LITMIR.BIZ

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giggle takes me by surprise and I point at him accusatorily. ‘And you almost had me taken in this morning too. I knew it would be awful.’

      ‘It’s not,’ he says with a grin, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture. ‘It’s not supposed to be tasted by itself, Mum. It needs the coffee to bring out the flavours. Just because you wouldn’t even try a decaf with it doesn’t mean you can go around telling my customers it’s awful.’

      His tone is light and Maggie is smiling the whole time and I like the easy teasing relationship they have. ‘Oh, I think all your coffee’s awful, dear. You do make a nice cup of tea though, I’ll give you that.’

      ‘You can’t say that in front of a customer.’

      ‘Georgia knows I’m joking, she’s your best customer. If she hasn’t figured out your coffee’s awful by now, there’s no hope.’

      ‘One cup! That’s all I’ve ever made you, and it was back when I was learning how to use the machines.’

      ‘I know. I was picking coffee grounds out of my teeth for a week.’ She grins at me. ‘He has improved now though, don’t you worry, lovey.’

      ‘You don’t have to tell me, he makes the best coffee for miles around. Even if he does try to force mince pie flavouring on unsuspecting customers.’

      ‘Ah, but you’re still going to try my mince pie coffee one day, aren’t you?’ He waggles his dark eyebrows at me. ‘I know you, Georgia, you’ll try them all eventually. I’ll even throw in an actual mince pie for free. As compensation.’

      ‘Wanna know a secret?’ I lean across the counter towards him. ‘I know they’re a British festive tradition but I don’t actually like mince pies.’

      He steps back and gasps in horror. ‘Oh no, I think an elf somewhere drops down dead every time a British person says that. Next you’ll be telling me you don’t like Brussels sprouts either …’

      I pull a face. ‘To be fair, who does like Brussels sprouts? I mean, we always have them on our Christmas dinner and I appreciate the tradition of them, but no, like ninety-nine percent of the country, I don’t actually like them.’

      ‘Ah, Christmas. The annual time we torture ourselves with food we wouldn’t eat if someone paid us the other three hundred and sixty-four days a year.’ His wide grin offsets the wistful tone in his voice.

      ‘All part of the fun, Grinch,’ I say, grinning back at him.

      ‘Do you know, when someone tells me they don’t like mince pies, I take it as a personal challenge?’ Maggie says. ‘You’ll like mine, Georgia. I’ll make you some and change your mind on the humble mince pie.’

      ‘Oh, please don’t go to any trouble for me. I’ll buy a box in the supermarket and try them again. I’m sure –’

      ‘Blasphemy!’ she cries, smiling so wide I’m sure her teeth are going to fall out. ‘Mass-produced supermarket pies that have been pumped full of preservatives since August won’t help. Homemade mince pies are Christmas in a bite. They were my husband’s favourite, and he wouldn’t stand for anyone running them down in his shop.’

      I glance at Leo for help but he holds his hands up. ‘Don’t look at me. My mum has never left a mince-pie-hater unconverted. And if she fails, free coffee for a week.’

      ‘Don’t be daft, you’re not doing –’

      There’s a crack of thunder overhead, making us all jump, and the sky that’s gone from grey to black suddenly opens, rain pouring down, splashing off the coffee shop’s striped awning and pounding against the pavement, as the world outside lights up with a lightning flash.

      ‘Flipping heck, it was sunny just now.’ I glance at my watch, having completely lost track of time. The ‘bags of time’ I had earlier have turned into minutes before Mary and the volunteers due in today will be banging on the back door, and they aren’t going to want to be kept waiting in this rain. I slurp the last of my peppermint latte and deposit the cup into the recycling bin beside the counter. ‘Thanks, Leo, that was gorgeous,’ I say, meaning the chat with him and his mum just as much as the coffee. ‘And now I’m late. Have a good day. See you tomorrow.’

      ‘You got an umbrella?’ he asks as I throw my bag over my shoulder and pull my hood up at the door.

      ‘Yeah. At home, on my desk. It was a beautiful day when I left the house.’

      ‘I can’t send a lady out into a thunderstorm without an umbrella.’ He puts his cup down on the counter and slides his arm round the kitchen door, feeling around until he pulls out a tall umbrella and thrusts it into the air in victory. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you. You only work down the street, right?’

      I nod.

      ‘Mum, you all right on the counter for a few minutes while I make sure my best customer gets to work safely?’

      ‘Of course, dear. Have a good day, Georgia. Don’t forget, no supermarket mince pies.’

      ‘I’ll try to restrain myself,’ I say, watching as Leo disappears into the kitchen and comes back shrugging a coat on. ‘Leo, you really don’t have to do that. I’m literally just around the corner.’

      ‘Do you see how heavy that rain is? You’ll be soaked in less than a second. My conscience won’t let me hear the end of it if I stay here in the nice dry shop and watch you go out in that without an umbrella.’ He walks across the shop and pulls the door open, peering out and making a face. ‘Come on, it’s for my peace of mind rather than your dryness. Your carriage awaits.’

      I can’t help smiling as he leans out to open the massive umbrella and gestures for me to walk out underneath it.

      ‘Thanks.’ I squeeze past him in the doorway, lingering for just a second too long because it’s the closest thing I can get to the hug I wanted to give him last night, and then I step straight into a puddle. No one maintains this street anymore so the pavement is cracking up and there are more potholes than in a block of Swiss cheese that a family of toothy mice have had a nibble of. Cold water seeps into my supposedly waterproof winter boots, freezing my socks against my skin.

      Leo steps out behind me and pulls the door closed and I give Maggie a wave through the window as he holds the huge umbrella over both of us.

      ‘I didn’t mean to get her making mince pies too,’ I say. ‘I don’t want her to go to any trouble for me. I’m sure she works hard enough as it is.’

      ‘Don’t worry, she loves baking and it’s December, she’ll be making them for all the family anyway. And you don’t have to like them. I’ll happily scoff anything you don’t want and you can go on in your narrow-minded tradition-hating anti-Brit Christmas forever.’

      ‘Says the man with no Christmas decorations up.’

      ‘Even the street isn’t decorated anymore. I don’t think one shop will make much of a difference, do you?’

      ‘It might attract more customers. When they’re cold and wet and tired and it’s dark outside and they see the warm glow of your fire and the twinkling lights, it’s going to draw people in.’

      ‘Well, the warm glow of the fire will just have to work alone this year.’

      Huge drops of rain are splashing down on the umbrella and water is running in rivulets along the gutters, and I can’t believe Leo is so caring that he’d willingly come out in this just to save me getting wet.

      ‘It’s miserable, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yeah,’ I say as we walk in the middle of the road to avoid the puddles on the pavements. There was a time when that would’ve been impossible because of the traffic, but now, there’s less chance of being run over by a passing car than there is of us coming face to face with a flying red-nosed reindeer. ‘It doesn’t really get any brighter on the high street though, does

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