One Kiss Before Christmas

by Emma Jackson

Genres: Holiday books; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

A gorgeously romantic festive read from the author of A Mistletoe Miracle, guaranteed to warm your heart this Christmas! Could it be the start of her happy ever after? Ashleigh could use a little Christmas magic. She's still living in Brighton with her Nan - who could give the Grinch lessons in how to be miserable - her acting career has been reduced to playing one of Santa's elves, and not even the prospect of a friend's winter wedding can cheer her up... That is until Olivier, the gorgeous French chef, reappears in her life. Or more accurately, next door. When they were teenagers, Olivier would spend every Christmas with his mother, who just happens to be Ash's neighbour and owner of the best chocolate shop in England. If anyone can bring a little sparkle back to Ash's life, it's Olivier. All she needs is one kiss before Christmas... Feel-good and festive, this is the perfect romance to curl up with this winter!

Release date: November 2, 2020

Publisher: Orion Dash

Print pages: 368

Sample

‘I forgot about the bells,’ Ashleigh muttered as she pulled a thick green woollen sock over the top of her bright red leggings and the motion was accompanied by a delicate jingle.

‘Sorry?’ The other young woman in the staff changing room was trying to squeeze her large rucksack into one of the little lockers but ceased ramming her elbow into it at the sound of Ash’s voice.

‘Oh, just these interactive socks. They make me feel like a kitten whose dreams of hunting are being thwarted.’ She yanked on the other sock fast to minimise the sound effects.

The woman’s eyebrows knit together over her big brown eyes as she looked at Ashleigh’s feet. ‘The socks have bells in them?’

‘Yep.’ Ashleigh lifted her leg up on the bench shoehorned into the middle of the small room and tugged at the doubled-over hem at the top of the sock. ‘They sew them in here.’ She let it twang back against her leg. It wasn’t a bad design – even if the rest of the one-size-fits-all costume was no better than what you’d expect from a primary school nativity. At least it meant the elves could still wear their boots and the bells wouldn’t dig into their ankles. If Ash hadn’t been able to wear her favourite pair of Doctor Martens this whole gig would have been intolerable. She needed their comfort and warmth to survive being outdoors for eight hours a day in December.

‘You’ve worked here before?’ The woman finally locked her bag away and turned to contemplate her own pile of elf attire, neatly folded on the end of the bench.

‘This will be my fourth year.’ The minute she said it, Ash realised she hadn’t needed to admit that. She didn’t know what made her always blurt out the unvarnished truth to whoever happened to ask her a question. She could’ve kicked herself – but that would have only made her jingle.

‘You’ll be an expert then. Head Elf.’

Ash tightened the laces on her boots with a swift tug and knotted them before standing up. ‘No Head Elf. It’s the Big FC and his missus who call all the shots.’

The other woman opened her mouth as though unsure whether Ash was joking or not and then seemed to think better of saying anything and continued getting dressed. Ash hadn’t actually been kidding her; the Baxters, the couple who owned the farm, took the title roles each year and thoroughly enjoyed it. They were lovely people, if a little Christmas-obsessed, and always called Ashleigh as soon as they began recruiting. She never had the heart to say no to them…and never had anything better to do, embarrassingly.

As Ash headed for the door she had to hike her baggy leggings back up as they started the inevitable descent down her hips. Every year. It was a wonder no small children had been traumatised in an impromptu mooning incident.

‘Would you mind waiting for me?’ the woman called out behind her. ‘I got a map when I signed in but it’s in my bag somewhere. You’ll know where we need to go for the induction right, since this isn’t your first time?’

Ashleigh stifled a sigh. And that was the reason a simple ‘yes’ would have been a better answer when asked if she’d worked here before. She didn’t want her new co-workers turning to her for advice about every little thing. Once the doors were officially opened and the families started flooding in, she’d have to repeat herself enough with explanations of when the sleigh rides were scheduled and where the toilets were; she didn’t need it from the other elves too.

‘Sure,’ she called back, because however much she didn’t want to babysit anyone, she wasn’t going to be a jerk.

She stepped out of the meagre heat of the changing room into the chill winter air. The men’s changing room was in an identical porta-cabin opposite in the small clearing, which was surrounded by evergreen trees. The pine scent was heavy and the voices of the builders who were putting the final touches to the visitor buildings were muffled beneath the occasional sound of hammering and drills. These staffrooms were tucked away in the middle of the Christmas exhibit, hidden from view so that no kids could accidentally spot an elf wearing contemporary – well-fitting – clothes.

