When Mitchell saunters into the office on December 22nd, I can hardly contain myself, clapping my hands together. That’s me. I have the most extraordinary ability to pick myself up. My shrink used to call it Reactive Depression. ‘Are you ready for tonight?’ I ask.
His eyes widen in surprise, but then his brow creases. ‘For…?’
‘The carolling.’
He looks at me, realising I’m not joking, and laughs. ‘Oh, I won’t be coming.’
‘What? Why?’
He shrugs and slides me a wry glance. ‘I can’t sing to save myself.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s the spirit that counts.’
‘Besides, you don’t want me around. I’m the closest thing to Scrooge that you’ll ever meet. I don’t do Christmas.’
Of course. Being dumped at Christmas Eve and all that. We kind of linger, skirting around the subject, but it’s not the right moment.
He coughs. ‘So, what have you got planned for Danny’s birthday tomorrow?’
‘Presents. A cake.’ And then I have a thought. Will it be enough? Should I organise something more special, something completely unforgettable to mark our time in Cornwall?
‘What’s that frown, Rosie? What is it?’
‘Huh? Oh. I just want to make sure that his birthday will be memorable. I haven’t been spending much time with him lately and I don’t want him to feel abandoned or something.’
‘He knows he’s the love of your life,’ Mitchell says softly before he coughs and adds, ‘And… how is Danny with not spending Christmas with his…?’ Mitchell asks.
‘Dad? Mark’s only seen him a few times, maybe ten, tops. My mum keeps hoping that one day he’ll magically appear after all these years and… well, you know how mums are.’
Mitchell grins. ‘For a few years. I’m an orphan.’
I can feel my face fall with a thud to the ground. And then I can’t help but ask myself, did he grow up in an institution, or had he found a loving family? There are so many things I want to know about him.
What does one say in these cases? Sorry? Or, ‘If they didn’t want you, then you haven’t missed much’? Damned if I know, so I keep my mouth shut, my eyes holding his until he breaks the silence with a chuckle.
‘What?’ I ask.
He shrugs, shaking his head as if to dismiss his thoughts. ‘No, it’s nothing.’
‘Tell me.’
He looks up, and it’s enough to glue me to my spot. ‘I… was just wondering… how people meet. Or rather, why they meet. Is it fate, or does the universe not give a damn and things just happen haphazardly?’
‘Why… do you ask?’
He takes a step towards me, now serious. ‘Because… ever since you stepped into my inn… I can’t stop thinking about one thing.’
I chuckle despite myself. I do that, when I’m nervous. Laugh like an idiot. ‘About how “ruinous” I am?’
His brow furrows. ‘What?’
‘You told Danny that I was ruinous.’
Mitchell laughs. ‘I actually said “luminous”.’
‘Luminous? Me? Oh!’
‘Yes, you, luminous. And there’s more, Rosie…’
‘What’s that…?’
But he doesn’t respond, and as I watch, he takes my face in his hands and ducks to touch his lips to mine in the most tender of kisses.
Without thinking, I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, and he deepens the kiss, pulling me up against his chest. Which is rock solid, wide and inviting, in case you’re wondering.
Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening between us. Never had I ever thought that the grumpy Irishman would ever find his way to my lips. I can’t even begin to describe the electrical charge zapping through me, causing my heart to skip, hop and sing.
When he pulls back (no, no, no!), he licks his bottom lip and grins, and for the first time, I notice that one of his front teeth is crooked. But, somehow, it only adds to his charm, because he isn’t a picture-perfect magazine model with regular features, but a real live man with lovely, endearing flaws.
His eyebrows have a life of their own, dark and winged, and his eyes, which in the ray of sun streaming through the window, have these faint but adorable little smile wrinkles at the corners. And I learn that his hair, that mop of dark, loose curls, really is tickle-me-soft to the touch. He smells clean and fresh. And his kisses make my knees buckle.
As I brave a look up into his eyes, he grins down at me.
‘Wow…’ he breathes. ‘You sure are somethin’, Ms Anderson.’
I’m barely able to stand now, all the while trying to get my body back under control, because it is still singing like a live wire after that kiss. I want to jump around like I’m on a pogo stick, leap and bound over skyscrapers (not that there are any here, thank goodness), swing from vines (ditto) and belt out a Tarzan call at the top of my lungs. But instead I blush and mumble something along the lines of So are you, Mr Fitzpatrick. You’d think I’d come up with a better retort, but to be fair, come on, even you didn’t see that one coming, did you?
