Nick waved to the ceiling. “The kitchen light. My hangover...”
Val winced. “Hangover?” She grabbed another mug and readied it. “You need some coffee too then.”
“Bring it on.” He washed his hands.
Val made the coffee and brought a mug to the table. “I’m back to bed. See you later.”
Was this how it always was? For years, Ellie must have got up early doing all the preparations for Christmas lunch while her layabout family lazed in bed. “Aren’t you going to help me?”
Val grinned. “I’ll help with the vegetables in an hour or so, until then you’re on your own.” She glanced around. “Where’s Summer? I thought she was on duty this morning with you.”
“So did I.” Nick drank a slug of coffee, then added another spoon of granules to the cup. Dark chestnut grounds swirled in miniature chunks on the surface, so he had to swirl up a mug whirlpool to disperse them.
“Looks like you have it covered.” Clutching the two cups, and wearing a rueful smile, Val left.
Great.
His mother had presented him with the Christmas recipe book, which detailed a step by step of how to make everything, so he peered at the page for what was next.
Smear the outside of the bird with butter.
If and when Summer finally arrived, he felt damned tempted to smear her with butter. Where the hell is she?
Apparently, melting butter in the microwave was a fine art. One he hadn’t mastered. The surface looked fine, but when he scooped up a handful, the inside was liquid, rather than soft. With a curse, Nick poured it over the top of the turkey and rubbed it in with his palm. If he’d written this bloody cookbook, he’d have done it differently. He would have written: “Take the butter out of the fridge the night before. Open the packet of bacon before you do the whole smearing butter thing, because the packet is impossible to open with slippery hands.” Eventually it was done, with rashers of bacon overlapping on the bird’s breast.
The book said: stuff the neck end with the stuffing you’ve made—so he squeezed in a couple of tubes of sausage meat.
Another hand wash, then he stuffed the whole thing into the oven with a sigh of relief.
“How’s it going?” Ellie walked into the kitchen.
“I have the turkey in.” He deserved a medal. Or at least a woo-hoo. He got a pat on the back.
“Why are you wearing sunglasses?”
He slipped them off and shoved them into the pocket of the apron. Which he looked ridiculous in—whoever thought it was a good idea to give his mother an apron with stripper legs in stockings printed on it was a damned idiot.
“I was hungover.” The light didn’t hurt any more, and the dull ache in his head had faded. “I think I’m over it now.”
“Good. It’s time for breakfast—the others will be down in a few minutes.” She walked to the fridge and started to assemble ingredients. “I’m guessing you’d like me to do the fry?”
Every Christmas morning, Ellie provided a full Irish breakfast spread on the dining room table. While she was also preparing Christmas lunch. Who would have guessed her serene exterior covered a superwoman interior?
“How’s your arm? They could just have toast.”
Ellie’s eyes widened. She planted her hands on her hips. “Nick Logan. My arm was just sprained, it’s totally better now. You know perfectly well breakfast is part of the Christmas experience. You always loved it. What’s different?”
“What’s different is that I now know how much work this all is.” He piled the dirty bowls into the sink, turned on the faucet, and squirted detergent under the stream of hot water. “I’ve barely started—there’s so much to do. How on earth do you manage to make breakfast as well?”
“I’ll cook breakfast.” She took a bottle of champagne from the fridge, and a carton of orange juice. “You make the drinks. I’ve found that the orange juice helps. It must be the vitamin C.”
The booze, more like.
He put glasses out on a tray. Poured in a measure of orange juice into each one, and topped them up with champagne, while Ellie grilled sausages and rashers, whipped up scrambled eggs, and made toast.
“Pass me over a glass, and have one yourself,” Ellie said. “Cooks’ privilege.”
Footsteps on the stairs. Then one by one, the rest of the family poured into the room and descended on the mimosas, like a murder of crows landing in the top branches of a beech tree.
*****
The doorbell worked; it pealed inside the house, but five minutes later, Summer still stood on the doorstep, clutching Fella’s lead.
She pressed the bell again, hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm.
A shadowy outline appeared in the frosted glass panel in the front door, grew larger, and then the door was opened. Nick’s father stepped back to let her enter. “We were wondering where you’d got to.” Dermot bent and rubbed Fella’s ears. “Come on in, everyone is at breakfast.”
She couldn’t believe she’d slept in—today of all days. Her insomnia had struck again last night. Her body had been tired after the double shift in the restaurant, but her mind had been racing like a greyhound on a dog track. She’d said no to a job at the restaurant, but hadn’t made it a definite refusal, stating instead that she didn’t know exactly what the new year would bring.
She’d wanted to talk to Nick about it. She still wanted to talk to Nick, needed to understand if his attitude the previous night had been born from irritation that she’d not contacted him, or a different reason. If there would be a chance for them he’d have to accept that her profession had unattractive working hours. By the early hours, she’d at least worked out a few things. That she wanted to move back to Ireland. To Brookbridge. And she wanted Nick to be part of her future.
She wouldn’t hide the facts any longer, surely he would understand why she’d hidden the truth of the restaurant from everyone?
She shed her coat, wooly hat, and gloves in the hall, and followed Dermot into the dining room.
