Christmas In Mistletoe Read online

  Christmas In Mistletoe

  Clare Lydon

  First Edition November 2020

  Published by Custard Books

  Copyright © 2020 Clare Lydon

  ISBN: 978-1-912019-75-5

  Cover Design: Rachel Lawston

  Editor: Cheyenne Blue

  Find out more at: www.clarelydon.co.uk

  Follow me on Instagram: @clarefic

  Follow me on Twitter: @clarelydon

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and happenings in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons (living or dead), locales or events is purely coincidental.

  Also by Clare Lydon

  Other Novels

  A Taste Of Love

  Before You Say I Do

  Nothing To Lose: A Lesbian Romance

  One Golden Summer

  Once Upon A Princess

  The Long Weekend

  Twice In A Lifetime

  You’re My Kind

  London Romance Series

  London Calling (Book One)

  This London Love (Book Two)

  A Girl Called London (Book Three)

  The London Of Us (Book Four)

  London, Actually (Book Five)

  Made In London (Book Six)

  Hot London Nights (Book Seven)

  All I Want Series

  All I Want For Christmas (Book One)

  All I Want For Valentine’s (Book Two)

  All I Want For Spring (Book Three)

  All I Want For Summer (Book Four)

  All I Want For Autumn (Book Five)

  All I Want Forever (Book Six)

  Want a free lesbian romance? Sign up to my VIP Readers’ Club and grab your copy of It Had To Be You now!

  For Victoria.

  Never Vicky.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Would You Write Me A Review?

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Clare Lydon

  Chapter 1

  The hairs on the back of Fran Bell’s neck stood up, one by one, as if preparing to applaud. She tilted her gaze at the singer in front of her, squinting against the glare of the bright stage lights. Fran didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

  Ruby O’Connell had Fran under her spell.

  Fran hadn’t checked her phone once during the whole performance. Hadn’t had one other thought but Ruby, with her long, willowy body, confident stare, and voice like painted gold. Fran had been to a lifetime of gigs, but only a handful had made her react like this. Ruby O’Connell’s voice told a thousand bold stories. Fran wanted to hear more.

  Damian, Fran’s colleague, nudged her. “What do you think?” he mouthed, his blue contact lenses glowing in the dark.

  She leaned in to shout in his ear. “I think she’s a bloody slam-dunk.”

  Damian nodded his agreement.

  Ten minutes later, and the whole crowd in Holborn’s New Moon Jazz Club surged to their feet. Whistles sounded from the back, along with stamping of feet. A shout of “more!” from the man to Fran’s right. He was just voicing what everyone was thinking.

  Ruby bowed, thanked the crowd for coming, then walked off-stage. She pulled the leather strap of her acoustic guitar over her head and put the instrument down, then gave her bass player a hug.

  Fran followed Ruby’s movements, just in case she was leaving. When Ruby headed towards the loo, Fran turned to Damian. “She was fucking incredible. It’s a travesty she’s not headlining tonight.”

  “Totally agree.” Damian pulled in his chair, his 5 o’clock shadow pronounced. He was one of the hairiest men Fran knew. “What a voice. It oozed class. Spoke to my soul.”

  Fran raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t taken Damian for a poet, but he constantly surprised her. “I hope she listens to what I have to say. I’d love to work with her. She’s a little different to Fast Forward.”

  Damian snorted. “Understatement of the year. But Fast Forward will be fine. I have faith. You need to get some, too.” Damian turned and got his phone out. He checked it, then raised his head, giving Fran a stiff grin.

  Now they’d seen Ruby, he wanted to leave. As his boss, Fran wasn’t sure how long she should toy with him. Maybe another few minutes.

  “Nine thirty. The final act’s on in ten minutes. It’s going to be at least another hour before we’re done.”

  Fran twisted her wine glass on the round wooden table, and watched how the dim amber hue spilling from a small lamp turned her Merlot a warmer shade. She loved these venues: dark, intimate and with more than a hint of debauched times gone by. It was a far cry from London’s sticky, grimy clubs. Plus, you got a seat. Fran totally got what her dad meant now when he refused to go to any gig without a seat. There was no danger of getting a pint of Stella flung at you here. As if to illustrate her point, the people beside her made room on their table for another glass of wine and a charcuterie board to share. Eating at gigs. Only in jazz clubs.

  Damian’s face was a stricken picture. “Really? Another hour?”

  She was being unkind. But she was sort of enjoying it. Fran nudged him with her elbow. Being unkind to Damian was like toying with a puppy. “I’m only kidding.” She inclined her head towards the exit. “Go. Do whatever it is young people do on a Wednesday in town.”

  Damian returned her look. “The same thing you do?”

