The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out. Cressida McLaughlin
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her boat, but now his secret was out, and Summer sold the models, of frogs and birds and suns and otters, in her café. His pumpkin, a take on the traditional grinning face, was terrifying.
The door of the café clicked open and Latte, her Bichon Frise, who had been dozing unperturbed on the floor close to the counter while Summer worked around her, jumped up and raced to greet the familiar visitor. Summer tried not to copy her dog.
‘Hello, I – wow.’ Mason stood inside the doorway and ran his hand absent-mindedly through his dark, unruly curls as he stared around the café. ‘This looks …’ His words trailed away and he gave Summer a bemused smile.
‘Spooky?’ she asked.
Mason nodded, crouched to ruffle Latte’s springy fur and then wrapped his arms around Summer, resting his chin on the top of her head. Summer hugged him back, breathing in his familiar, citrus scent and luxuriating in the feel of his strong body against hers. She would never get tired of this, would never fail to get a thrill from being so close to him. That conviction was growing more with every day that they were together, and had recently planted a seed of an idea in her thoughts.
‘You’ve done a fantastic job,’ he said, his words vibrating through her.
‘I’m not sure about Norman’s pumpkin. I’m worried it’s too scary for an engagement party.’
‘That face was in my dreams last night,’ Mason said, pulling back from her and running his thumb softly over her cheek.
‘You were tossing and turning a bit,’ Summer said. ‘Remind me not to make you watch the new horror film that’s appeared on Netflix. Have you seen the trailer?’
‘Nope.’ He smiled down at her, his brown eyes with their usual intensity, his expression one of pure contentment. He looked the same way she felt. ‘Is there anything I can help you with? It seems I’ve turned up too late.’
‘Perfect timing, then.’ She folded her arms in mock disapproval.
‘I’ve been trying to finish my article,’ Mason said. ‘It’s due in tomorrow and it’s been so difficult to write. I don’t know why. But now I’m done, and I’ve decided it’s actually brilliant. I’ll give it a final read through and then send it to my editor.’
‘At least you’re being humble about it.’
‘As always,’ he replied solemnly, then grabbed her hand. ‘So if you’re done here, and the guests aren’t arriving for a couple of hours, does that mean we can spend some time together?’
‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘I thought we could take Latte and Archie to the big field, let them get as damp and muddy as they want, and then when they’re exhausted I can seduce you with one of my trademark hot chocolates.’
Summer pursed her lips. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got time to be seduced. Harry’s arriving at six to put the finishing touches in place.’
‘So let’s take the dogs for their walk, and I can do the seduction bit when you come back tonight.’ He pressed his face into her neck, kissing her softly, his hair tickling her skin.
‘OK,’ she murmured, closing her eyes. ‘Sounds like a plan. But only if you stop kissing me now, otherwise tonight’s going to seem like a very long way off.’
Mason gave her a rueful smile and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. ‘The things we do for those dogs, eh?’
Summer stared down at Latte, who was looking up at them, her big, doggy eyes pooling with innocence. ‘If only they appreciated it more.’
Willowbeck, the small, riverside village on the Great River Ouse, looked pretty even with the apt autumn mist that had descended throughout the day. Now it hung lightly over everything, hitting Summer with a much-needed burst of cool moisture as she stepped outside. Madeleine had originally been called The Canal Boat Café, but she had renamed it last year in memory of her mum, who had died suddenly, and left her the boat and business in the hopes that she would take over from her. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but Summer knew now that it had been the right one.
Hers was one of four boats permanently moored up in Willowbeck. Her café was adorned in red and blue; the cakes and coffee cups, the gingham trim, had all been painted by her own fair hand, along with its new name, when she’d taken it to the boatbuilders the previous year. Next to her was Cosmic, owned by Valerie Brogan, who had been her mum’s best friend. Cosmic was an incense-filled, spiritual haven, from which Valerie did fortune-telling, psychic readings and all manner of other things that Summer tried not to delve too deeply into, watched over by her silver tabbies Mike and Harvey. On Summer’s other side was Mason’s boat The Sandpiper, an almost regal boat in red, gold and black, that was as smart inside as it was out. Norman’s boat was the last of the four. Painted traditionally in red and green, it was called Celeste.
As Mason went to retrieve his Border terrier, Archie, from The Sandpiper, Summer sat on one of the picnic benches at the edge of the towpath, realizing too late that the film of condensation would make her jeans damp. But she was about to tromp through the fields with the dogs, so she didn’t mind too much. She would get changed before the party guests started to arrive. The picnic benches belonged to the Black Swan, the pub that overlooked the river, its gentle grass slope running down to the towpath. In summer the benches were usually packed, but on a misty late October afternoon, any punters would be inside, Jenny and Dennis, the couple who owned and ran it, giving everyone a cheerful welcome.
The stillness of the afternoon was shattered by the loud crack of a door banging open, and a familiar shout of ‘Archie, no!’ Summer held firmly onto Latte’s lead as her young dog bounded towards the commotion. Archie, his fur recently trimmed, raced forward leadless, and greeted first Latte and then her with the enthusiasm of someone who’d been held captive for weeks. Mason followed, the lead dangling from his hand, his handsome face crumpled in confusion as if this hadn’t happened hundreds of times before. While firmly in control of every other aspect of his life, Mason had never been able to assert himself as Archie’s master, and the loveable, mischievous dog was always getting the better of him. Summer found this chink in Mason’s character wholeheartedly endearing.
‘Archie, come here,’ Mason said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
Archie continued to snuffle at Latte and Summer, his tail wagging, and ignored him.
Mason crept up behind his dog and, dropping to his knees, clipped the lead onto Archie’s collar in one fell swoop. He grinned triumphantly at Summer, and Archie turned and gave his master a big, slobbering lick up the side of his face.
‘Archie, for God’s sake!’
‘True love.’ Summer stood and held out her hand. Mason took it and hauled himself up, and the four of them set off down the towpath, the dogs racing ahead, searching for new scents to sniff, Summer blissfully content with Mason at her side.
As Emma and Josh appeared, wide-eyed, at the entrance to the café, closely followed by their guests, the familiar surge of adrenaline kicked in. Summer turned to Harry, who gave her a nod of encouragement. Her friend’s long, sleek hair was tied up in an elaborate plait, a smile flickering on her lips. It would be so easy for the two of them to be giddy, almost schoolgirlish – they were hosting parties on board a narrowboat, and what could be more fun than that – but they knew they had to start out friendly but professional, then adapt to whatever mood the occasion took on.
Emma and Josh, it seemed, were up for fun. As Harry handed a glass of champagne to each of the guests, and turned the lights down low to maximize the effect of the glowing pumpkins, the chatter and laughter filled the café and echoed outside, the sound spilling onto the bow deck. Summer gave everyone enough time to greet each other, and then cleared her throat.
‘Welcome aboard Madeleine, our canal boat café, for a celebration of all things Halloween – oh, and Emma and Josh’s engagement!’
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