Conversation at the table silenced for a moment as everyone looked at her, then Ellie stood up and waved at the sole, unoccupied seat. “Come and have some breakfast, love.”
Nick’s face was impossible to read. He called Fella over and showered all his attention at the grateful dog. She sat down next to him, a chill seeping into her bones as he refused to look her direction.
“Good morning.” She addressed her comment directly to him—knowing the presence of others would mean he’d have to reply. “I’m sorry I was late, I overslept.”
“Good morning.” His gaze flickered to her, but he didn’t smile. “I’ll just give Fella his bone.” He stood and walked into the kitchen.
Ellie set a plate in front of her, and Val passed a dish of sausages.
She had to talk to him. “Excuse me for a moment.” She stood up and dashed into the kitchen after Nick.
She walked to him, and touched his arm. “Why are you being so distant?”
He pulled back. “I’m not distant.” His mouth compressed. “What do you want from me, Summer? Congratulations?”
She frowned.
“Look. I understand. You and I were only ever going to be a short-term thing—you wouldn’t even consider letting your brother know about us. I would have liked to have more time with you, but it didn’t work out. Don’t make a big deal about it.”
There was a pain in her chest. “Are you ending things with me?” Happy bloody Christmas.
The sound he made was closer to a bark than a laugh. “Don’t push this all on me. You’re the one...”
“Summer, your breakfast is getting cold,” Ellie said from the doorway. “Come back in. We’re opening the presents in a minute.”
Never had a group of people been more annoying, even when they were trying not to be. Val kept snapping photographs, and when breakfast was over, the presents were dragged from beneath the tree and distributed. “I’ve left mine in the hall.” She dashed out to retrieve the
large bag she’d stowed with her coat.
She had to give Nick that present. The one she’d thought perfect just the day before, but which now seemed horribly inappropriate.
“Here’s one for you, Summer.” Val handed over a beautifully wrapped parcel.
“And one from me.” April shoved a present wrapped with penguin-covered paper her direction. “Is everything okay with you and Nick?” She glanced over. “Did you have a fight?”
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, he was out last night.” And he didn’t come home, even when he knew she was there, waiting. “He’s angry with me over something.”
“Is your brother back in town?”
What? “My brother lives in Spain. My parents are out there right now for Christmas. What made you think he was here?”
“Ah.” April rubbed the back of her neck. “I saw you yesterday, with a man. I thought he was your brother—I told Nick...”
Understanding flooded her, as if someone had turned on a light in her head, banishing the fog of confusion. “Nick knows I was with a man yesterday?”
Before either of the women could respond, Elle was there, shoving a parcel into Summer’s hands.
It was impossible to talk in the crowd of Logan’s clustering around the tree, but at least she had some idea of why Nick was acting so strangely. He knew about her meeting with Michael. She reached into the bag and pulled out her stack of wrapped parcels and started to distribute them.
When she was done, only one more remained to be given. Clutching it, she walked to Nick.
*****
She’s here. When Summer hadn’t turned up that morning, he’d thought he must have totally screwed up last night. Last night, he’d drowned his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey, and had snapped out a few terse words to her when she’d eventually called, instead of doing what he yearned to—to lay his feelings out there, to ask her to choose him, rather than Michael. But she was here. And she was trying to connect.
Even now, when he’d given her no opening.
Nick blew out a breath and picked up the small wrapped box he’d shoved under the tree. When he straightened, she was in front of him.
“This is for you.” She held out a small, gold bag. “It’s not much, but I thought it was perfect.”
I thought it was perfect too, I thought we were perfect. “Thank you.” For the first time that day, he smiled at her. “And this is for you. I hope you like it.” They exchanged gifts. “I’m sorry I was being a bit of a jerk earlier.”
Her lips turned up at the corners in a half-smile. “I guess I gave you cause. My cell phone died last night, I would have called if I could.”
Everything about her, the way she leaned in a little to him, the glance that flickered from his eyes to his mouth, her smile, showed she wasn’t indifferent. She was here, when she could still be in a hotel room with Michael. He didn’t know what that meant, but it was an opportunity he wasn’t prepared to squander.
“Thank you.” He leaned in. So close he could see her pupils expanding. He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted anything, but if he started, he’d never stop.
Her lips softened and her hands rested on his chest. He breathed in the scent of flowers that hung around her in a fragrant mist. When he pulled back, her breathing had quickened. There were too many damned people around. “Come into the kitchen with me.” He placed the bag she’d given him down on a nearby table. “Now.”
Her eyes widened. She put the small box onto the table. Nick curled his fingers around hers and walked her out of the room.
In the kitchen, he closed the door and backed her against it. “Tell me you want me.” His hands were at her waist, his face inches from her own. He wasn’t playing any longer, was done with playing it cool, waiting. She’s here. That had to mean something.
He kissed her mouth, trailed his lips down the curve of her jaw, then down her neck. She was wearing a dress with a deep V in the front, the curves of her breasts driving him wild. He cupped one breast, and she arched her neck and groaned.
