The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams. Kellie Hailes

packets of baking ingredients singing and dancing to “Jingle Bells”. I now have to avoid that site for nearly a whole month. It’s a tragedy.’

      Callan’s lips quirked to the left, disobeying his direct order not to show their amusement. He’d never met a person who disliked carols so much they could rant about it. Never met anyone who had a distinct aversion to Christmas. He’d thought he was the only one. His family Christmases had been staid affairs. Formal. Boring. Midnight mass on Christmas Eve, followed by gifts in the morning, a family lunch at dinner where the conversation was so polite it bordered on painful. After lunch they’d settle round the television to watch the Queen’s Christmas Message, then leftovers were had for dinner and they’d retire to bed not long after that.

      There was no dancing while cooking. No silly hats or crazy jumpers. No surprise gifts brought out throughout the day. No magic. No fun.

      Abigail had transformed his attitude to Christmas with her own traditions. Ones she’d created after a childhood where money was scarce and Christmas was even more depressing than his. She’d embraced the season that could have – should have – made her sad, and she’d made her life richer for it.

      With Abigail gone, so had his reason for the season.

      Irritation jolted him back to reality. This wasn’t about him. He was not alone in his grief. He had Mia to think about. Which meant Christmas couldn’t be a miserable affair. He wouldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t let Mia down. Wouldn’t allow her to feel as humdrum about the festive season as he once had. As he threatened to feel now that Abigail wasn’t there to inject joy into it.

      But that didn’t mean he couldn’t admit his lack of love for the season to a fellow Grinch.

      ‘My least favourite carol is “The First Noel”. We’d sing it at church growing up and I sounded like a strangled duck warbling out the words. All the other kids would have a great laugh at my expense.’ Callan finished stringing the lights and plugged them in. A warm glow bathed the window, and Josie’s face – highlighting her cheekbones and revealing strands of copper in her hair that he’d not noticed.

      Not that he should notice them. Or had any reason to.

      Annoyed and embarrassed with himself, he set to unravelling another set of fairy lights.

      ‘Do you still go to church?’ Josie poked around in a box of Christmas decorations that he’d dragged down from the loft.

      She hadn’t noticed him noticing her? Good. Callan breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want her getting the wrong idea. It was bad enough that for a fleeting moment he’d found her attractive.

      Not that he hadn’t noticed that she was pleasant on the eye. He had in a general manner. As you do when someone good-looking passes by. Just now was different though, because he’d noticed details. The kind of details you only see in someone special, or someone you hope will become special.

      He didn’t want anyone to become that person. The only person who was special to him was the little girl who was sitting at the table out back watching grown-ups in bright outfits dance to silly songs on the tablet.

      ‘No, we don’t go to church. I was never all that much of a church-goer.’ He reached up and hung the lights on the hook. ‘Only went because my parents did.’

      ‘Do you spend much time with them now? Have they helped out much since …?’

      ‘Since Abigail passed away?’ Callan jumped in before Josie had the chance to feel awkward. ‘No. My parents didn’t approve of Abigail. She wasn’t from the same social class as the one I was born into. My falling in love with her, giving up a promising career in an accounting firm and moving to the middle of nowhere to do the accounts of people who earn in a year what my father made in a week … Well, if there’s a black sheep in every family, then I’m it.’

      ‘Wow.’ Josie twisted a gold bauble round in her fingers.

      Callan waited for her to elaborate, but nothing more came.

      ‘Really? “Wow?” That’s all you’ve got?’ He grinned to show her he wasn’t offended.

      ‘Well, yeah.’ Josie hung the bauble off her finger and spun it round. ‘Where should this go?’

      ‘There’s a series of hooks under the counter.’

      ‘Great, thanks.’ Josie hoisted the box up, walked to the counter, sank down onto the ground cross-legged and began hanging the baubles in their place. ‘It’s just – and please don’t take this the wrong way – you seem so … straight. Black sheep of fancy families are meant to … I don’t know, have tattoos everywhere and piercings in places the majority of us don’t get to see. You wear clothing that could be on the cover of a men’s fashion magazine. You use your manners. You run a business. And you’re a great father. Not what I’d call black-sheep material.’

      Callan shrugged. Same way he’d spent years shrugging off the lack of phone calls and visits. The stiff upper lip his family had cultivated came in handy in the face of his parents’ reticence to connect with their granddaughter, let alone their son. ‘That’s my family for you. I don’t regret what I did though. Marrying Abigail. Moving here. The seven years we were together brought me more happiness than all the years I spent at home.’

      Josie took hold of the counter with both hands and heaved herself up with a quiet ‘oof’. ‘I can understand that. What’s next?’

      The simultaneous sounds of something being dragged across a wooden floor and puffing exertion interrupted their conversation.

      ‘Tree next, Daddy. And I know Josie can help decorate this one because it’s downstairs, not upstairs.’ Mia dragged the rectangular cardboard box that contained the fake Christmas tree into the shop, around the counter, and released it with a dramatic swipe of her brow. ‘It’s heavy. I need a treat to get my energy back.’

      ‘Lucky your dad owns a cake shop.’ Josie plucked a miniature chocolate cupcake, replete with chocolate ganache and red, white and green Christmas tree-shaped sprinkles, out of the cabinet and passed it to Mia who quickly stuffed it in her mouth.

      ‘Thankshoo, Joshie.’ The words came out as mushed as her smile was wide.

      Callan stopped himself from reprimanding Josie for giving Mia treats without checking with him first. She didn’t mean any harm, and it had made Mia happy. He’d have a chat about it later, when Mia was out of earshot and there was no danger of destroying the cheerful ambience.

      ‘Probably should have asked you if that was okay, right?’ Contrition was written all over Josie’s face.

      ‘Probably. There’s always next time. Especially, like you said, when your father owns a cake shop. It’s hard to resist temptation when it’s right in front of you all day long.’ Callan squatted down and began pulling out the pieces of fake tree, hoping Josie wouldn’t notice the hot spots burning high on his cheeks. His talk of temptation had sounded way too much like flirtation for his own liking. Not that it was, or that he’d meant it that way. Yet, if he really hadn’t meant it to sound like that, would he have thought it sounded like that?

      He inserted the trunk of the tree into the base, then righted it, faking concentration as he gave himself a stern talking-to.

      He was being silly. Overthinking an innocent statement. He wasn’t being flirtatious. Just nice. Allowing Josie to feel okay about jumping the gun with the cupcake rather than have the easy atmosphere between them disappear.

      ‘What’s with the fake tree?’

      Callan gripped the tree’s plastic trunk as the closeness of the words took him by surprise, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He glanced over to see Josie hunkered down next to him, her inquisitive eyes just a few inches away. He caught her scent – a sweet, comforting mix of sugar, butter and vanilla. He shuffled away from the inviting aroma, grabbed the final part of the tree, stood and slotted it into the lower half, then began fluffing out the spiky, green fronds.

      ‘We