A jingle behind her gave away the fact that Ash’s newbie elf colleague was exiting the changing room.

‘Thanks for waiting. I’m a bit nervous about this if I’m honest,’ she rambled as Ash led her down the path, past Santa’s cabin and onto the dirt track the sleigh would travel down every half hour. ‘I thought it would be a fun way to make a bit of extra money for Christmas, but this place is a lot bigger than I expected.’

‘Every year it grows a bit more and they put in a new attraction. The first Christmas I worked here, there wasn’t much more than the grotto, toy workshop and the gingerbread decorating.’ They reached the pick-up point, where the families would queue with their tickets for the sleigh ride, and Ash led the way through to the main thoroughfare. ‘The owners love seeing the kids getting all excited…and I expect it makes a killing.’

The kids’ faces really were a picture as they set off on their trips to see Santa. Once the decorating was complete it would be lovely; with fairy lights twinkling against the thick green pine needles.

Ash didn’t hate this job – despite the poor clothing and freezing cold – it was just a reminder that another year had passed and she was still unsure of what she should really be doing.

Lining the hill were wooden huts of varying sizes for games, food and souvenirs, and set further back at intervals were the entrances to larger marquee areas. All of it would be festooned with fake snow soon. At the bottom was the puppet theatre where the ‘welcome’ part of the induction day would take place. Low, rough-hewn wooden benches faced a small stage, and already half a dozen elves were seated, facing the woman at the front who was wearing a business suit and welly boots, while clutching a clipboard.

They slid onto their own bench and within an hour of the woman explaining about the health and safety training in the afternoon, the rotas and various jobs, the script rehearsals and clean-up procedures, there were glazed-over eyes and blue noses everywhere.

‘When the farm is open for visitors, you’ll get a token each day to redeem at the food huts during your lunch break, so you’ll get a good hot meal to keep you going. For the time being, you can pop into the café at the farm shop and grab something.’

The young woman sitting next to Ashleigh raised her hand. ‘Will there be vegan options available?’

‘Erm…I expect so. We cater for all sorts of visitors. Perhaps best to bring along sandwiches for the first day in case.’

The hand went up again. ‘But if there isn’t and I have to bring a lunch every day will that lunch money be redeemed to me?’

‘Oh. I…am not sure.’ The woman pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at her clipboard as though the answer would appear there.

‘It doesn’t seem fair otherwise.’

A young man behind them coughed into his hand ‘princess’. Ash heard a titter of giggles from the two girls sat either side of him. She turned to look at them. How old were they, twelve?

The young man – really he was barely older than a boy – gave her what she assumed was meant to be a winning smile. He wasn’t bad-looking but he was obviously an idiot. Probably Mr Popular at the drama school. Yawn. But then why was she surprised she was surrounded by students? No real grown-up would seriously be pretending to be an elf in order to pay their bills.

She lifted her eyebrows a little and turned back, leaning towards the young vegan woman. ‘They always make sure there are options for vegetarians, so hopefully that covers vegans too.’

Her bench mate nodded her head vigorously and smiled gratefully. Her curly brown hair made her elf hat look like it was going to pop off her head at any second.

‘Okay.’ The manager at the front, gave a decisive nod. ‘Thank you. I’ll look into it and let you know by the end of the day. Now, if you could each come up to the front, I’ll check how your costumes fit and give you the lunch token for the café. You’ll have one hour and then we’ll be meeting up in the cinema tent for the health and safety training.’

One by one the people on the front benches went over to the stage and stood like scarecrows, while the woman tugged at their outfits and scribbled notes down. Mainly she nodded, like it was good enough.

‘Mine’s really baggy,’ Ash told her when it was her turn.

‘Oh yes, I see. Perhaps a smaller size,’ the woman said, as she tugged at the shoulder of the tunic, trying to right it.

‘It won’t be long enough if I have a smaller size,’ Ash pointed out. ‘It’s okay, I can alter it myself.’

‘Erm…I’m not sure that’s allowed.’

‘I’m very good with a needle. I have to be. Clothes rarely fit me properly.’ As soon as Ash hit puberty and it was clear that she was going to be “blessed” with being tall and slim, her nan had pragmatically set to work, teaching her how to use a sewing machine.

‘Well…’ The woman was still reluctant. What did she think? Ash was going to add a spangled belt and some shoulder pads? There was no rescuing this outfit and making it look good, the least it could do is fit. ‘No. I’ll get you the smaller size and we’ll see how you do in that.’

