‘I am, but I’m not drinking at the moment.’
Evie looked up. ‘Not at all?’
‘I haven’t touched a drop since the night I first met you.’
The snowstorm.
Luc and Natasha looked from him to her and back again. Jake’s gaze held hers, as if he was silently communicating a message, and Evie puzzled over what it could be. Had he resolved not to drink again because he was ashamed of his behaviour that night? But at the ball – that kiss – she’d assumed it had been a drunken blunder. If he’d been sober, what did that mean?
‘I suppose you taste so much wine with your work, perhaps it loses its appeal?’ suggested Natasha, as they all began to eat.
‘I just decided it was a sensible thing to do,’ he said dismissively. He turned to Evie and changed the subject. ‘Lottie adores that pink quilt you made for her. She wouldn’t lie down until I’d fetched it for her.’
‘The princess quilt?’ said Natasha. ‘We can’t go anywhere without it.’
Evie smiled. ‘I’m glad she likes it. I could make a smaller one if you like – one that’s more portable.’
‘Please,’ said Luc. ‘We live in fear of losing the damn thing. She’d never sleep again without it.’
Evie nodded. ‘I’ve got some scraps of fabric left. A doll-sized quilt will be a good project to take to my parents’ house over Christmas.’ She sliced another piece of tart. The pastry was buttery and delicious.
‘I’m so looking forward to spending Christmas in Provence,’ said Natasha.
‘All my family will be there this year,’ said Luc, with a smile. ‘Lottie will be so excited to see all her cousins.’
Evie knew he was close to his family. He and Natasha liked to visit as often as possible. She wished she could feel the same eagerness about going home, but her heart was heavy at the prospect. Even more so than usual this year.
‘Have you got guests coming for the holidays, Jake?’ asked Natasha.
‘No.’
Evie wondered if the others noticed how his mouth tightened, if they recognised it as a sign of his bitten-back grief and the strain he felt at times like Christmas.
‘What are your plans, then?’ Natasha had painted her nails sparkly red with white-bearded Santas. They glittered in the candlelight as she reached for her glass.
‘I don’t have any.’
‘It’s only five days away. Haven’t you left it a bit late?’
‘No.’
Evie glanced at him, remembering the conversation they’d had on this subject outside her shop. His plate was empty and he sat straight-backed.
‘You’re not going to visit your sisters?’ asked Luc, reaching across the table to refill their wine glasses.
Jake shook his head. ‘I hate Christmas.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ Natasha smiled.
‘I do.’
Her smile faded and a moment’s silence punctuated the conversation. Natasha and Luc glanced at each other, puzzled, but Evie understood.
She understood perfectly. ‘It’s a difficult time of year for anyone who’s lost a loved one,’ she said quietly. ‘Everyone has high expectations of a perfect family gathering, but emotions run high, and people are forced together who don’t normally spend time with each other. I dread it too,’ she finished, darting Jake a weak smile.
‘You do?’ asked Luc. He sipped his wine.
She nodded, picturing her parents’ faces. Her relationship with them had never been easy, but at Christmas they went into overdrive with a particularly artificial act of jolliness, which set her nerves on edge.
It hadn’t been like that when she was a girl. She had fond memories of childhood Christmases. But everything had changed, and now she was torn between feeling her parents depended on her, their only surviving child, and knowing her presence wasn’t enough to make them happy. Christmas was the most acute reminder that, no matter what she did, she could never fill Zara’s shoes. They always looked as relieved as she felt when the holidays were over and she left.
‘Usually my plan of damage limitation involves arriving as late as possible on Christmas Eve and leaving first thing Boxing Day, but this year is going to be different …’ She took a sip of wine, but it didn’t chase away the leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘We’re going to Tim’s parents.’
‘No!’ said Natasha, wide-eyed.
‘His parents are good friends with mine. They’re like family, really.’
‘But won’t that be incredibly awkward for you?’
‘Yes. Big-time.’ This Christmas was going to be the worst ordeal for her.
‘And can’t they see that?’
