Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s by Alexandra Brown

‘Hard?’
    ‘I was not. I was merely trying to invoke a sense of calm,’ I reply, trying not to laugh.
    ‘Well, next time you want to relax, pop up here for a camomile tea. Very soothing.’ Sam shakes her head. ‘Come on.’ She helps me out of the sofa. ‘Soo, what do you think of my Valentine theme?’ she says, letting go of me and running a hand over the back of the sofa.
    ‘I love it. And it’s different.’
    ‘Good. My idea of a decent Valentine’s Day is sex. S-E-X. And plenty of it. I want decadence. I want tease. And a bit of debauchery thrown in for good measure,’ she says, grinning naughtily as she loops her arm through mine. ‘Ooh, hang on.’ She stops still and beckons upwards with her eyes. ‘My favourite is coming up next. Tom Ford. Yes, yes I know he’s gay … but will you just look at him?’ We both stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds. ‘Utter perfection.’
    Sam steers me towards one of the train seat booths.
    ‘Ta dah!’ she says, gesturing towards a three-tiered cake stand crammed with all kinds of delicious gooey-looking cakes next to a big green spotty teapot.
    ‘Wow,’ I say, giving her a quick hug. ‘You didn’t have to do all this. A vanilla slice would have sufficed.’ She gives me a look.
    ‘Sorry.
Millefeuiiiille
,’ I attempt and end up sounding like an extra from a dodgy French film. ‘How do you even say it?’ I laugh.
    ‘That’ll do.’ She grins, picking up the cake stand and offering it to me. ‘So, what’s been going on with you?’ she asks, pouring me a cup of tea. ‘And who’s the man?’ She stops fiddling with the teapot and gives me an inquisitive look.
    ‘What do you mean,
man
?’ I feel my cheeks flush.
    ‘Oh come on. I know that look a mile off. It’s the same Ready Brek glow you used to get after the end-of-term disco when one of the boys from St Patrick’s had asked you to slow dance. And we must have only been about twelve at the time.’
    ‘Sam, you won’t believe the day I’ve had! The Heff appeared and dropped a bombshell and in the next breath he introduces a second bombshell, only this time it’s of the
pure sex
variety.’
    ‘Whoa. Hang on a minute. What do you mean
bombshells
, and
pure sex
? God, I can’t believe this has all been going on right below me. How exciting. So, come on, tell all. I want details,’ Sam squeals, and stirs her tea. Even faster now. Her natural blonde corkscrew curls are bobbing around furiously.
    ‘Well. The Heff announced it this afternoon, during Ciaran and Tina’s engagement toast.’
    ‘
Engagement
.
Whaat? You’re telling me Ciaran got engaged?
Ohmigod. FAINTS. A girl can’t handle so many details all in one go. And why didn’t he tell me?’ she huffs.
    ‘You mean you don’t know?’
    ‘No. He bunked off straight after his lunch break, said he had important business to attend to and would I mind? Of course I said it was fine, but he never said a word. Told you so, deffo up to something … and now we know. What’s the ring like? Did you see it? How could you deny me this for a whole afternoon? It’s bad enough he didn’t tell me himself.’ Sam’s puffing for air, she’s practically hyperventilating. Always the romantic.
    ‘Well, I just assumed he would have mentioned it. Anyway, I’m telling you now. And yes, the ring is huge. Mega.’
    ‘Oh I bet it is. I can’t imagine she would have settled for a Carrington’s chip.’ I pull a face. ‘No offence,’ Sam adds, holding her teacup in mid-air. ‘Every time she comes in here she manages to find a way to mention Ciaran’s inheritance.’ This makes me smile. I can just imagine Tina trying to impress Sam, whose dad is Alfie Palmer, owner of Palmer Estates, one of the biggest estate agents in the country. Sam told me Tina practically did a running bodyslam at Alfie when he turned up at the café one lunchtime. It took fifteen minutes for Sam to prise Tina away from him.
    ‘What does Ciaran see in her?’ I ask,