Ash barely stifled her sigh. Perhaps this was her punishment for jumping in and giving a better answer to the other elf’s question?

She tucked her hands under her arms as she left the puppet theatre and walked back up the hill again. The vegan girl fell into step beside her, hurrying a little to keep up with Ash’s long stride. ‘Thanks for backing me up there,’ she said breathlessly over the top of their jingling socks.

‘It’s okay.’ Ash lifted one shoulder but didn’t slow down. ‘It was a fair question.’

‘Some of the others didn’t seem to think so.’

‘Well, they look like they’re straight out of drama school or still studying. They have to reinforce their cliques somehow.’

‘Yes, I suppose. I’m not from drama school, I’m doing a degree in marine biology. What about you?’

Ash turned left at the top of the hill, the exit in sight and her car, with its heater, just past that. ‘Oh. I did go to drama school. Years ago.’

‘How old are you then?’

‘Shouldn’t we exchange names before ages?’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, you just look so young but act so grown up, I was curious – never know when to zip my lips. Terrible social skills.’ She laughed. ‘I’m Selina.’

Ashleigh had to smile at that. She was hardly any better herself. She paused as they got to the unmanned gift shop, chock full of decorations and cuddly toys and sweets. ‘I’m Ash.’

‘Would you like to go the café together?’ Selina’s smile looked a little wobbly and Ash was torn.

‘I actually brought my lunch. Left it in my car to remind me to go get some petrol for the drive home.’

‘Oh. Okay. Maybe another day then?’

‘Maybe.’ Ash nodded and left Selina to cross the gravelly parking lot to her car. She wasn’t here to make friends. They were going to be working with each other for barely two months and then they’d all be off in different directions, like all the jobs Ash had. She’d learnt a while ago that the friendships were just a comfort blanket while people were in the job. As soon as they left, they forgot all about keeping contact the way they always said they would. Ash would prefer to be straight from the start and not waste any of her time off the job with pointless social engagements to ‘get to know each other’.

She climbed inside her little car and started the engine up, sitting with it idling for a few minutes while she got some feeling back in her fingers. She didn’t really want to go and grab some petrol. She was starving and wearing an elf costume. She could probably make it home after the health and safety training bit and then go out to the supermarket in the evening. No doubt her nan would want her to get a few bits and pieces of shopping anyway.

Her mobile phone started ringing and she grabbed it from the glove box. ‘Mum’ lit up on the screen, with the photo she’d assigned to her mother, a rare one of them together, taken a few of years ago, the last time Ash had visited her in LA. They were on the beach, holding cocktails and wearing big sun hats and smiling. It had been taken by her mother’s boyfriend at the time. He’d said they could be sisters and her mum had giggled and said no, or at least only because Ash was looking so tired from her jet lag. Thanks, Mum. She’d have picked another photo of her mother on her own, but they were all ridiculous poses, like she couldn’t just be normal in front of a camera now she was a television star.

‘Hi, Mum,’ Ash said, just getting to the call before it switched to voicemail.

‘Ashleigh, my love, I didn’t think you were going to answer.’

‘I’ve only just started my lunch break.’

‘Oh, what’s the job?’

Her mum knew. Ash had told her a month ago. ‘You know, the hospitality gig at the Baxters’ farm. The same one I do every Christmas.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’ Her mother’s laughter pealed down the phone at her. ‘So sweet. You dress up as an elf don’t you? Do they give you little prosthetic ears? Send me a photo, please. I can show the rest of the cast. I bet they’d find it adorable – you know how they go gaga for Christmas over here.’

‘No way. I’m not putting this out there on a digital record.’

‘It’s just a part. You’re paying your dues, sweetness. All actors have these embarrassing stories tucked away. Perfect to make you seem more relatable once you become famous.’

Ash caught a glimpse of her face in her wing mirror. Her mouth was screwed up tight like a toddler being threatened with a spoonful of peas. She blinked and made a conscious effort to unclench.

That was something Ash hadn’t told her mother. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point over the last couple of years Ash had realised she had no desire to keep chasing acting jobs. But why tell her mother when she couldn’t say what she wanted to do instead? She was unqualified and directionless. Her mum would either dismiss it as a wobble or…well, Ash wasn’t sure how she would take it. Probably as an insult to her own choices – she had an amazing knack of making everything about her.

‘Regardless, it’s still a “no” to the photograph. You can see me in my full glory when you come over.’ Ash attempted to change the subject.

