by K. A. Hobbs
I snuggle closer to George, who wraps an arm around my shoulder. I settle into his tall, muscular frame and imagine what we must look like. Him standing at his full six-foot-four frame, me at barely five feet. Him strikingly handsome and me, pretty but plain.
As we step through the archway of foliage and Christmas berries, he stops me. I look up and meet his piercing blue eyes, made, if possible, even bluer by the white surrounding us. He removes his gloves and traces one long, warm finger over my cheek.
“I don’t know if a gentleman nowadays would ask or just take, but I’m of a different time to you. And in my day we asked.”
I laugh. “Asked what?”
“Imogen Thomas, may I kiss you?”
All the breath seems to leave my body and I can’t even remember how to speak so I just nod, yes.
He smiles softly and leans down, and I move up onto my tiptoes to meet him but he stops inches from my mouth. He waits so long I think he’s changed his mind, and then he closes the gap.
I feel his kiss first on my lips, and then the warmth floods my body and makes my knees go weak. Just as I’m about to reach up to touch his hair, he stops. I miss his lips the moment they’re gone, leaving mine tingling in their wake. How can a single pair of lips feel so good, mean so much? How can losing them feel like losing the oxygen from the air? I want to drag him back to me and force him to kiss me again, but like he said, he’s from a different time, and ladies just didn’t do those things where he comes from.
“I must stop.” He groans breathlessly. “But please know, this is not a simple case of juvenile lust. I feel so much more than that for you, but we must not rush it. We have time. I want this to be right for both of us.”
I nod, understanding. “I do, too.”
“Shall we head back and have that… what did you call it?”
“Indoor picnic.”
“Yes, that.” He laughs. “Shall we go back, consume more calories and enjoy a film or two?”
“I’d love to.” I smile, linking my hand with his once again and following him back to the house.
Christmas is all over and done, and it wasn’t half as bad as I expected it to be, which is all down to Imogen. She kept my spirits afloat each time I felt them sinking. Now, though, it’s been days. The tree is down, leaving behind nothing but a smattering of artificial pine needles on the living room floor that I can’t bring myself to vacuum up. It’s ridiculous, but it feels as though getting rid of them will somehow negate the fact that I made it through another Christmas without Ben.
It’s Sunday evening and I’m about to settle into the couch for some awful weekend telly when there is a knock at the door. I’m not expecting Imogen or my mum until tomorrow, so I have no idea who it could be.
Glancing down at the state I’m in and deciding whoever it is will have to deal with my vintage Power Puff Girls pyjamas and post-Christmas scruffy hair. I’m pretty sure I’ve brushed it this week.
I rapidly regret that decision the moment I swing the door open to reveal the very last person in the world I expect to see.
“You!” I exclaim loudly, my jaw almost hitting the ground while my eyes narrow.
“Me,” he agrees easily, with an undeniably charming smile.
“Padstow’s very own cookie thief.”
“The very same.” His grin widens, damn him.
I glower at him. His charming smile and irritating handsomeness won’t work on me.
“You thieving door to door now?” I question with a huff, my hand planting itself on my hip.
“Just the one door today, and I’m on a rather different mission this time.”
“And this mission just happened to bring you to my door, did it? What a coincidence.”
“Well…” He shuffles his feet, looking less than one hundred percent confident for the first time. “It’s not exactly a coincidence.”
“Astonishing,” I bark out drily. “Do I even want to know how you found out where I live?”
“Probably not,” he admitted, reaching up and ruffling his unruly curls that I’m determined not to find charming. “If it’s any comfort, I come bearing gifts.”
“Gifts?” I quirk an eyebrow at him and he grins, sensing that he’s softening me up.
“Well, gift, really. Not plural. But I think you’re going to like it.” He reaches inside the lapel of his thick wool coat with a mischievous grin before pulling it free with a packet of the very cookies he stole from me clasped there. “The guilt of depriving you of these has been eating me alive.”
“Good. So it should,” I reply, snatching the goodies from his hand, leaving him standing with his hand hovering in the air.
“Are you always so hostile?” he questions, completely undeterred by my lack of conversation.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered. Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“So hostile,” he mutters, shuffling his feet on the doorstep and sending snow flying everywhere. “Because it’s about minus four out here and I’m freezing my bollocks off.”
“And that’s my problem how?” I ask, amusement tipping my lips up even as my eyes narrow. I don’t want to like this man. It’s not right that my body is drawn to him in a way I can’t control, but I can control how I behave towards him, and encouraging him to come inside and be a part of my life is not a good idea.
“Frostbite is everybody’s business, Molly. Everybody’s business. Plus, if I lose a finger to the cold, I can’t save lives any more and you don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”
“You’re good. I’ll give you that.” I chuckle and concede the doorway, allowing him to step inside, where he shakes his shaggy hair and sends droplets flying everywhere.
“I don’t suppose there’s a chance of a coffee and one of those cookies, is there?”
I huff good-naturedly, enjoying his cheekiness in spite of myself, and wave him through into the kitchen. “So it wasn’t so much a gift for me as for you, then?”
“I’d say it was a gift for both of us. Well, maybe more a reward for me?”
