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

running a finger across the top of my vanilla slice and popping it into my mouth, savouring the exquisite taste of the almond-flavoured icing. Heaven.
    ‘Oh I don’t know. I’ve tried probing him and he reckons they have a lot in common.’
    ‘Like what? I mean, he’s lovely, with the Irish accent and all that … apart from that finger-gun thing he does.’ We both laugh again.
    ‘Oh that’s just a front,’ Sam says. ‘Underneath it all he’s a kind, sweet guy.’
    ‘I know, I’m only joking. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s nice and … well … she isn’t.’ I shrug.
    ‘I know, but he says she’s old-fashioned and wants to be married as soon as possible. And you know how keen he is to be hitched; in fact at one point I thought he might fancy you – he seems to spend an awful lot of time hanging around on your floor,’ Sam says, draining her tea before pouring more.
    ‘Don’t be daft,’ I say, brushing the notion aside. ‘But it doesn’t make sense to me. Most men, or certainly the ones I meet, would run a mile at the mere glimmer of a bridezilla.’
    ‘I think he feels left out. His family are all married with kids, so I suppose he just wants to fit in. He said every time he goes home his parents get excited, thinking an announcement is coming or, better still, he’ll have a bride in tow. Remember, he comes from a tiny village on the southern coast of Ireland. Things are different there. More traditional. Men have wives and children, that’s how it is. Anyway, enough of all that, I’ll quiz him in the morning. Tell me more about the announcement. No tell me about the
pure sex
bombshell first. That sounds far more exciting.’
    ‘Well, he’s called Tom Rossi,’ I say, lingering on his name.
    ‘Mmm … dreamy sounding,’ Sam interrupts.
    ‘He’s dark, tall, and – well, I know it sounds like a cliché – but he is
to die for
,
Sam. He’s very charming, in a proper gentlemanly Colin Firth way, but I’d say he’s probably part Italian or maybe Spanish even. Either way he’s got that raunchy Mediterranean thing going on too.’ I feel breathless and giddy just thinking about him.
    ‘Cor! He sounds lush. I can’t wait to get a peek of him. Maybe he’ll come up for a coffee and a nice messy cream bun.’ We both sit for a moment and imagine watching him lick his fingers clean, or better still … doing it for him. ‘Who is he then?’
    ‘I’m not sure. He starts on Monday, that’s all I know so far.’
    ‘What about James?’
    ‘Shush,’ I whisper, quickly, glancing around the café. ‘Somebody might hear you.’
    ‘Sorry, but it’s obvious he’s keen,’ she replies in a hushed voice, even though there’s nobody else here.
    ‘Hmm, you know he’s been acting very strange recently.’
    ‘Really! What kind of strange?’ Sam asks, eagerly.
    ‘I’m not sure … just, kind of extra-attentive, you know, more so than he usually is.’
    ‘Ohmigod, I knew it. He wants you big time,’ she squeals, banging her cup down on the saucer.
    ‘Will you stop it,’ I reply, trying not to smile.
    ‘Oh you’re such a spoilsport.’
    ‘Please.’ I pull a face.
    ‘OK. If you insist.’ She sticks her tongue out. ‘So, tell me about the other bombshell instead then?’
    ‘Well that’s the bad news I’ve had today. The Heff came charging into the staff canteen, slap bang in the middle of the engagement announcement, and said we’re entering a terminal decline and as of today everything changes.’
    ‘So what does that mean then? Your job’s safe though, isn’t it? I mean, they’re not going to get rid of you. You’re a fantastic sales assistant. Everyone knows that, and all the regulars love you. I’m always overhearing them saying how helpful and kind you are.’ Sam stops licking cake from her fingers and looks me in the eye.
    ‘Ahh, that’s nice to hear, but I don’t know, Sam. All I know is that a retail expert, Maxine somebody or another, has been brought