‘You’ll certainly be the most festive thing in that house. I don’t know how you can stand it, unless she’s indoctrinated you into her Scrooge-like ways.’

‘She’ being Nan and ‘that house’, the house her mother had grown up in. The house where she’d dumped Ash, aged eleven, before she went to LA.

‘Did you see my big scene with Hugo? It should have aired this week for you,’ she continued without leaving a space for Ash to respond.

So, she wasn’t going to say any more about the fact she was supposed to be visiting for Christmas? Ash willed herself not to read too much into it. Her mum had said she’d be coming over in less than two weeks once her part of filming in the soap opera she starred in wrapped up for the year but as yet hadn’t made any noises about which flight she’d booked.

‘No. I haven’t had a chance yet,’ Ash admitted. ‘Nan’s recorded it though. I’ll catch up with it this weekend probably.’

‘Probably? Ashleigh, what’s the matter? Does my performance bore you? Have you noticed something lacking recently? You used to follow my storylines like an absolute fanatic.’

That’s because it was the only time I got to see you. Not that she saw her any more these days – just occasional visits when she’d fly in from the States with her expensive-smelling hair, and a bunch of gifts that gave away the fact she didn’t really know who her daughter was at all.

‘It’s not really my taste now,’ Ash ventured.

There was a silence on the line.

‘What do you like then? Those ghastly crime dramas that your nan watches all the time?’

‘Sometimes.’ Ash took a deep, calming breath. ‘It doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re still the best thing in that show, Mum.’ And that wasn’t a lie. Her mother was very entertaining and made it bearable, although mainly because she was such a cartoon villain, it was hilarious.

‘Well, thank you.’ Here was the bruised dignity. ‘I shan’t take up any more of your time, Ashleigh. I’m sure you’re eager to get back to being an elf. Hopefully, next year you’ll finally get your big break. Can’t leave it too much longer. You’ll be thirty soon. The wrinkles begin creeping in then and your metabolism will slow down.’

God, Ash really had upset her. Ash wasn’t going to be thirty for another three years and it was hardly ancient anyway. ‘I’ll let you know what I think of the big showdown with Hugo once I’ve watched it.’ Ash tried to repair the damage her honesty had done to their fragile relationship. Whenever it was time for a conversation to end, she felt a sudden grip of panic in her chest, like she was about to be torn away from a life raft. Or maybe like her mother was? She didn’t know. The feeling didn’t make sense anyway.

‘Well, I look forward to your expert opinion.’

They said goodbye and Ash threw her phone onto the passenger seat, leaning back with her hand on her forehead. Crap. She’d have to call her in a day or two, see if her feelings were still hurt. Her mother could dine out on this for weeks. Would she cancel her trip because of it? It’d been eighteen months since she last saw her. Surely she wouldn’t?

Ash grabbed her snack bar and bag of crisps from inside her glove box and looked at it with less than even her usual enthusiasm when it came to food. Sighing, she took the keys out of the ignition, put her phone back in the glove box and grabbed the voucher for the café. As she jogged across the parking lot to go in through the front of the farm shop, she spotted Selina browsing.

‘Selina. I changed my mind, fancied something hot.’

The other girl’s face lit up and Ash tried to ignore the cynic inside her that said this was all going to be a waste of time. People always moved on and left her behind them.

The sea and the sky were grey, only the foam spraying up as the ferry cut through the water and the faint white smudge on the horizon that must’ve been the famous cliffs at Dover, breaking up the dull palette. It was like a monochrome photograph as Olivier leaned against the rail and let the damp air make his cheeks go numb with the cold.

He felt anything but though. The salt in the air, the wind roaring in his ears – almost impossible to tell apart from the hum of the big ship’s engines – it all made him feel awake and like the world was truly alive around him. People sometimes said that the city was a vibrant place, and the kitchen of the restaurant he worked in was non-stop with noise, and smells and heat, but…but this was different. That was a closeted existence, like he was a coal miner, shovelling fuel into a big engine to accommodate people as they lived their lives. This was the real world. There was so much air and sky and sea. It stretched all around him and if he wasn’t careful he was going to do something embarrassing, like hold his arms out and declare he was King of the World.

Luckily, his phone rang before the temptation was too strong and there was no better person to be calling him than his papa, if he needed any crazy impulses squashed. Olivier was neither a coal miner – of course his job wasn’t back-breaking labour – nor was he King of the World. He was a chef, off to visit his maman in England and one conversation with his papa would remind him of that.