But I need to anchor myself to reality. The smooch was parallel-universe amazing, but what about Abby? Are they an item? And how to find out without asking directly, which would make me look like an idiot at this stage?
‘So,’ I say, disentangling myself with great discipline from him when instead I wanted to climb onto his back and be his second skin forever. ‘You’ll come carolling, then?’ If for nothing, I want to see if he brings Abby along.
‘Will it make you happy?’
‘Yes.’
He grins before he drops another delicious kiss onto my mouth. ‘Then I’ll come carolling.’
‘Excellent. You’ll love it, you’ll see.’ And so will I, unless he shows up with her.
*
I’ve planned the carolling evening to death, but an hour later, I’m an absolute wreck. The last thing I want to do is make a dog’s dinner of it for everyone.
‘Laura, have we got everything under control? The stew and stuff ready for tonight? They’ll be freezing and starved when we get back.’
‘Yep.’
‘And the cheese and crackers and crudités while we’re waiting for everyone to show up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mints to soothe their poor throats?’
‘Yeah. We’re good on all fronts,’ she answers as she scoops up her bag. ‘See you later.’
‘Bye. And thank you!’ I call after her. Then I turn to Mitchell, rubbing my hands. ‘I can’t wait.’
He stops to watch me with a grin. ‘You really are excited, aren’t you, Rosie?’
‘Like a five-year-old.’
‘Awh, that’s so sweet…’
‘I can’t even imagine Christmas without carols. It’s like…’
He puts down his registers and moves to stand before me, taking my hands in his, a sexy grin playing at his lips. ‘Like love without kisses?’
My cheeks go red-hot at the mere thought. ‘Sort of.’
‘Well, then if that’s the case,’ he murmurs, nuzzling the side of my face, raining tiny kisses on my skin, ‘then I want in…’
‘Hey, I forgot—’ Laura’s voice reaches my brain. She’s come back, and I hadn’t even noticed, lust-blasted as I am. ‘Oops,’ she whispers, tiptoeing out.
I push Mitchell away and he chuckles, pulling me back into his embrace. ‘Look at you, my prim and proper lady. You’re like one of those eighteenth-century heroines.’
I look up, confused. ‘Doesn’t it bother you?’
‘Doesn’t what bother me?’
I lift my hands to my surroundings. ‘I work for you. Well, at least temporarily.’
He takes my hands once again, drawing me close. ‘I wake up, knowing I’m going to see your face. I have breakfast with Danny every morning. What is there to bother me? Hmmm…?’ he murmurs against my lips, and I can’t even remember what the problem was in the first place.
*
The evening turns out to be much colder than expected, but everyone has turned up, including the three celebrities who live in the area, i.e. Nina Conte with her gorgeous husband (was it the Cornish air that attracted such beauty?) and three children, Chloe, Ben and baby Sadie. Chatting away and giggling with them are the Amore sisters, Natalia and Yolanda, respectively a journalist and a celebrity chef and mother of twin girls who are slightly older than Danny.
‘Thanks for inviting us, Rosie, this is so lovely!’ Nina Conte exclaims as her son Ben runs over to make friends with Danny, and under my ever-watchful gaze, they’re off to help hand out carol sheets.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Natalia Amore adds, her eyes round with delight. ‘It looks magical!’
‘Thank you both for being here,’ I chime. I want to tell them how I’ve literally devoured their writing and how awesome I think they both are, but in all probability many people have already told them. ‘You must be really busy.’
‘On the contrary,’ Natalia says. ‘My sister Yolanda is always the one to sort Christmas out so I’ve got all the time in the world.’
‘Well, then the two of you can come over to mine and sort me out, too,’ Nina says. ‘I haven’t even started yet!’
‘At least you have that gorgeous man to help you,’ Natalia says, nodding towards an effectively striking man who is cradling their baby.
All are in a festive mood, all practising their scales. It seems like more than half the local population is here, each and every one carrying glow sticks, candles and flashlights as laughter and song soon fills the freezing air, little clouds of the revellers’ breath dissolving above our heads.
