‘Mum, I can’t see you. Hold it up higher.’

‘This better?’ she said, now showing me her forehead.

‘No. Down a bit. Is the sea choppy or have you had something to drink?’ She laughed and it sounded so far away that I thought my heart was going to stop. It was two weeks until Christmas Day and I was beginning to feel the pangs of missing home. Mum and Dad would be away until New Year’s Day and the reality of facing a very different Christmas to the previous thirty-four was beginning to make me a weepy mess. To make matters worse, there was a distinct lack of Christmas around Karensa. I glanced at the tiny tree Drew had put on my desk. It was browning in places—lack of water would do that—and the little paper ornaments were wrinkling at the edges. Very different from my mum’s usual decadent tree and outdoor, musical light display.

‘Dad’s just zip wired down the ship’s bow to the stern. He’s a bit windswept, to say the least,’ Mum chuckled.

‘Oh, God. Tell him to be careful!’

‘He’s having a whale of a time, Cal. I think he’s found his inner youth,’ she replied before lifting her sunglasses and putting them on top of her head. ‘Let me get a better look at you. You look tired. How are you sleeping?’

‘Really well. Must be the freezing sea air. How’s your warm Bahamas air?’

‘Jealousy doesn’t suit you!’ she said. ‘What about the writing? Have those bracing Cornish views inspired you yet?’

‘I’ve started my book,’ I replied, smiling smugly.

‘I’m so pleased! That’s wonderful. Tell me all about it.’

‘I haven’t finalised all the details but basically, he’s a recluse living in the mountains or an island in…Cornwall. He was jilted at the altar and no longer believes in love. It’s going to be atmospheric and moody. There will be cabins and log fires and he’ll be shirtless and brooding as he’s chopping trees. Then, an author…erm…a journalist is on some kind of assignment and she’s been sent there to research…wood.’

She looked puzzled. ‘Is this a rom-com, Cal? Is it going to be one of those with a pun in the title? Come and View my Wood: Book 1 in the Mount My Mountain Man Series.’

‘Jesus.’ I shook my head as she wiggled her eyebrows. ‘No, it’s a serious love story. Friends to lovers. Lots of slow burn and angst.’

‘Love a slow burn. Sounds good. Can’t wait to read it,’ Mum said as a drink full of chunks of fruit and probably a lot of alcohol came into view. ‘Now tell me what’s going on.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

Mum always had a way of knowing when something was wrong. She could sniff out my tears from the other side of the moon, never mind the Bahamas.

‘That outline you skimmed through about the recluse living in Cornwall and the author—I mean journalist—who falls for him as he’s shirtless and brooding.’

‘Yep.’ Here it comes.

‘Inspired by anything in particular?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing to do with the arty black-and-white photos of shirtless woodcutters Melissa keeps posting in your reader group? Or even the little jokes about you having your own to watch every morning?’ Oh, fuck. I hadn’t checked the group for a day or two. I’d been too lost in writing and didn’t want to interrupt the flow with social media distractions. ‘What’s his name?’ Mum asked.

‘Who?’

‘Your muse,’ she replied.

I sighed, knowing she’d figured me out.

‘His name is Drew. He owns the place where I’m staying.’

‘A new book and a new love. What a magical place!’

‘A new book maybe, but not love.’

I told her Drew’s story, the backwards and forwards, the hot and cold, the reasons why he was cautious and didn’t want to take a chance. She stayed quiet, nodding and frowning when she needed to, smiling when I told her how handsome, kind, and caring he was. Amazing. Frustrating.

‘Oh, poor man. What he’s been through,’ Mum said, ‘I can’t imagine, and with all the other things to think about too. Running that kind of business isn’t easy.’

‘I think he’s making progress. I’ve noticed that he’s been up at the barn a lot during the day. I can see the lights through the atrium and he brings bags of stuff back on the golf cart. He was there until well after midnight last night.’ I decided to leave him to it. I wasn’t sure if he was clearing the place, cleaning it or just needed some space to work out what he was going to do next. He always took Archie with him and that reassured me that at least he had some company.