She shook her head, smoothing out her napkin and remembering her conversation with her mother. ‘Why don’t you go without me, Mum?’
‘You know we can’t leave you on your own at Christmas.’
‘I’d rather that than spend it with him.’
‘Oh, Evie, darling. Please try to be more mature about this.’
More mature? Her fingers squeezed the linen napkin because, no matter what she did, they always saw her as the difficult one. Tim had cheated on her! And hindsight was beginning to reveal what she hadn’t seen at the time: how he’d emotionally abused her, persistently undermining her self-esteem. There was nothing unreasonable about not wanting to spend Christmas with him.
‘Tim can do no wrong in their eyes. They still think I should get back with him.’
Natasha touched her arm in sympathy. ‘Oh, Evie, what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’ She pinched the stem of her wine glass. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Could you invite your parents to your place instead?’ asked Luc.
‘I suggested that, but they’ve really got their hearts set on going to Tim’s parents. I think they’re hoping that being with friends and doing something out of the ordinary will shake off the memories and make the day more bearable.’ She sympathised. She wished she could wave a magic wand and make the holidays easier for them. Less painful. ‘Like I said, Christmas is difficult.’
She caught Jake’s eye as she said this, but rather than looking sympathetic, he glowered.
Natasha got up and began to collect the plates. ‘I’ll get the main course. Prepare to be impressed! Luc has made a delicious stew. Boeuf bourguignon.’
‘You should tell your parents you’re not going,’ said Jake, when Luc and Natasha had left the room and he was alone with Evie.
‘What?’
‘To spend Christmas with your ex. You should point-blank refuse.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t. I don’t have a legitimate reason to miss it.’
‘I’d say you do. And if they can’t see that, they’re fools.’
‘They’re not the ogres you think they are. They wouldn’t want me to spend Christmas by myself.’
‘Yet they’re leaving you no option but to spend the holiday with your ex who cheated on you and continues to harass you?’
‘You don’t understand …’
He understood better than she gave him credit for. She was too kind-hearted. She spent too much time considering how difficult Christmas was for her parents, while they clearly didn’t consider her feelings at all. ‘You should stand up to them. Stand up for yourself.’
He would stand up for her. He’d fight her corner. He didn’t care what others thought of him.
But her affairs were none of his business.
‘I have considered crying off sick at the last minute,’ she admitted, after a moment, ‘pretending I have flu or something.’
‘And spending Christmas where?’
‘At home. Alone.’
He could see from her expression that she wasn’t looking forward to it. Unlike him, she was friendly, she was sociable, and she would hate to spend the holiday alone.
Let it go, Hartwood. He’d spent the last few days cursing himself for the thoughtless loss of control that had pushed him to kiss her. He’d be wise
to learn from his mistakes and keep his distance.
Silence settled in the room, like an unwanted guest, and Jake couldn’t think of anything more to say. He pressed a finger to his forehead. Another fitful night had left him tired. Again. He wasn’t sure why life felt as if it was grinding to a halt this week, each day slow and dull and grey, when it had been like that for the last couple of years.
Since he’d arrived in Willowbrook, though, things had changed a little. He’d grown used to being stopped to chat as he walked through the village. He and Smoke had begun to look forward to their stops at the Button Hole and Evie’s visits to the Old Hall with deliveries of soft furnishings followed by cheerful conversations over a cup of tea.
Perhaps that was what had been missing the last few days – her bubbly presence and bright-eyed optimism. The realisation dawned on him that he’d grown to regard her as a friend. He glanced at her, trying to ignore the buzz she provoked in him. Had he felt this before or was it the consequence of that kiss? Or was it simply that she looked pretty tonight, her eyes smoky with make-up, her luscious thick hair draped over one shoulder? She was lost in thought and unusually quiet as she fiddled with the end of her long plait.
He cleared his throat, racking his brain for a neutral topic, some small-talk to fill the silence. But it wasn’t easy: he wasn’t practised in small-talk. ‘Has the – er – snow hampered your Christmas shopping?’ was the best he could come up with.