  Fran used to think that. But lately, as she’d just tipped over to 36, she’d begun to think otherwise. Now, at times, the lure of a cuppa was far greater than the lure of another glass of wine. Her dad would laugh at her for thinking so. But as her music industry job involved so much going out, staying in was a treat for Fran. Sofa, tea, movie. Bliss.

  Damian, though, being 29, was already up and away, grabbing his jacket and legging it before Fran changed her mind. She followed his retreating form, but then her attention was snagged by the returning Ruby O’Connell.

  Fran raised her chin and got up, tracking Ruby with military precision. She brushed down her navy jeans and pulled on the cuffs of her black shirt.

  Ruby accepted a flurry of congratulatory handshakes.

  Fran waited for the crowd to die down, and for Ruby to return to the rest of her band. Once Ruby had given her friends her first relaxed smile, Fran swooped. She’d done this enough times; she knew the drill.

  She cleared her throat to get Ruby’s attention. It worked.

  Ruby turned, her reddish-brown hair not as vibrant away from the bright lights of the stage. However, the intensity of Ruby’s emerald stare locked Fran in place. Her eyes had looked incredible from a distance, but up close, they were even more alluring. How old was she? Her smoky voice and old-soul voca
ls made her seem older. When she sang, Ruby could be any age. Up close, though, she was probably no more than 30, max.

  Fran extended a hand.

  Ruby took it.

  Her handshake was firm, her stare true. This obviously wasn’t the first time this had happened to Ruby.

  “Fran Bell, Dronk Records.” She turned up the wattage on her smile. “You were incredible. You have an absolutely amazing voice.”

  “Thank you.” Ruby scanned Fran’s face.

  As Fran stared right back, her gaydar pinged, but she ignored it. Ruby’s sexual preference had nothing to do with tonight or what she was here for.

  “I wondered if you’d like to come in for a meeting. We’d love to work with you, have you put out a new album with us. Gigs, album, touring. The whole package. We’re currently lining up our Christmas gig schedule, and I could see some venues where you’d be perfect. I know Christmas is seven months away, but it comes around quicker than you think.”

  Ruby gave her a weird look. “Happens every year, apparently.” She paused. “You’re offering me the chance to gig and make an album?”

  Fran nodded. “I am.”

  Ruby swept her cool gaze around the room, before settling it back on Fran.

  Fran kept her smile in place. She couldn’t read Ruby.

  “As you can see, I already do that. You’re here at one of my gigs. I have an album out, too. People come to see me, they buy my music. It’s already happening.” As if to prove her point, Ruby broke off to sign an album for four fans, chatting with them and taking selfies.

  Fran gave Ruby’s band a tight smile. She felt more like a spare part than she had in a long time.

  Eventually, Ruby turned back to Fran, giving her a ‘see-my-point?’ smile.

  Fran picked up the baton. “I totally get that you’re an independent artist, one with a great platform. But what I’m offering is the chance to do so much more. Build on that. Really get your name out there. You’re on iTunes now, right? All the streaming services?”

  Ruby nodded. “Of course.”

  “We could make sure your streams go up exponentially. Give you the exposure you richly deserve. We have press contacts, venue contacts, we could put you in touch with terrific songwriters to work with, too.” Fran paused. “I bet you don’t make a full-time living with your music yet. That you do other jobs on the side, just to make ends meet?”

  Ruby tilted her head, her striking green eyes clouding over.

  Fran didn’t want to see that.

  “I do a little more than make ends meet. Yes, I do some voice coaching on the side, but I’ve built my music career and platform organically, and I’m still very much in the game seven years down the track.” Ruby drew back her shoulders. “Which is why I don’t need you to swoop in and save me with promises that may or may not come true.” She waved an arm around the venue. “I’m not a star, but I don’t want to be. Enough people know me and come to see me. I do just fine.” She put a finger to her chest. “I’m my own boss, and I like it that way.”

  Fran gulped, no idea what to say.

  A hint of contrition crossed Ruby’s face. “Sorry, you just pressed a button. I’ve been down this road before with a former label and I don’t intend to do it again. It’s not personal.”

  Fran stood up straight, a blush crawling up her cheeks. It certainly felt personal. She knew Ruby had been with a label in her early years, but had no idea why the relationship had broken down. She’d certainly never had this sort of reaction before. A record label seeking out an artist after a show was normally a thing to be pleased about.

  Ruby O’Connell was not most artists.

  “How about just an hour of your time? Just to outline what I can offer. You may have been burned before, but I promise you, I’m a fan. I came here tonight to see you play live. I know you’re special and I want the rest of the world to know it, too. I’ve helped a lot of artists before including The Grab Band, Trisha Star and Delilah, so I know what I’m doing. I’m sure you’re well aware of how incredibly Delilah’s career is going in particular.” Delilah had blown up Fran’s life, too. But that was on a need-to-know basis.

  Tonight was about Ruby O’Connell.