“A reward?” I snort. “For what?”
“For going all the way to the shop, finding them, queuing up with the riffraff and then coming all the way over here in these Arctic conditions. It’s been a trial, I tell you.”
Shaking my head, I flip the kettle on and throw some coffee into two mugs. “Wow, you’re quite the martyr, aren’t you? You’re lucky you didn’t lose any body parts to frostbite.”
He removes his coat and pats himself down, taking a few extra seconds at his crotch. “Nope. All present, correct and ready for duty,” he replies with the cheekiest of grins and a mock salute.
“Yeah? Well don’t get too cocky. Things can change in an instant.” I wink at him as I pour the boiling hot water into the cups, sending steam flying threateningly through the air. “Wouldn’t want to tempt fate, would we?”
“Absolutely not.” He shudders. “I’m rather fond of all my—ah—body parts. So, did you have a good Christmas?” he asks, helping himself to a seat at the table.
“Make yourself at home, won’t you?” I mumble, grabbing the cookies off the side before he can get his grubby little mitts on them. “Christmas was… as good as could be expected. I didn’t burn the turkey so that’s a win. Yours?”
“Very nice. Libby and I went to my parents. My sister was there, all very civilised.”
Libby…
Of course a man who looks like him has some beautiful wife hanging off his arm. Realistically, I know I ought to be relieved. Now I can stop thinking about him, push him out of my mind and focus on Ben. And yet… there’s no denying the jolt of disappointment that shoots through my system against my will.
Forget about him… My conscience is very clear about that. Ben was the love of my life and I owe it to him not to have gooey feelings over some other man, especially not the man who failed to save his life.
“That sounds lovely. Close family?” Keep
it light, Molly. Nothing too deep.
“Yes, I guess you could say that. There’s just my sister and I, and we have a great relationship with our parents. Do you have any siblings?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just my mum and me now. Makes for cheap and quiet holidays, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, with genuine sadness.
“Don’t be,” I say, sliding onto the stool next to him and curling my frozen fingers around my coffee. “It’s fine.”
“I can still be sorry.” He smiles, and I notice his eyes flashing to the cookie packet and then back to mine.
I growl and cuddle them to me tighter, baring my teeth at him. “Don’t even think about it. Mine.”
He frowns and picks up his cup. “You’re so …”
“So…?” I question, shooting him a sharp look, daring him to say what he’s thinking. “Delightful? Charming? Capable of giving you two black eyes with no remorse? Why yes, yes I am.”
“Have you always been like this? So quick to push people away? So defensive? Or is it a coping mechanism?”
“Christ!” I cry out. “He’s a psychiatrist, too. However did you find the time to do so much medical school and still manage to look so young? It’s impressive. Really.”
He glares at me.
Glares.
Like I’m the one in the wrong, like I’ve just turned up, unannounced and uninvited, and asked for coffee.
“I’m just asking. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out you’re unhappy right now. I understand why,” he adds in a whisper.
“Because there’s a stranger in my kitchen drinking my coffee and trying to steal my cookies. Again.”
He looks at me intently and sighs. “Not quite, Molly. I know you think I don’t remember you, but I do. I recall that night in painful detail.”
Every single bit of oxygen leaves my body in a rush, leaving me to deflate on the stool as his green eyes bore into me so intently I can almost feel prickling on my skin. I’m not ready for him to remember. I’m not ready for any of this. There’s a part of me that still wants to be curled up under my covers, hiding from the truth and the world that forces me to relive the accident every single day. Why did he have to come here? Why did he have to remember? He must treat hundreds of patients every day. Why do I have to be the one he hasn’t forgotten?
I ought to speak, to say something cutting or sarcastic to ease the tension that’s suddenly encompassed the room. But my throat is sealed up tight, unable to pull in so much as an atom of oxygen, let alone form words. Instead, I simply gape at my fingers as they tap frantically against my steaming hot mug of coffee, enjoying the soothing burn as I hold them against it just a little too tight.
“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Molly, because you deserve that.” He offers a small smile and sits forward. “I meet a lot of people—some I remember and others I couldn’t pick out of a line up. You I remember as clear as if it were yesterday. I’ve gone against policy coming here and I hope I won’t regret that decision. But I had to check on you. You have been on my mind all Christmas, and… I don’t know. I just had to check on you.”
I blink and stare at him, finally dragging my eyes away from my burning hands to see the sincerity in his gaze. “I… You… You remember Ben?”
“Of course I do.” He sighs sadly. “I remember you mostly. I have never seen someone’s whole life end right in front of me like yours did that day. I’ve thought about you often, wondered where you were and how you were doing. When I bumped into you, it was like fate wanted to answer all my questions.”
I can feel the telltale stinging at my eyes that warns me of incoming tears, and hold my breath just long enough to keep them at bay. I need him to see me strong and together, not weak and falling apart. Finally, when I’m certain I can control my voice enough to be convincing, I push up from my stool, taking my cup with me, and stalk to the sink to plunge it into the waiting water. “Well, as you can see, I’m doing just fine. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not, nor was I ever, your patient. You’re not responsible for me.”
