Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage. Katie Ginger

it was a bit early, personally.

      Joe drove along the seafront, following the sea to the far end of town and pulled up in front of a beautiful Georgian house that had been divided into flats. Esme climbed out of the car and stood back to admire the large black front door and sash windows. ‘All you have to do is cross the road and you’re right on the beach,’ said Joe. The grey clouds had followed them from the town centre and a light rain began to fall. He pulled out the keys and opened the main door. ‘It’s the top flat.’

      Esme climbed the stairs two at a time, almost beating him to the top and he was hopeful she’d like it. He found the front door keys and led them inside. They walked down a small hall, so small in fact, they nearly had to go sideways like a crab, emerging into a tiny sitting room, off which was an even smaller kitchen. Esme’s face clouded. Joe knew that look but gave her a moment to look around. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, when she came back into the sitting room after checking out the rest of the flat, but he could already guess the answer; her eyes weren’t sparkling as they had outside.

      ‘I don’t think the kitchen area is quite big enough for what I need.’

      ‘What do you need it for exactly?’ asked Joe, looking confused. He’d assumed this was some kind of weekend or holiday flat where even the most ardent of bakers would lay off the self-catering.

      ‘I’ll be doing a lot of cooking. So I need some decent workspace.’

      ‘Right.’ Joe nodded. That was weird. Most people did the minimum amount of cooking in their holiday homes, preferring to eat out. But then Esme had always been different. Looking around, the cooker was squeezed into a corner, the fridge stuck out and there were only three cupboards and a tiny bit of workspace. They’d called it a galley kitchen in the details but even that was pushing it. ‘Are you going to be here a lot then?’

      Esme looked down at the floor, her cheeks colouring. ‘I’m, umm, I’m having a bit of a change of direction.’

      That didn’t sound too good, but he didn’t want to pry. ‘Oh, okay.’

      She was walking around the tiny kitchen opening and closing the cupboard doors. ‘I, umm, I left my job in London and then … then my boyfriend and I broke up, so I’m back here for a bit. I’m trying to make a new start.’

      Joe raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t imagined it was anything so bad and was even more surprised that she’d told him so openly. Then he remembered that she’d always been honest and outspoken at school. ‘Sorry. That’s really tough.’

      Esme scratched her head underneath her hat. Her eyes were so sad and her pale skin resembled porcelain. A part of him wanted to make her feel better, to let her know she wasn’t alone in her heartbreak, but he couldn’t get the words out. ‘Which one would you like to try next then? I’m guessing this is a no-go?’

      Esme gave a polite smile. ‘If this were bigger, it’d be perfect. I’d love to live by the sea.’

      ‘The only thing I’ve got like this that’s larger is double the price.’

      Esme frowned. ‘I know I’ve got limited options.’

      ‘What about the flat in Palmerston Road? The one above the pizza shop?’ He tried to sound cheerful but was pretty sure it wouldn’t be her thing.

      ‘I have to be honest, I’m not keen on the pizza place.’

      ‘It’s not actually in a pizza shop,’ replied Joe, smiling.

      ‘Above it, then. I bet it smells of greasy pizza all the time,’ Esme said, aimlessly walking to and fro.

      ‘It doesn’t. It’s quite nice inside. It’ll just get a bit noisy when the pubs kick out. It’s the best pizza place in town.’

      Esme’s eyes widened and a smile lit her face. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

      ‘I am.’ He grinned.

      ‘Well, I’ll make a note to try it, but I don’t really want to live above it. Besides, I make a mean pizza myself with fresh tomato sauce, basil, olives and sautéed artichokes. It’s really good.’

      The thought of it made him hungry. ‘That sounds amazing. I’ve never had things like that on a pizza before. I stick with pepperoni, or tuna if I’m on a diet.’

      Esme giggled. ‘I don’t think pizza is a diet dish even if it has tuna on it.’ A slight glow came to her cheeks and she turned one of the brochures over in her hands. ‘What’s the deal with this cottage?’

      ‘Ahh, now, that’s a bit of an oddity.’ Knowing the state of it, he hesitated. ‘It’s only just come onto the books, so we haven’t had a chance to clean it yet. It belonged to an old woman who passed away. The family are looking for a buyer, but they’re happy to rent it too, just so long as the building’s in use. It doesn’t have central heating, but it is full of character. It’s surrounded by the countryside and I think it’s one of the most unusual properties we’ve ever had. Want to have a look?’

      Esme nodded. ‘It sounds interesting.’

      ‘It just needs a little bit of TLC.’

      ‘Don’t we all?’ A shadow came over Esme’s face. How she was so positive when she’d had such a terrible time, he didn’t know.

      A moment’s silence fell between them and Joe read the brochure for the flat above the pizza shop. To be fair, it did look a bit grubby and the kitchen there was tiny. The owners obviously thought their tenants would survive on pizza from downstairs. He made a mental note to redo the photos when he was finished with Esme. She wandered to the window and took one last look out to sea before following him out of the flat.

      Joe drove them to the outskirts of town, leaving behind the unremarkable new-builds and ordinary streets lined with terraced houses. The roads gave way to a narrow country lane, widening here and there for cars to pass. Before long, field upon field lined the sides of the road. Some held horses covered with heavy blankets and they seemed happy enough roaming about in the cold; others were bare and the smell of damp mud followed them. They turned off the main lane and drove down a narrow dirt track until the cottage came into view. They drew closer and Joe saw a smile creep over Esme’s lips.

      As decrepit as it was, it was pretty and picturesque, as it said in the brochure. A rose bush climbed up either side of the front door and though no flowers were growing at this time of year, it didn’t look bleak. Small, hardy bushes of rosemary grew around the walls of the house here and there, haphazardly marking the boundary. A couple of tiles were hanging at odd angles on the roof, and the nearest neighbours were a mile and a half east. If she was going to be clattering around in the kitchen at all times of the day or night, which he suspected she would be, there would be no one nearby to bother her. ‘What do you think?’ asked Joe, pulling on the handbrake.

      ‘It’s like a fairytale.’ Esme grinned at him and climbed out the car. She walked to the door and pulled back some of the bare branches of a rose bush climbing up the outside to reveal a name plaque. Mr Rigby must have missed it when he came to value the property and take the photos. ‘Mistletoe Cottage,’ Esme read aloud. From her tone he wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, then turning back, she grinned.

      ‘Yeah, that’s the name of the place. Listen, I know it’s quite isolated but all the local supermarkets deliver out here, as well as the takeaways, not that you’ll be needing those.’ He pulled up the collar of his coat as a gust of wind swept around them, but at least the drizzle had eased off. ‘Also it’s only a twenty-minute walk into town.’

      ‘What’s over there?’ Esme asked, pointing to a large wood on the brow of a nearby hill.

      ‘That’s Parkin Wood. It’s a great place to walk. There are tracks to follow and streams and stuff. There’s nothing scary over there.’

      She nodded and turned again to look at the cottage. ‘I like it.’

      ‘Just remember what I said about the inside, okay?