  Nobody else.

  Ruby assessed Fran, as if running a lie detector down her body, seeking the truth. “You did a great job with Delilah, I’ll give you that. But we’re hardly the same market. She’s pop. I’m not.”

  She wasn’t going to budge, was she?

  “I appreciate everyone who comes to see one of my shows. But my stance hasn’t changed. I’m an independent artist doing my own thing.” Ruby smiled to soften the blow. “But I’m glad you enjoyed the show. It’s always what I want to hear.”

  Fran ground her teeth. “You were sensational. Is there anything I can do to change your mind? I can make you as famous as Delilah. Maybe even more so.”

  Ruby shook her head. “Not everybody wants that, though. But, thank you. It’s nice to be asked.”

  Chapter 2

  Four months later.

  “Why are there pumpkins everywhere?” Ruby sat at the farmhouse kitchen table. “We’re a Christmas tree farm, not a pumpkin patch.” Fat orange squashes lined the wide kitchen counter, while others sat in straw-lined baskets on the floor.

  Her mum leaned against the butler sink and patted the closest one. “We’re selling pumpkins, like last year. Your brother ran out of room in the greenhouses, so he brought some up here to keep warm. It got frosty overnight. He takes them back to their friends in the morning.” She grinned like that was completely normal.

  “Frosty in September?”

  Her mum’s eyes widened. “This is Suffolk, remember? It’s not all hot and crammed in like London.”

  “Scott’s done a great job with the pumpkin harvest.” Sat opposite, her dad rubbed his hands together. “He’s grown double what he did last year and I still think we’ll sell out at Halloween.”

  Her mum pulled out a chair and sat next to her dad. “Plus, it brings people here and gets them thinking about buying a Christmas tree from us come December.”

  The kitchen smelled amazing, with sausage rolls and scones baking in the AGA cooker, and a tray of home-made ginger-and-vanilla biscuits already cooling on the kitchen table. Ruby’s stomach rumbled as she looked at them. She needed a cuppa to go with them.

  “Not just a tree, though.” Her dad gave her a wink, pointing a finger in Ruby’s direction. “Are you ready for our nailed-on money-making extra?”

  Her parents had tried a multitude of ideas before, and even though none had made them their fortune, they were never fazed. Mistletoe advent calendars, gourmet marshmallows and home-made soaps, to name a few. She remembered the year they’d made multi-coloured fudge, and Ruby hadn’t been able to get the stain off her hands for weeks. She readied her face so she was prepared for this year’s golden ticket.

  Her dad drummed his fingers on the table. “This year, we’re also offering home-made Christmas crackers!”

  He tilted his bald head and fixed Ruby with the same green stare as her own. Ruby had inherited her height and her eyes from her dad. From her mum, she’d got a singing voice, a love of bananas, and her distinctive shade of red-brown hair.

  “What do you think, Rubytubes? Home-made crackers? Or are we crackers?”

  Ruby snorted. “You have to be crackers to run a Christmas tree farm.” However, this idea wasn’t too bad. “So long as you make the jokes bad and the presents unique, you might have a winner. Everyone needs trees and crackers, right? You just need to get people here and give them a festive experience they won’t forget.”

  Ruby pushed her chair back, and the noise on the stone floor made them all wince. “Sorry!” She walked to the counter and filled the kettle, then flicked it on. “Have you got enough time to do the crackers, though?” She put a hand on her hip and turned to her parents, logistics turning in her brain. “It’s only six weeks until the farm goes into overdrive.”

  Dad nodded. �
��We reckon so, don’t we, Mary?”

  Her mum nodded, nabbing a biscuit from the wire rack. She finished crunching before she answered. “We do. We talked about it with Scott and Victoria, and they’re both up for helping. As is Eric, too.”

  The whole family roped in. Ruby could just imagine how much they’d love that. Should she offer to help? She wrestled with her conscience, but she couldn’t spare the time. She had too much work on. Plus, she was still coming back to help out in December.

  “And before you offer to pitch in, don’t even think about it.”

  Ruby frowned as she got the mugs and made the tea. Had her dad developed mind-reading abilities? She put the tea on the table.

  Her mum stood and put an arm around her. “In fact, we were going to tell you not to worry about coming back for the festive period this year. Your career’s important, and you’ve put your life on hold every December for long enough. Things are getting back on an even keel, especially now the pumpkins are pitching in with the trees. This year, we want you to put yourself first.”

  Ruby bit her lip. She’d love to have December all to herself. To do some festive gigs. Fit in more private clients. But not quite yet. Her family still needed her, and she still wanted to be with them, too.

  “Your mum’s right,” her dad added, glancing her way. “Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm is our responsibility, and when we need family help, we’ll ask Scott and Victoria. You have a life elsewhere and we want you to enjoy that.”