WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel by JILL STEEPLES

been skulking around the edge of the kitchen ever since we got back, giving Pandora a very wide berth. I could completely understand her wariness.
    ‘Oh Millie, what a mess!’ She gave me an encouraging nudge with her nose.
    To hell with it. No, I wouldn’t go home, I thought, bending down to ruffle Millie’s coat. I hadn’t walked away from an assignment yet and I wasn’t about to now just because Pandora had taken a dislike to me. Besides I had something to prove to Rocco. I was a bloody good PA, even if he had his doubts about my capabilities. He might not have realised it, but I was just what he needed right now. And what I needed was a change of scene and a really good friend. Okay, so perhaps she wouldn’t have been my first choice, but in Millie, I knew I’d found the perfect one.

Chapter 6
    According to the map, Rocco’s boat was moored on the Grand Union Canal at a point nestled between two small hamlets a short drive from the house. The nearest parking was in the yard behind the local pub, The Anchor, a picturesque old thatched building that was prettily festooned with hanging baskets. It really was picture postcard territory. Outside the pub there were plenty of benches overlooking the canal, a kiddies’ playground and a small enclosed garden. I could imagine it heaving with people in the summer, but now it was deserted, the last of the morning mist casting a ghostly haze over the ground. Parking up, we unloaded all the gear from the car and vans. We trudged along the towpath, me with a laptop, the production schedules and various other bits of paper I’d acquired on the way, a basketful of mushrooms and Millie who, with Rocco’s permission, had hitched a ride. The crew stumbled behind, lugging along their various bits of cumbersome equipment.
    I’d been pleased to get away from the house and Pandora whose very presence had made me feel like the fat, unpopular girl at school who never got picked for the netball team. On the way out, feeling suitably bruised, I’d run into Sylvia who was just arriving for work.
    ‘So, you’ve had the pleasure of meeting PP, have you?’ she whispered, her eyes shining mischievously.
    I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
    ‘Don’t worry about it, lovey,’ she chuckled, ‘and don’t take it personally. PP is more regal than the queen herself.’ She popped her coat on a hook. ‘Just ignore her, that’s what I do. I hope I’ll see you later. I did enjoy our little chat yesterday. Perhaps we’ll have another.’
    Back on the towpath, I smiled at Sylvia’s friendly words. Coming after the spat with Pandora they’d been especially welcome and reminded me that after all, there could be worse places I might be spending my working day. And with any luck, Pandora wouldn’t be hanging around for too long. Surely she had a catwalk somewhere to saunter down, some camera to seduce.
    Pulling my cream puffa jacket tightly around my chest to ward off the sharp nip in the air, I realised that the clothes I’d brought with me were woefully inadequate for all this outdoorsy stuff. Most of my clothes had been bought with the air-conditioned offices of London in mind, or the throbbing nightclub scene. Certainly the black patent strappy shoes I had on today were not the best choice for traipsing along a muddy canal bank.
    We passed a couple of boats moored on the side of the canal and I admired their brightly decorated shabby chic. The area was a hotbed of activity with washing blowing in the breeze, people inside the cabins filling kettles, dogs running along the decks. What surprised me was how friendly everyone was. Without exception, they all gave a warm welcome, a smile or a cheery wave as we passed. In London, you didn’t dare make eye contact with anyone for fear of causing offence.
    Then at last we came upon the most magnificent boat I’d ever seen. Rocco’s, I thought smiling, without a doubt. It was the largest and shiniest and its name, elaborately painted on the