Holly’s First Noel

by Faye Robertson

  Holly’s First Noel

  Faye Robertson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Faye Robertson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Heather Howland

  Cover design by Heather Howland

  ISBN 978-1-62266-914-1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition December 2011

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Goodbye, Mr. Chips; Rubik’s Cube; Mensa; iPod; Milk Tray; Gretsch; Ford; Tardis; Alien; Die Hard; The Bourne Identity; Casino Royale; Ocean’s Eleven; Laphroaig; The Fellowship of the Ring; Lord of the Rings; It’s a Wonderful Life; Bridget Jones’s Diary; Polaroids; Thermos; Something

  To Tony & Chris, my Kiwi boys

  Chapter One

  “I’m moving out.”

  Holly gripped the mobile phone tightly and stared at the classroom before her with blind eyes, struggling to make sense of his words. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Jackson sounded impatient. Jackson was always impatient. It was his default setting, which was the main reason she’d answered the phone even though she was in class, knowing he’d continue to call until she did so. But then he always assumed he took precedence over whatever else she happened to be doing at the time. “I’ve packed up my stuff,” he continued matter-of-factly, as if he were telling her he’d picked up the bread and milk she’d asked him to get after work. “I’ll be gone before you get home.”

  In front of her, the class of teenagers created a cacophony of sound with their glockenspiels, the noise sounding exactly like the collision of thoughts and emotions inside her. She turned away, walked into the storeroom, and stared out the window. The weatherman had forecast snow for a magical Christmas, but in her hometown of Devon, the English day remained stubbornly wet and dreary. Presumably, her expression was beginning to look equally as bleak.

  “You can’t!” Her brain was cloudy with bewilderment. “I’ve already made it.”

  “What?” His voice grew even more fractious. “Made what?”

  “The Christmas pudding. It’s all ready.”

  Holly could barely make out the sound of teeth being ground. “I don’t care about the Christmas pudding, Holly. Fuck the pudding. I can’t do this anymore. It’s over, and I don’t want to pretend it’s not because it’s the bloody festive season.”

  She went completely cold, then hot, then cold again, all in the space of about ten seconds. “You’re leaving me?”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “Come on, love. You’re not really surprised, surely? It’s been ages since things have been right between us. We argue all the time. We’ve got nothing in common—you hate the whole lifestyle surrounding the station, and you know teachers bore me rigid.” Jackson was a firefighter. Holly had rather liked the heroic alpha-male thing, and the uniform was kind of a turn on. The drinking, prank-pulling, partying, immature boys-all-together way of life, not so much.

  “I thought we got on well,” she said softly, needing to protest against this casual destruction of her life.

  “Come on, Hol.” His voice turned pleading. “We were fine all the time we were in bed. But can you even remember the last time we slept together?”

  “Of course! It was a Thursday.” She bit her lip as he fell silent. She hadn’t meant to sound so flippant. It was true—they hadn’t had sex for a while. Of course he’d be fed up about it.

  That had to be what all this was about—he was desperate for a shag. He was a bloke, after all.

  She turned from the window and cursed under her breath as she banged an ankle on a rack of tambourines, the clatter discordant, mirroring her nerves. The storeroom was cold, damp, and claustrophobic, giving her the feeling of being in a coffin. She refused to consider how appropriate that felt. Her relationship was not twisting in its death throes.

  She ran a hand through her hair as he heaved another sigh. “Look, I know it’s been difficult lately, but what with the school inspection and getting ready for Christmas...I’ve been tired...”

  “That’s just an excuse. Deep down, you know it’s over. I don’t want to fight anymore. Can’t we end this without any acrimony?”

  “But what about the stollen?”

  “The stolen what?” Now he was annoyed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time. You never finish sentences, and you expect me to read your mind. You drive me nuts!”

  “Not stolen,” she said miserably, “stollen. The Christmas cake. I’ve already bought everything for Christmas Day. Your family is coming around, remember?”

  “No,” he said gently. “They won’t be.”

  Disbelief settled over her like the snow everyone was wishing for, and she felt slightly sick. Was this some sort of joke? But then the quiet pity in his voice finally sank in and she immediately knew it wasn’t. He was actually finishing with her. He really wanted out.

  “Is this just about the sex?” Her voice was sharp, because his criticism of her sex drive stung. She liked sex—she just wasn’t sure why the frequency had dropped off. “That’s a pretty crappy excuse to end a relationship, Jackson. You could’ve discussed it with me.”

  “I’ve tried discussing it with you.”

  She ignored the unease that made her stomach clench, deciding attack was the best form of defense. “Is there someone else?”

  “No,” he said, surprisingly patient. “And it’s not just about sex. It’s everything. Like the fact that you said you don’t want to come to the station party on Christmas Eve. You even refused to take part in the Secret Santa.”

  “The Secret Santa sucks. The guys always buy the women huge dildos.”