Danny and I distribute the snacks as we wait for the stragglers to arrive, while Mitchell, rubbing his hands, mingles with the townspeople, hugging and laughing with a friend here and there. Although he’s not one of them by birth, Mitchell fits in perfectly.
The road into town is festooned with bright Christmas fairy lights that weave in and out of the trees, creating one continuous dazzle of lights that reflect in the snow and on the icicles hanging from the frozen branches. It truly looks like the set of a Christmas movie.
‘You’re good for L.K., you know that?’ Mitchell muses.
I can’t help but grin. ‘I think it’s the other way around.’
‘Rosie, are you still thinking about my offer? Will you accept the position of manager?’
And my spirits are dampened again. ‘But… what about you? Is your… project…?’
He takes a sip of his brew. ‘It’s going well,’ he says with a cheeky smile.
‘Oh, good to know,’ I say, fishing for more info, but a group of carollers have reached us, wrapping their arms around Mitchell who, with one last grin, lets himself be carried away by the throng.
He’s got plans. Where is he going, then? Back to Ireland? And why would I even consider staying if he’s going?
A loud booming voice covers the rest and everyone laughs. I look up to find the source. Mitchell was right. He can’t carry a tune in a bucket, so when everyone starts teasing him, he shuts up and continues to do the catering instead, thank goodness.
Danny helps him, and every time Mitchell gives him a pat on the back or praise, my little boy simply glows, and I want to reach out and smack a grateful kiss onto Mitchell’s sexy mouth in front of everyone. But I know that if I even start, they’ll need a crowbar to get me off him.
And Abby? She did show up, but on another bloke’s arm, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me, there was quite a bit of snogging going on in the bathroom at The Trawler’s Net, i.e. the pub in the centre of town. I suppose they preferred to make their own music.
*
After a fun night of carolling, the villagers return to the Old Bell Inn with us. Laura puts on a Christmas CD and everyone gets busy. Some set the table, others put huge pots of stew onto the Aga to heat, while others get the desserts and drinks ready. It’s like one big happy family and, despite the fact that I’m only passing, I feel at home. More than I ever have in London.
The stew is delicious and nutritious, just what we need after an evening stamping our feet while belting out the very best (and the very worst) of our Christmas repertoire around the village.
I look up from my bowl of soup with a grin. Everyone is happy tonight, especially Danny, who is in Christmas heaven. Where else could we actually have this community spirit? Where else would the village vicar know your name and nickname?
The next morning, in a hurry as usual, on my way down I grab a Bakewell tart from atop Mitchell’s fridge and shove it into my mouth. I could eat a horse today.
But on the staircase, my mouth registers a rotten taste – the worst I’ve ever experienced. I spit out what’s left of the Bakewell (not much, at this point) and am shocked to find that it’s green. Good God, what is he trying to do, kill me? I go back to the room and put them in the bin so Danny won’t eat them and then go back downstairs.
As I am sitting in the dining room ploughing my way through a stack of pancakes (romance makes the heart grow fonder, but also hungrier) and eyeing the door waiting for Mitchell to show up any minute now, I suddenly feel ill. It has to be the bloody green Bakewell tart. I feel I’m actually going to be sick right in the middle of the dining room, so I clap a hand over my mouth as a few onlookers stare at me, horrified, and then at their breakfasts. Some actually get up as if a spit-firing dragon had just appeared on their table.
Shit, shit, shit. In one stroke I’ve just ruined the hotel’s only saving grace! What to do? How to save the hotel from crumbling to pieces now?
As I’m desperately looking for a way to put it right, Russell rushes in, wiping his hands on a tea towel, a look of concern on his face as he stoops to me, a hand on my shoulder. ‘Rosie, are you okay? What happened?’
The crushed look on his face, of confidence smashed to pieces, is the last thing I need. I can’t let this man – or Mitchell – lose their reputation. And then I get an idea. A crazy one, I’ll admit, but it’s all I’ve got. I wipe my mouth and struggle to my feet, perspiration coating my face.
‘Sorry, people,’ I call out with a smile. ‘My doctor warned me about morning sickness! And this food is just soooo good, I just can’t seem to stop eating! It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ I prompt. ‘Please, folks, a round of applause for our incredibly talented Chef Russell Jones!’
And while Russell is bowing and grinning at centre stage, his reputation still intact, I make a surreptitious dash for the nearest exit. That was a close call.