‘Not at all.’ Her face brightened. ‘I’ve made all my gifts this year.’
He tried to dampen his awareness of how well that dress moulded her curvaceous figure and how the colour accentuated the rose of her cheeks and the hazel of her eyes. She looked even more beautiful than she had on the night of the ball, and the urge to reach out and brush the loose strands of hair away from her face was difficult to suppress.
‘Let me guess – patchwork quilts?’ He didn’t know how she had time. She’d produced so many curtains and bedcovers for his home alone, as well as running her shop.
Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. ‘No – but you’re not far wrong. I’ve made Dad a case for his tablet, and for Mum I knitted a handbag.’
‘You knitted a handbag?’
Her chin lifted. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s all kinds of wrong. It sounds terrible.’
‘I made one for myself, too,’ she said, reaching down by her feet. ‘See?’
She held up a bag, grey-brown in colour, with a cabled pattern and leather handles. ‘It’s fully lined,’ she said, opening it up, ‘with small pockets inside for her keys, lipstick and so on.’
He had to confess, it looked nothing like the picture he’d had in his head of stretched and saggy knitted squares. In fact, it looked completely professional and the kind of thing his sisters would pay a lot of money for.
‘Still don’t like it?’ she asked, her eyes dancing with challenge.
‘Actually,’ he cleared his throat, ‘it’s – very nice.’
She arched a brow and put the bag down. ‘Thank you. Now, tell me, was that painful?’
Her dimples flashed, her eyes gleamed, and he felt a curious skip in his chest. ‘Was what painful?’
‘Paying me a compliment.’ Her smile lit up the room. ‘I know it’s difficult for you to do.’
Her teasing words triggered a warm sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he was relieved that he hadn’t destroyed their friendship after all.
Luc and Natasha returned with a big pot of stew and a bowl of green beans.
‘Will you be taking a break from work over Christmas, Jake?’ Natasha asked, as they tucked in.
‘Probably not.’ Though what would he do when his phone went quiet and his customers were all busy with their families?
He found his gaze kept drifting back to Evie. The flickering light of candles around the room caught the gold threads in her hair and made them shimmer. He’d never noticed before how smooth her skin was, how easily it coloured when she dropped something or when she made everyone laugh with her upbeat humour.
‘Seconds, anyone?’ asked Luc, taking the lid off the stew.
Evie’s forehead creased. ‘I’m tempted, but I shouldn’t …’ She bit her lip, and absently touched her stomach.
Jake frowned. ‘Why shouldn’t you?’
Her cheeks filled with colour. ‘Because I only need to look at a plate of food and my hips get wider.’
‘Nonsense!’ he said, more fiercely than he’d intended. He knew her ex was responsible for her hang-ups about her figure. How could the other man not have appreciated her fresh-faced beauty, her bright-eyed optimism, her sweet-natured charm? She was generous with her compliments and her ready smile – she had an uplifting effect on all those around her.
‘You have a lovely figure,’ said Natasha. ‘But Jake brought dessert, so perhaps you want to keep some room for that.’
‘Yes, I will,’ said Evie.
Jake got up and began to collect the plates. When Natasha moved to do the same, he held up his hand. ‘Sit down,’ he told her. ‘You two have worked hard to make us that delicious meal. Now let me do the rest.’
‘Thanks, Jake.’ She smiled.
Evie helped too, and they carried everything through into the small kitchen. As he rinsed the plates and she stacked them in the dishwasher, he caught a drift of her scent – apples and cinnamon – and his body tightened, remembering how it had felt outside in the cold night to press her against him, to brush his lips against the softness of her skin, to hear her sigh with pleasure.
Irritated with himself, he tried to wipe it from his mind. Pretend it never happened, they had agreed. Most likely, Evie had already forgotten about it. So why couldn’t he?
‘I’ll take these through,’ she said, scooping up a pile of plates and dessertspoons and hurrying away with them.
Jake nodded and opened the fridge. He followed her into the orangery and put the dessert in the middle of the table. ‘Lemon cheesecake,’ he said.
Evie’s eyes widened. ‘You made that yourself?’