‘As a mum who loves and misses her daughter. Can I ask you something?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Everything you’ve told me is all about Drew and how he’s feeling or how cautious he is, but what about you, darling? How will you feel about leaving him?’

I hadn’t let myself think about that yet. I knew if I did I would lose a little of myself again. The words would vanish, the ink would dry and the inspiration would be left here, swirling around on the beaches of Cornwall, carried away on the waves. An image of Drew flashed in my mind, looking a little lost, a lot lonely and all I could think about were the words missed opportunity and how desperately crushed those words made me feel.

‘Missed opportunity,’ I said softly, not realising I was saying the words out loud.

‘Oh, sweetheart. We can live with facts and figures and reasons and justifications for not going ahead with something or trying to make things work, but missed opportunities? They’re what drive you a little insane.’

‘I don’t know, Mum.’ My voice was shaky and that stab of upset I was holding onto was now getting fiercer. ‘Maybe he’s right. I’m leaving soon. What kind of a future would we have anyway?’

‘Who’s talking futures? I’m talking about a little Christmas cheer,’ she replied, smiling, and I wanted to hug her so much.

‘There isn’t much Christmas cheer at Karensa. Look at this.’ I turned my phone to the sad little Christmas tree on my desk. ‘That’s the most Christmassy we’ll get around here.’

‘That isn’t a Christmas tree, that’s a disaster. Surely the island sells real trees, if not, go and hack one down yourself. Rural living and all that.’

‘I’ll ask Brian,’ I replied.

‘Who the heck is Brian? Another muse? Is it going to be a ménage à trois?’

‘He’s the local farmer and he’s probably older than dad!’ I said, laughing.

‘Oh. Right. Definitely not an appropriate muse. Listen, I need to go. I’ve booked a spa treatment and we’re having dinner with the Captain. It’s all very glamorous and I need to shave my legs. I hate to think of you miserable, Cal. It’s a very different Christmas for you this year. Why don’t you invite Drew over for Christmas dinner? It doesn’t even have to be turkey and all the trimmings. Do something different, create a new tradition. Curry on Christmas Day or a nice Shepherd’s pie. Just promise me you won’t be alone.’

‘I won’t, Mum. I’ll have my laptop and my characters and hopefully, they’ll still be talking to me by then.’

‘Cal. Stop being stubborn. Invite the man for dinner.’

‘Listen to your mother,’ my dad said from over her shoulder. ‘Love you and miss you.’

‘Love you too,’ I repeated.

Miss you so much.

I worked for a couple more hours before realising I’d missed lunch. Stomach growls had become my time marker, almost like a writer’s sundial. The kitchen cupboard no longer contained Brian’s cookies and that wouldn’t do, so I grabbed my coat, hat and gloves, and started walking to the farm shop, intent on getting more writing fuel.

On the way, I saw the convenience store on the other side of the road and decided anything would be convenient at this moment, including chocolate, biscuits and crisps. The sign in red letters said ‘Brian’s’. Of course it did—the guy runs the island. I was half expecting him to turn up on Christmas Eve dressed as Santa and delivering a parcel.

‘My, my, look at this vision,’ Brian said as I opened the door.

‘Anything else you do on the island, Brian? Perhaps run the local pub in your spare time? Clean the B&Bs as a side job?’

He chuckled, ‘I’ve been known to!’

‘I wish I had your energy. What’s your secret?’ I asked.

‘The love of a good woman,’ he said tapping his nose.

‘Aww, Brian! I’d love to meet your wife. I bet she’s just as busy as you are, if not more.’

‘She’s currently helping to impregnate a pig.’ He chuckled as I grimaced. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘You sound…well-suited.’

‘She’s the light of my life. Fifty years and still going strong!’

‘That’s beautiful. Look how giddy you are when talking about her.’ He was practically bursting, and I was about to ask him more when I spotted my books on a table in the corner. A makeshift sign said ‘Famous local author. £20 a book. Sexy stories bound to get you going.’

‘What the ever-loving fudge?’

