someone who cares about it and thinks it’s worth saving and putting money back into rather than selling off everything that’s not nailed down and putting some miserly accountant in charge to squeeze every penny out of the budget. And this competition to be the most profitable shop is terrible. It pits us all against each other. It turns friends into enemies.’ I pick up a little nutcracker that had ricocheted off a plastic snowman and tried to hide under a shelf and point it at him. ‘You and me are officially rivals.’
‘Ah, but I don’t want anything to do with that. This is a one-off for me. I won’t be back next year, and this shop’ll only be here until the stock’s gone. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the rival type. We might have to be friends instead.’
I know my face has gone red because there’s something so sweet about his innocent words. I’m trying not to smile, but there’s something about him that’s impossible not to smile at. ‘I don’t think I can get along with someone who hates Christmas as much as you do.’
He pushes his bottom lip out, pretending to pout, and I go back into the aisle where he’s still standing and go to give him the nutcracker back but he shakes his head. ‘Keep it. As a reminder of your Christmas-hating shop neighbour. You can put it on the counter and throw darts at it.’
They’re unusual little nutcrackers – bare wood from the bottom of their circular stand to the peak of their top hat, their only facial feature is the traditional wedge-shaped nose and opening mouth, and there’s no decoration whatsoever apart from a shock of furry white hair and a patch of white beard. ‘I could never throw darts at a nutcracker … but I’m absolutely fine with knocking them over and breaking their arms, obviously.’ I regret the words before I’ve finished the sentence. Well done, Nia: first you cause clumsy destruction in his shop, then you keep mentioning it just to keep the embarrassment nice and fresh.
He goes to say something, but I hold up the little nutcracker. ‘Thank you. I’ll hang him on my Christmas tree when I put it up.’
‘That reminds me – why are Christmas trees such bad knitters?’
‘What?’ I say in confusion because it sounds like the start of a bad Christmas joke.
‘Because they keep losing their needles!’
Oh, what do you know, it is a bad Christmas joke. ‘Did you seriously just pull a Christmas cracker joke on me?’
‘Did you seriously just use “pull” and “cracker” in the same sentence?’
My traitorous face goes red at the terrible pun. ‘That was unintentional.’
He raises an eyebrow and his mouth curves up into a smile at one side, and I literally can’t get the smile off my face. Every time I try to stop smiling, I smile more. Who is this guy? He seems serious and pained, and then he comes out with that? I could stand here and talk to him all day, but Stacey is still waiting for her cup of tea. ‘I’d better …’ I point at the door and back away towards it. ‘See you around, Grinch.’
‘See you around, Mrs Claus!’ he calls after me.
It’s probably the most perfect parting line ever, and he definitely thinks Mrs Claus is an insult, but even though he’s a Grinch, I probably won’t complain about seeing him around. Not with those eyes and that smile and the little hint of butterflies that are fluttering around inside me.
***
I must float back across the lane because I don’t realise I’ve got there until Stacey says, ‘There you are! I thought you’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in Narnia or something. I was about to send for a Search and Rescue team.’
It feels like I’ve been gone for hours, even though it’s only been about twenty minutes.
‘What happened? Did they let you have a payment plan?’
‘No, he—’
‘He!’ she squeals, frightening the two customers who are browsing at the back. ‘I knew I recognised that smile on your face! I haven’t seen that smile since you met Brad.’
The reminder of my first boyfriend brings me back down to earth with a crash. ‘That’s a terrible comparison! I don’t want to be reminded of the guy who cheated on me and apparently kicked off a trend for every subsequent guy to end a relationship in the same way.’
‘Yeah, but he was the only guy you’ve ever been in love with. He was the only one who’s ever made you smile like that.’
‘I’m just happy because of the carol singers. Did you see them?’
She narrows her eyes at me, but maybe the reminder of Brad was a timely one. I spent most of my twenties living with him, the man I thought I’d end up marrying and having children with, only to walk past his parked car one night and discover him having sex with someone from his office in the back of it, and it set the trend for every subsequent relationship.
From then on, every time I’ve come close to letting someone in again, they do the same. Every relationship since then has ended with cheating or lying. There’s no point thinking about James’s eyes or warm smile. Men cannot be trusted. I learnt that much-repeated lesson yet again last night.
‘What’s this he like?’
‘Oh my God, Stace, he’s like a cross between every Disney prince you’ve ever had a crush on. He’s got the most unbelievable smile, and eyes like I’ve never seen before, and—’ I cut myself off when I realise I’m not following my own advice.
‘But you’re happy because of the carol singers, right?’ She crosses her arms over her chest.
‘It’s not about that.’ I give the customers a wary glance and step closer to the counter, beckoning her to lean over. ‘I think he might be an actual prince. You know the story of The Nutcracker? Where the nutcracker gets broken on Christmas Eve and the girl mends him and he grows to life-size and defeats the evil mouse king, and it turns out he was a prince all along, cursed to take the form of a nutcracker?’ I tell her about how I found James when I went into his shop.
‘And you don’t think it’s far more likely that he heard the crash of the nutcracker falling, saw it, moved it, and got down to find the missing gemstones?’
‘I was only back here for a couple of minutes. He wouldn’t have had time.’
‘You were back here for ages.’
‘It wasn’t that long … was it?’ I seem to have lost all track of time this morning. ‘And I wished for a nutcracker prince last night. I made a wish on the magical nutcracker for a prince just like him. And The Nutcracker score was playing in the shop. And James said he got knocked over, Stace. Knocked over. I knocked over the nutcracker. He even said “my arm breaker” when I went in.’
‘Poor guy was probably concussed from banging his head on the shelf.’ She shrugs. ‘I know you love Christmas, and nutcrackers, and the idea of Christmas magic, but I really don’t think it’s likely that he’s a wooden doll turned into a real live man …’
‘Well, when you put it like that …’ I trail off, realising just how mad I sound as a customer approaches the counter with a basket full of decorations and jewellery and Stacey goes to serve her.
All right, it’s a bit unlikely, and even I don’t really think James is a giant nutcracker come to life, but it can’t just be a coincidence, can it? Not with the wish last night as well, the green flecks in his blue shirt, saying he got knocked over and the same arm broken. It has to be a sign. It has to mean something.
‘It’s just … I don’t know … weird,’ I say to her when the customer has left after complimenting us both on the shop. I watch her go across the lane and into Tinkles and Trinkets, hoping she didn’t overhear any of our conversation to relay to the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. ‘Did you ever see a “Help