  “It’s supposed to be a laugh,” he snapped, “but that’s the problem—we don’t laugh at the same things anymore.” He sighed. “I’m not sure we ever did. We’ve had some good times, Hol. But it’s come to an end. Let’s not flog a dead horse, eh?”

  “I…” Her voice drifted away like a snowflake. She couldn’t argue with him—it would be like trying to prove red was blue. But even so, she couldn’t let their relationship come to an end like this. Not right before Christmas. “We can work on this, can’t we?”

  “Holly...” His voice was full of pity, and that was worse than anything he could have said.

  The anger crested and broke over. Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you loved me.”

  “I do... I did.” He sounded helpless. “But we were crap together, Hol. You’re miserable all the time. You want to be happy, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” The tears tipped over her lashes and down her face. He was right—she wasn’t happy. Hadn’t been for a while now. But why did it have to surface now, a week before Christmas? The season of fucking festive cheer?

  Behind her, the door opened and closed and she turned, suddenly realizing her class had probably heard everything she’d said. She’d completely forgotten they were there. Crap. She hardly ever took a phone call at school, and she’d assumed this one would only take seconds. “I’ve got to go.”

  She hung up without saying anything else, but just as she wiped her face and pr
epared to walk back into the room, someone pushed the door to the storeroom closed.

  “Miss Jones is taking a private phone call,” she heard a man say to the classroom. “I’ll be taking you for the last five minutes. Now, I want you all to put away your instruments and finish off your worksheets. And Liam? Don’t stick that in there. Nobody wants to see that. Take it out, please.”

  It was the unfortunately named Noel Coward, a rather intimidating science nerd who wore tweed jackets like the professor from Goodbye, Mr. Chips. He taught fifth period in the classroom next to the music room.

  Oh, God. One of her students must have overheard her, gone into his room, and told him she needed help. Holly sat and put her head in her hands. She and Noel had never quite seen eye-to-eye, mainly because his very presence pushed her beyond good sense. Once, on hearing he was into astronomy, she’d blurted out the really bad joke her brother-in-law had told her about the black hole near Uranus, and he’d just stared at her as if she’d grown horns. Now he was going to think she was awkward and totally flaky.

  She sat there until the bell went, watching the motes of dust hang like lost dreams in the fading light, listening to Noel’s deep voice instruct the class, calmly keeping control. His gentle baritone usually strummed her like a guitar, making her shiver. Now, she swallowed at the commanding tone of it, imagining the disapproving look he was going to give her. She hoped he’d wait until the kids vacated the classroom and then follow them out, but with her luck, of course that would never happen. After the students clattered outside, she heard the door close and then footsteps echo across the music room to the storeroom door, which squeaked open. She stared at his shoes for a moment before gradually raising her eyes to his.

  With the patches on his elbows and the dark-rimmed glasses, Noel Coward looked every inch the science professor. True, his hair was dark brown and thick, whereas most of the other teachers in his department had graying, straggly mops. His eyes were a startling, almost unreal turquoise blue. And it was also true that if you looked really closely, underneath the tweed jacket and corduroy trousers, he was tall and broad shouldered. She’d often thought that with his physique, he would have been a good contender for Jackson’s annual firefighter calendar. Except for the fact that, instead of a sultry come-hither leer, he tended to sport a look that said, I’m sorry, what do you mean you don’t understand that energy is equal to mass times the speed of light squared?

  She found him vastly intimidating, which was odd considering many of her students said he was their favorite teacher, bar herself of course.

  She stood and folded her arms, hoping her mascara hadn’t given her panda eyes. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

  “You’re welcome.” He studied her, frowning slightly. “Are you okay?”

  She rubbed her nose. “Are you going to report me?”

  He gave her the puzzled look she was sure he reserved just for her. “Report you? For what?”

  “Freaking out in class.”

  “I don’t think taking a personal phone call and receiving upsetting news is officially regarded as freaking out, Miss Jones, although I haven’t read my contract lately.”

  Holly blinked. That was another thing—he never called her by her first name. She found that amusing, daunting, and a tiny bit sexy. Very white collar, as if she were his personal assistant. Can you take some dictation, Miss Jones? Come and sit on my knee.

  “Oh. Thank you.” This was all so formal, despite the naughty turn her thoughts had taken. Jackson had just taken her life and snapped it in two, and here she was exchanging pleasantries with the perfect English gentleman. It was oddly surreal.

  Noel looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Holly’s bottom lip trembled. He was the last teacher in the school she would ever have imagined talking to about personal matters, but the look in his blue eyes was concerned, and before she could stop it, a tear rolled down her cheek. “Jackson’s leaving me,” she said and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Oh, dear.” He stared at her for a moment, and she knew her emotion must be embarrassing him, but she couldn’t stop the tears or the muffled snort that insisted on escaping her lips. She half expected him to say, Stiff upper lip, old girl, and clap her heartily on the back, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he stepped closer, and the next thing she knew, his arms were around her.