‘Ah, you’ve spotted my homage!’

‘Brian, I’m not famous and I’m certainly not local.’

‘You are at the moment. Staying up the road. Local.’

‘Where did you get them from?’ I asked, bewildered.

‘Amazon. I’m with it, Cal. Just because we’re out in the sticks doesn’t mean I’m not using technology,’ he replied. ‘Would you care to sign them, lovely? I can bump the price up to twenty-five quid.’

‘I’m not sure you’ll get many customers,’ I replied, rolling my eyes.

‘My daughter was the first. Isn’t that right, Heather?’

I turned to find Brian’s daughter, Drew’s disastrous date standing next to the cash register. She was wearing a leather apron, there was a knife sticking out the pocket and as she held out her hand and smiled at me, she was missing a front tooth. You really couldn’t make it up. This book was writing itself.

‘Nice to meet you, Heather. I’m Cal.’

‘I know,’ she said, quietly. ‘I love your books. I’ve just started the third one.’

‘Thank you. I’m so glad you like them. Have you bought them from your dad?’ I asked and she nodded shyly. ‘If I’d have known, I would have given you copies myself. Between you and me,’ I said, my hand shielding my mouth, ‘he’s bumped up the prices considerably.’

‘I know,’ she giggled. ‘I don’t mind.’ She was a quiet woman and I guessed that she appeared much younger than her years. I wondered if she was the same age as me or slightly younger.

‘Would you like me to sign it?’

She nodded before disappearing into the back of the shop. Brian came up behind me and was already filling a basket with goodies. ‘I’ve got a stash of those cookies you like in the back. Don’t tell anyone I have them. They’re supposed to be exclusive to the farm shop.’

‘My lips are sealed,’ I replied as Heather returned, holding out a book and a pen in front of me. ‘What did you enjoy most about the book?’

She thought for a second before replying. ‘It made me hopeful.’

My breath caught and my heart shuddered and I remembered why I loved writing so much. Books could take you on a journey, a different destination for each reader. ‘Go on.’

‘Hopeful for love. There’s someone out there for everyone. For me,’ she replied. ‘Love can happen to anyone.’

‘Haven’t you found the one?’ I asked, my heart flipping.

‘Not yet. But I will, just like your characters.’

I watched Brian smiling at his daughter, so proud and unwavering in showing his love for her. I imagined him holding her in his arms for the first time, bursting with adoration as she took her first steps, beaming as she kissed him goodnight and told him she loved him. I took the lid off the pen and started to write, her words echoing around me, thoughts of her disastrous date with Drew, her timid ways and young years.

I handed the book back to her and she read my dedication.

‘To Heather, You are already loved. Best wishes. Cal.’

Her head popped up, wide-eyed and innocent, but most of all confused.

‘Look at that man over there.’ She turned to Brian who waved back at her. ‘See how much he loves you. That smile…wow.’ She giggled and dropped her eyes. ‘You already have a wonderful kind of love. Unconditional and strong. Until the one comes along, embrace this kind of love.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied, clutching the book to her stomach and returning to the back of the shop.

‘You’ve made her happy,’ Brian said as he passed me two bags of shopping. I had no idea what they contained. Russian roulette of shopping.

‘No. You’ve done that,’ I replied, kissing him on the cheek.

‘Anything else you need?’

‘Yes, actually. A Christmas tree. A real one.’

‘Oh, really. Sorry, I don’t keep them in stock,’ he chuckled.

‘Where can I get one? One that’s big and says Christmas is here!’

‘Hasn’t Drew made it very Christmassy for you?’ he asked. ‘I’ll have to have a word.’

‘He left a tiny little tree on my desk, which was lovely but not really cutting it.’ I flopped across the counter. ‘I’m homesick, Brian. I need a strapping tree with a gold star and flashing lights. I want to feel like it’s Christmas. I want carols and brass bands…snow and mulled wine. Christmas cake, even though it’s vile, and dried figs, they’re even worse, but it’s Christmas and I have to have them!’

He folded his arms and smiled. ‘Leave it with me, lovely.’