Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

Dog's Dinner

Crossing an admittedly small village, walking on the fresh snow, in her evening shoes, with a heavy cake in her hands - she could never bake a small one - wasn't possibly the cleverest idea. Still, it wasn't as bad of an idea as changing her mind at the last moment and putting on her red Kate Louboutins. She slipped fourteen times. She counted. She didn't fall, which was amazing considering the history of her accidents in the past fortnight - but by the time she reached Mrs. Hooper's cottage she felt like she'd run a marathon. She stopped on the porch, took a deep breath, and pressed the doorbell.

Shut up, shut up, shut uppity up! Stop writing in your head and imagining fifty different scenarios of how this whole situation can go tits up in the first ten seconds.

He's not there. He's there with a new girlfriend. He's asleep. No one is there. They have finished dinner already. Dr. Edwin Montjoy is in the house. They are all sick. He's sick. There's a fire in the house. John is over you already. Oh, that last one. Yeah...

The door opened, and Clementine stared at a small dark-haired boy.

"Happy Christmas," she said. "You must be Killian. I'm Clementine, I'm–" And who are you exactly, Clementine? "I'm John's friend."

"Happy Christmas," the boy answered politely and smiled at her. "You're our neighbour John's been talking about."

Oh. As in 'I stayed with this lovely bird for a fortnight, and now I'm head over heels with her?' Or 'I hope she burns in a house fire caused by broken Christmas tree lights that she'd been so anal about?'

"Who is it, Killian?" Mrs. Hooper's voice came from the hall, and she stepped from around the corner. She wore a lovely tartan pencil dress and black pumps. "Oh. Ms. Popplewell?"

Tina pulled a wide smile on her face.

"Happy Christmas," she said. "I– John invited me for the Christmas dinner. I hope I'm not–"

Intruding? Overstepping? Being a nuisance? Acting like a complete moron? Make your choice.

"Oh, no, no, please come in!" Di said and started frantically beckoning Clementine inside. "We've all tested negative yesterday, by the way. And you've been isolating." No shit, Sherlock.

"Right, I have."

With your brother. Thoroughly. Several times a day. Shut up, Clementine's libido and the memories of his hands all over her body!

"Is that a cake?" the boy asked and pointed at the box in her hands.

"Ah, yes," she answered. "John mentioned you don't bake," she said to the woman. "So I thought I'd bring a cake." She smiled at the boy. He looked like a smaller copy of his Uncle. "I think your Mum should take it, it's pretty heavy."

"Who's there?" another voice rang in the hallway, and Georgette Millais-Scott appeared in the sexiest outfit Clementine had ever seen: a perfectly tailored velvet trouser suit! Phew, at least you aren't overdressed, Clem. "Oh my god, it's Clementine! The Clementine!" the blogger exclaimed. "And look at you! Looking gorgeous! Love the shinies in the hair!"

"Down, girl," Di grumbled and picked up the box out of Clementine's hands. "Don't let her fluster you. She'd had one too many eggnogs."

Clementine laughed. "Thank you," she said to the blogger.

"Here, take this to the kitchen." Di passed the box to the blogger. "I'll take your coat, Ms. Popplewell."

"Clementine, please," Clementine said and started taking off her houndstooth Max Mara.