  She froze for a moment, shocked by the physical contact and his compassion. But then he murmured, “There, there,” and she melted and leaned against his chest, soaking his shirt with her tears.

  By the time her sobs turned into sniffles, she’d gradually become aware that he was stroking her back. His hands were warm and gentle, and his shirt smelled of clean washing powder and some subtle sandalwood-based scent that gave her goose bumps. She knew she should pull away and apologize, but she lingered for a moment longer, finding his embrace more comforting than she would have thought possible.

  “How awful,” he said as she quieted. “The week before Christmas. What an arsehole.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, still unable to peel herself away from his chest. “He is. The biggest hole outside Uranus. Oh, God.” She cringed and slapped a hand over her mouth, but he only chuckled. “You didn’t think that was funny last time,” she said in a small voice.

  “You took me by surprise. I laughed afterward.” He was stroking her hair now. It was strangely intimate, and it made her heart thud loudly in her ears. Why hadn’t he run the other direction the second she fell apart? It’s what Jackson would have done. Hell, what any man she’d been with would have done.

  Flustered, she said, “He knew I’ve already done all the cooking, but do you know what he said? ‘Fuck the pudding.’”

  “Did he know you don’t do sex with festive desserts?”

  She lifted her head. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Barely.” He let his arms drop and stepped back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of the situation.”

  “No, it’s okay. It was quite funny, actually. I didn’t think you had it in you.” She wiped her face, realizing as she saw his raised eyebrow that she’d just insulted him. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure the last thing you needed on the final day of term was to be dissed by a wailing woman.”

  “Hmm.” The look on his face was undecipherable. Was he agreeing or disagreeing with her?

  She sighed and sat down heavily on one of the spare chairs. “I’ve soaked your shirt, and now I’m taking up your lunch break. Thanks for your help. And for the hug. I really appreciate it.” And she did. His arms had been very warm and…reassuring.

  She waited for him to give a curt nod and bid her good-bye, taking the opportunity to escape the mad woman with the panda eyes and wet nose. He didn’t move, though. He looked out the window for a moment, a slight frown conveying some kind of inner dilemma.

  Then his gaze moved back to her, studying her as if she were one of the experiments in his lab. She could almost see the thought bubbles rising from his head like effervescence in a test tube.

  Finally, he gestured to the storeroom door. “Get your coat. I’m taking you out for coffee.”

  “Huh?” She stared at him blankly.

  “You need to talk to someone, and I need coffee. It would make sense to do the two things at the same time, in my opinion.” He held out his hand. “Come on. I’ll even buy you an end-of-term muffin. Consider it an early Christmas present.”

  …

  Noel fetched his big black umbrella from his classroom and sheltered her beneath it as they walked to the local café. He tried not to notice how her arm brushed his as she squeezed closer to avoid the rain, but the smell of roses that came from her damp skin and hair ensnared him, bringing intelligent conversation to a halt.

  He groaned inwardly. What are you doing taking her to lunch, Noel? Have you completely lost your marbles? The poor girl had just been dumped by her boyfriend. The last thing she needed was another guy trying to
shoulder his way into her life.

  Not that he was doing that, of course. Holly had looked miserable standing in the storeroom, clearly in need of someone to talk to, and his gentlemanly instincts had taken over, prompting him to ask her to lunch. It was nothing more than that, he told himself, trying not to stare as she tucked her golden curls behind her ear, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her neck. Yeah, he thought. Your motives are completely honorable, Noel. He thought of Ella, and, guilt flooding him, he looked away.

  They arrived at the café, and he opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. The bell jangled as the door swung shut behind them, adding to the Christmas-y feel already suggested by the tree in the corner and the gold and silver decorations on the tables. The windows had steamed up, and the smell of coffee and mince pies wound around him like festive ribbon, conjuring up comforting memories of the Christmas magic he’d felt as a child.

  Holly’s nose was reindeer red, but her damp, golden hair sparkled like glitter. He motioned for her to sit at a round table in the corner, buying them each a large apricot-and-cream-cheese muffin and a latte before joining her.

  He hung his gray wool coat over the back of the chair opposite her, sat, and leaned back, studying her thoughtfully. She was staring out the window at the rain, lost in thought. No change there, then. Whenever he saw her, Holly Jones appeared in a world of her own. And when she did notice him, she always gave him a cool, slightly alarmed look, as if she’d heard he strangled kittens in his spare time.

  Her blond curls were damp and tangled, her mascara smudged, and her face pale, but she was still incredibly beautiful. With a sigh, he took off his glasses and set them on the table. No, taking a distressed woman to lunch was definitely not one of his brightest ideas.

  She glanced over, looking surprised to see him sitting there, as if she’d forgotten he was the one who’d invited her out. “Sorry.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and wiped beneath her eyes. “I was just thinking.”