‘I did. Is that so hard to believe?’
‘You’re a dark horse, Mr Arctic. A dab hand with young children and you bake desserts!’
‘I like cooking. I find it relaxing.’ Natasha handed him a knife and a cake slice, and he cut the cheesecake.
‘What did you call him?’ Natasha asked Evie.
Evie’s dimples flashed. ‘Mr Arctic. He’s a bit of an ice man on first acquaintance.’
Luc laughed. Natasha looked at Jake. ‘I like it,’ she said. ‘Mr Arctic …’
‘He calls me Pollyanna,’ said Evie, ‘so it’s only fair he should have a nickname too.’
Natasha looked at her friend. ‘Pollyanna? That’s perfect!’
‘I think so. Evie’s eternally optimistic,’ Jake said, ‘even when there’s nothing to be optimistic about.’
‘There’s always something to be optimistic about!’ Sparks of indignation lit her hazel eyes.
‘Is there?’ He slid a piece of cheesecake onto a plate and handed it to Natasha.
‘Yes! It’s just in some situations you have to look hard for it.’
He shook his head at her naivety and handed her the next plate.
‘The trouble with you, Mr Arctic,’ she said, with a mischievous glint in her eye and a nod to the dessert in the centre of the table, ‘is you’re as sour as the lemons in this cheesecake.’
He couldn’t help smiling at that. Why did Evie’s teasing send ripples of pleasure shooting through him? Was it because she was one of the few people around who spoke to him with such irreverence? Or because he was beginning to understand how many demons she had overcome to find that cheeky confidence?
Natasha laughed, and he realised she was watching them both, fascinated. ‘Yes, you both have quite opposite personalities, don’t you?’ she observed thoughtfully.
Evie’s dimples winked and she threw him another look of amusement before tucking in to her dessert. The
candlelight made her lashes look incredibly long and dark, and her cheeks glowed. He tried to concentrate on eating his own cheesecake, but his muscles wouldn’t relax.
Ignore it. Give it time, and it would inevitably wear thin. Lust always did. His fingers slid down the collar of his sweater searching for the chain around his neck.
The metal ring had a sobering effect.
‘I’d better head off,’ said Jake. ‘Let Smoke out into the garden before I call it a night.’
‘Yes, I’ll be off too,’ said Evie, hugging Natasha. She’d had such a lovely evening. ‘Thank you for dinner, and I hope you all have a wonderful time in France.’
‘Thanks,’ said Natasha, and she and Luc shared a look so loving that Evie’s heart skipped a beat.
There had been a time when she would have wished for what they had: that special closeness, the elusive once-in-a-lifetime love that young girls dreamed of and so many stories had been written about. But Tim had disillusioned her of all that. She was twenty-eight, and she had a business to rescue. Making the Button Hole succeed was the only thing that mattered to her. It was her dream.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling a faint pinprick of envy.
‘Oh, and Jake,’ said Luc, stepping forward as if a thought had suddenly occurred. ‘Our villa is empty over Christmas if you want to get away from it all.’
Jake tilted his head as he considered this. ‘That’s an idea, actually. There’s a couple of winemakers I’ve been meaning to visit. Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. In fact, you’d be doing us a favour. There have been a few burglaries lately and I’m worried about the place being empty during the holidays. Here,’ Luc reached behind the door, then handed Jake a bunch of keys, ‘take these. You know where everything is.’
‘Thanks. I’ll think about it and let you know what I decide.’
The door of Poppy Cottage creaked shut behind them, and Evie pushed open the garden gate.
‘Want a lift?’ asked Jake.
‘Thanks, but I’ll walk,’ she said. ‘It’s not far, and you can’t drive down Love Lane anyway.’
‘I’ll walk with you, then. See you get home safely.’
‘How chivalrous of you.’ She smiled, appreciating the gesture, although it would be easier to avoid him. Being alone with him made her skin tingle and her blood rush. She had to constantly remind herself that her awareness of him wasn’t reciprocated. That his heart belonged to someone else.
The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic Page 16