“Your family is just next door…”
“I don’t care.” He bent his knees so they were at the same level, claimed her mouth again. Being without her wasn’t an option. She had something to go back to in London, but he’d make it as difficult as he could for her to walk away—he’d show her how much she had come to mean to him.
When Summer’s arms came up and wound around his neck, his heart jumped.
When she stepped her legs apart, and pressed herself as close as she could get, his body responded instantly.
When someone twisted the doorknob, he jerked his mouth away from hers, and growled, “Go away.”
Whoever was on the other side did what they were told.
“Nick. We can’t. Not here.” She was breathing heavily and her eyes were drugged with lust.
“Tell me you want me.”
Her tongue swiped over her bottom lip. “I want you.”
“How much?”
“More than anything.”
He rested his forehead against hers and let his hands fall. “I don’t care that you’ve kept secrets from me. You’re here, now, that’s all that matters.”
She tried to speak, but he placed a finger on her soft lips.
“We want each other. We choose each other. Everything else is unimportant.”
He eased back, and took a step away. “Tonight, you’ll sleep in my bed.”
“And we’ll talk.” There was determination in her voice, in the unwavering way she looked at him. “I have things I need to tell you. Things to explain.”
About Michael. He didn’t think he could take it if she told him she’d slept with her ex again, but he’d have to try. Because whatever had happened the previous night, she’d chosen to be here today, with him.
“Tonight.” He nodded. “We’ll talk tonight.”
*****
The next few hours passed in a haze. They were never alone. The kitchen was a buzz of activity. Val, April and Ellie joined them in the kitchen, preparing vegetables and stirring sauces, while the men set the table and cleared up.
They weren’t alone, but a silent thread tied them together evident in the looks they shared, the casual touch of a hand when passing ingredients one to the other, the way Nick brushed against her in passing. Deliberately. Laden with intent.
Later, they’d be alone. The scale of what she’d hid from him was large. What she’d hid from everyone. Would they think less of her when they discovered she’d failed?
She’d reveal the truth to Nick tonight, at home, and let the news percolate through his family gradually. She always spoke to her parents in the early evening on Christmas Day so she’d tell them the truth too.
When the meal was made, everyone carried dishes to the table that had been dressed in a beautiful white linen tablecloth and set with gleaming silverware. Ellie had lit candles in the center of the table, and the entire scene was magical.
Nick carried in the turkey and placed it in front of his father.
“I’m proud of you, son.” Dermot picked up a lethal looking knife and started to carve. “This looks fantastic.”
“Remind me to make a bet with you again next year,” Ellie added. “I like not being responsible for Christmas dinner.”
Finn walked around the table filling everyone’s glasses with champagne.
Someone’s cell phone rang. Nick reached into his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s Declan.” His steady gaze met Summer’s.
They expected her to be in the house with Michael. The moment she’d hoped to put off was here. Now. She moved her head in a tiny movement—a brief nod.
“Put him on speakerphone,” Ellie said.
“Yes, do. We’d all like to wish him merry Christmas,” Dermot added.
Nick answered the phone. “Hey, Declan. Merry Christmas. We’re all at the table and you’re on speakerphone.”
“Happy Christmas to you all.” Her brother sounded happy. “If y
ou’re all sitting down to lunch, I won’t keep you. Did he do a good job, Ellie?”
“Well it looks and smells brilliant. I think I’ll have to get Nick to cook every year,” Ellie said.
“So, who is around your Christmas table this year? Full house?”
“Hi, Declan, this is Finn, I’m here with Val. Happy Christmas from us.”
One by one, the family introduced themselves and wished her brother the best of the season. Then it was her turn.
“Happy Christmas, Declan.” Her voice was so quiet she sort of hoped he hadn’t heard. No such luck.
“Summer? What are you doing there? I thought you and Michael…”
“The Logans kindly asked me to join them.” Everyone was looking at her. She swallowed and curled her hands into fists on her lap. “Michael isn’t with me.” Her face heated. God, this whole situation was beyond embarrassing. “Michael and I are over. We’ve been over for months—I didn’t want to tell you, I knew you’d all want me to join you in Spain rather than be alone for Christmas.” It was the truth, but not the entire truth. Summer picked up her glass and drank deeply. “The truth is, I didn’t want to admit that I’d failed.”
“Finishing with Michael isn’t failing, it’s a win. I for one am delighted—the guy was a prick…uh… Sorry for the language, Ellie.”
Summer’s pulse was racing. Her heart was hammering so hard it hurt. Nick reached out and placed his hand over hers.
“What about the restaurant, Summer? A friend told me he walked past it a couple of days ago…he said—”
Summer’s stomach dived. She didn’t want it to come out like this, she wanted to tell Nick the truth first, but there was no way to now, no way out.
“I lied about everything. It’s not just Michael—I’ve failed at the restaurant too. Summer’s Kitchen has closed and the premises is on the market.” Shocked faces and gasps met her announcement. “Can you take me off speakerphone, Nick? I think I need to talk to Declan for a moment in private.”
Nick turned speakerphone off and handed his cell phone over.
“Start without me,” Summer said to the table in general, then she took the phone and retreated into the kitchen.
Snowbound Summer (The Logan Series Book 3) Page 14