‘Good morning, Auguste,’ Olivier answered, raising his voice over the background noise.

‘Is it morning? No. That can’t be correct. My pâtissier would be here, preparing for the lunch service.’

‘Unless your pâtissier had started his Christmas holiday as you discussed.’

‘I thought we talked about you taking the holiday next week?’

Olivier wasn’t fooled by this. His papa didn’t make those kinds of mistakes. He was just testing him, seeing if he’d left yet or could be called back into the restaurant for a few extra days. ‘If we did, I must have got my wires crossed because I booked my ticket for today. I’m on the ferry as we speak.’

‘Is that what all that noise is? Are you sitting on top of the propellers, Olivier?’

‘Not quite. Hold on, I’ll go inside so that it’s quieter.’ He walked reluctantly away from the railing and went onto the main deck. There were tables and armchairs set around the interior, but most were occupied, so he moved over towards the window to stand.

‘What made you take the ferry? The Eurostar is so much faster and more comfortable. And it’s not like you can’t afford it – first class even – I should know. I pay your wages.’ Auguste’s booming laugh almost perforated Olivier’s eardrum.

‘I’m not in a hurry. I’m on holiday.’ Olivier looked out at the sea from the window, but now it really did look like a black and white photograph. Dramatic but untouchable.

‘And when will you be back?’

‘After Christmas.’ Like we discussed.

‘What idiot boss would give one of his best chefs a whole month off before Christmas? I must love you very much, my boy.’

Olivier forced a laugh. ‘You also owe me a lot of annual leave, which I haven’t been taking.’

‘I’m a slave driver. I work you to the bone. This is why you don’t want to take on Veronique’s position when she leaves us?’

‘I…just want to make sure it’s the right thing before I say yes. It’ll be a different role—’

‘Of course, it will. A better one. A step up. More money to spend on ferry rides. Perhaps you could buy your own boat.’

It’s not all about money, Olivier wanted to say. But he knew the debate that would lead to and how ungrateful it would seem. So many others were not fortunate enough to be in the position he had been – able to walk straight out of catering college and into a Michelin-starred restaurant.

He’d worked his way up, because Auguste would never have allowed him to take on a role he wasn’t capable of and damage the reputation of his restaurant, but Olivier had that foot in the door because he was the boss’s son, there was no denying that. Olivier had worked very hard to prove he was worthy of such a generous helping hand, moving up the ranks to pâtissier, and now Auguste was offering him another chance at promotion, but for some reason he hadn’t been able to accept it. Olivier should have been biting his papa’s hand off. He knew that. And so he hadn’t said no either.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said no to his papa, and that realisation had jolted something in Olivier that he hadn’t been able to settle back calmly into place. Particularly not all the while he was working long hours at the restaurant with Auguste hovering over his shoulder. He needed some time to think.

‘I wouldn’t ever have time to go on it,’ Olivier joked about the boat.

‘Oh dear, is my boy frightened of a little hard work? Surely not? And aren’t you on holiday at this very moment? Even though it’s Christmas?’

‘But would you ever have let me take this time if I was sous-chef?’

‘Well…if it was an emergency. You know your maman could come to visit you next Christmas. She’s always happy to spend time in Paris.’

‘She has a business to run too. And I’m looking forward to Christmas in England.’

Auguste grunted. ‘Hmm. Yes. Soggy mince pies and dry turkey. It will be delightful.’

Olivier rolled his eyes and unfortunately caught sight of the wobbly Christmas tree that had been propped in the corner of the room. Large brassy baubles were drooping on the artificial branches and in a room where there was no other sign of Christmas, it looked like an afterthought.

His maman put in a lot more effort than that though, and her cooking was sublime too. Recalling his Christmases in Brighton with his maman as a teenager the memories were always accompanied by the scent of dark chocolate and cinnamon, the taste of rich, velvety tortes and perfectly chewy spiced biscuits. Warmth at the fire while rain drizzled against the windows and they watched classic movies together.

‘I honestly don’t understand what’s holding you back,’ Auguste continued. ‘I’ll have to advertise it soon you know, if I don’t get an answer. It will take me a long time to find someone who can work to my standards.’

To find someone who could put up with him. Auguste was a complete control freak in his kitchen. He expected his staff to follow his instructions exactly, every last detail. It was no wonder Olivier couldn’t make his mind up. He’d spent so many years doing exactly as Auguste said, how could he possibly know whether the decision he made was his or his papa’s. Not without getting a little space.

The tannoy in the . . .