“Then who is?”
“Who is what?” I choke out.
“Who is responsible for you now you’re… Now you’re on your own. The young lady you were with—is she helping you?”
I glare over my shoulder, keeping my hands busy scrubbing my mug to within an inch of its life. “I’m not some charity case. Imogen is my friend.”
“Yes, I could tell that much. I didn’t mean to imply… I just wanted to make sure you’re getting help if you need it. I wasn’t saying you did, just that…” He rubs the back of his neck and frowns into his cup. “Keep digging, Seb.”
I sag against the sink, my arms braced against it as my head dips on my shoulders and I lose the fight against a single tear. “I’m sorry,” I offer quietly as it winds its way down my cheek. “I’m being so rude and you’re just being kind. I… I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologise. I really didn’t mean to upset you. Are you okay?”
“I… Yes. I mean, no, but what’s the alternative?”
“The alternative?” he asks, and I realise he’s standing behind me and no longer sitting a safe distance away.
I’m trapped. I can’t back away from him because the sink is blocking me in. I can’t sidestep him without making it obvious he makes me nervous. So I shrink into myself in an attempt to make myself smaller, hunching my shoulders and ducking my head. “Yes. The alternative. You’re okay or you’re not but it doesn’t change anything, does it?”
“I think it changes everything actually, Molly.” He reaches around and places his empty coffee cup into the sink and then stands perfectly still. “There are people you can talk to if you need to. Or, you know… you can talk to me.”
“And say what?” I choke out through a throat that just doesn’t want to cooperate.
“Anything you need to,” he says simply.
Like life is that simple.
Like any of this is that simple.
“I’m not crazy.”
“I don’t think for a second you are. But I wonder if maybe you could do with another friend? You can’t have too many, right?”
“Right…” I repeat, pushing away from the sink and turning until I’m face to face with him, or perhaps rather face to chest. He towers over me, his curious but open face looking down at me, waiting. Something tells me if I were to ask him to leave right now, I might never see him again. And in spite of myself, I really don’t want that. I don’t know how to do the spilling your guts kind of friendship thing. I tried it once with Christina after a particularly bad nightmare, but it didn’t end well. Sometimes people say they’re there for you, but when it really comes down to proving it, to sticking around through the bad stuff as well as the fun, they run a mile. I don’t know how I’d react if I let this beautiful man in and let him see the ugly parts of my soul only for him to walk out the door and never look back.
“It doesn’t have to be today. In fact, it doesn’t have to be ever. But if you did want to talk… or have a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies, I’ll leave you my number and you can call. Or text. Whichever you like. Or neither. But you’ll have it.”
Overwhelmed, I finally allow myself to meet him gaze for gaze, taking in the tiny strands of colour that infiltrate the green on closer inspection. It’s not an easy thing for me to admit, even to myself, but I don’t want him to leave. Not yet. “Was that another not so subtle attempt to requisition a cookie?” I ask in an even less subtle attempt to change the subject.
“No.” He laughs. “But I won’t say no if you’re offering.”
Groaning, I drift my glance between the delicious drops of heaven all neatly packaged on the counter, and the impressive puppy dog eyes he’s giving me. He could probably get anybody to do anything with that look. Damn him.
“Fine. But if we do ever do this again, you need to bring two packs. Molly doesn’t like sharing Fox’s.”
&
nbsp; He grins at me again and reaches for the packet. “But she does share everything else?”
“Don’t push your luck,” I mutter, grabbing the first cookie from the pack when he tears it open, because everybody knows the one on the end tastes the best. “Count yourself lucky I’m in a good mood.”
“This is a good mood?” he teases.
“Yup.” I nod decisively, taking a bite out of the cookie and melting into heaven when the first taste touches my tongue. “Take it or leave it,” I mumble between chews.
“If I get a cookie, I’ll absolutely take it.”
“If you’re a good boy, I might even let you have two.” I grin and spin around, offering him the packet and laughing when he reaches for a cookie and I yank it away.
He scowls. “That’s not nice.”
“I never claimed to be nice.” I reach forward and tweak his nose in an awkward gesture that I instantly regret when he grabs my wrist and drags me towards him, twisting me into his chest backwards to give him easy access to the cookies.
“Neither did I.”
“Hey!” I wriggle in his grasp, fruitlessly trying to get free while his grip tightens and his breath tickles my ear as he speaks.
“About that cookie?”
“What about it?” I grumble, twisting and wrenching against him without getting anywhere. I probably ought to be freaked out by his strength. And yet… there’s a part of me that melts a little inside and eventually, I stop fighting and just hang there in his grip.
“This would all be so much easier if you just gave me a bloody cookie, you know? Or are you secretly enjoying being pressed up against me?”
“What? No,” I cry out, redoubling my efforts to escape from him, hurling the cookies into his chest as payment. “I’m a married woman.”
“Thanks,” he huffs, releasing me and delving into the packet for not one, but two cookies. “I think I deserve these after all the rubbing against me you just did.”
“You wish,” I spit out at him, hating how much I liked his arms around me. How much I enjoyed that momentary feeling of being held, being protected, even desired.
