than hers and took a careful sip from the glass of coffee she’d given him. ‘You’ve done this before,’ he murmured, taking another sip.
She leaned casually on the bar. ‘I thought everyone knew that actress is actually short for barista?’
‘Well, Hollywood, you make a pretty good short barista.’
‘Only pretty good? Hmm. Wait ’til you see my acting,’ she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.
He studied her for a few minutes, before saying quietly, ‘I thought I already was.’
Jake
Jake watched wariness and hurt flood Emma’s eyes before she quickly turned and began efficiently setting out tea on a tray.
Damn.
Briefly, he wondered if there were as many words for ‘idiot’ in Eskimo as there were for ‘snow’ because even though she might be some Hollywood actress who was going to take off the minute it got cold proper, that didn’t mean he had to behave like he was counting down the minutes until she did.
He watched as with practised ease, she shoulder-pressed the heavy round tray with one hand and strode confidently over to one of the largest tables.
If he were the fanciful sort he might think she looked like some Nordic warrior, striding across the room with purpose, her pale gold hair flowing down her back.
Thank God he wasn’t.
And right there he was hit with the realisation of exactly why he’d been behaving like an arse.
Being called Eeyore aside, it was actually because she’d accused him of not having a romantic bone in his body.
Why the hell he should care if she was right, he didn’t know.
Life was altogether a lot more bearable if he didn’t go around acting and feeling like some bloody poet in love.
Been there. Done that. Not to mention been given the billowy shirt by his comedian brothers as a joke.
In his family, when they’d all been vying for roles growing-up, the minute he’d expressed more than a passing interest in the gardens on the estate he’d been labelled ‘The Romantic’ of the family. Ironic, really, considering he’d been the only Knightley not to labour under the idyll that the family money would never run out.
As soon as he’d started adding girls into the mix, his brothers and sisters had absolutely