But did I really say what I said? That I was pregnant? Jesus, the lengths I’ll go to, just to save this place from tanking. Mitchell Fitzpatrick, you owe me big time.
I rush to the toilet downstairs and heave up the remnants of what I can now safely call Rotten Cake. Why the hell would Mitchell keep that stuff? I wash and wipe my face, now feeling slightly more settled. That was a close call.
It’s still too early for Danny to wake, so I go through my stack of this week’s bookings to make sure everyone has arrived and has been checked in properly, but Laura shoos me away. ‘Go have some breakfast, I bet you haven’t even eaten yet,’ she says.
‘Thanks, Laura, you are a shining superstar!’ I call as I blow her kisses. In truth, I’m still feeling a bit iffy, and all I can think of is what a fantastic Christmas this will be, against all odds.
I’d like nothing better than to take Mitchell and Danny to spend Christmas with my parents in Birmingham, eat a traditional dinner, sit by a fire that belongs to a home and not an inn. But I know I’m getting ahead of myself and I’m not going to make the same mistake I did with Mark, when I’d assumed that when a man shows you a modicum of interest, he’s actually interested in you. Not always true, and I’d learnt it the hard way.
But at least we’ve managed to make Christmas dinner at the Old Bell Inn a special one.
Everyone on staff is walking around cheerily stopping to chat to guests, which I always encourage. Nothing like a friendly face to talk to when you’re away from home.
*
After dinner, Mitchell and I go for a stroll down to the village church, hand in hand, which in itself is a novelty as Mark never liked to hold hands.
But Mitchell? He is everything I always wanted. Who knew? And his respecting my indecision about the job without pressing me is even more testament to how honourable the man is. And I want to help him with his business more than ever. We also need to have some sort of chat about his numbers. And if it will help distract us both from this pull between us, there’s no time like the present. But he beats me to it.
‘Oh, before I forget. The first part of your Christmas present…’ he says, pulling a small box out of his coat pocket. No, it’s not that kind of box – I know what you’re thinking! It’s bigger than his fist. I stare at it, then at him. ‘Open it,’ he whispers. ‘It’s just a silly thing.’
I gently peel the shiny red paper back. It’s a snowstorm. And inside, a replica of the Old Bell Inn. ‘Oh my gosh, Mitchell…’
‘May all your storms be bubble-sized.’ He grins, leaning in for a kiss.
‘Thank you. I’ll keep it with me. Forever.’
‘I know you will. Part two of my surprise will have to wait.’
‘Oh?’
‘What do you desire most in life, Rosie?’ he says softly, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
I shrug. ‘For Danny to be happy, healthy. Grow well. For you to be happy.’
He stops, his eyes searching mine, with that mischievous grin on his face. ‘And what about for yourself?’
Me? That’s a good one. What do I want for myself? ‘To be a good mother,’ I answer, and he laughs.
‘What about Rosie before Danny was born?’
He’s right, I know. I’m a broken record as far as Danny is concerned, but to be honest, the idea of a personal life has never struck me – not until meeting Mitchell, that is. If I could wave a magic wand, I’d go back in time and not apply for my current job. And tell Susan to stuff it. But then I would never have met Mitchell.
‘Well, the pottery studio is more than enough, to be honest,’ I answer earnestly.
He smiles. ‘The pottery studio does have a commercial licence. You could open your very own shop tomorrow, if you wanted to.’
‘What? Here?’
‘What’s keeping you?’
‘Well, first, I’d need to go back to my parents and fetch all my backlog. I haven’t made anything in ages, and I’m not all that sure I haven’t lost my mojo.’
‘Of course you haven’t. Once an artist, always an artist.’
What does all this mean? The fact that he has gone to all the trouble to sort this out indicates strong feelings on his behalf. Or am I reading too much into this?
I caress his face, wondering what I did to deserve all this. Years and years of pining over Mark, who never cared. And now? Karma really does exist, in its own twisted way. Because now that I’ve finally found The One, I can’t have him.
Mitchell steps closer, his eyes glistening as he takes my hands, bringing them to his mouth. I make to move away, but he ducks to kiss me.
‘I know, Rosie, that making life-changing decisions is tough. I’m here for you.’
Now that is heart-warming. That is exactly what I need to hear. Leaving my job isn’t going to be easy, of course. ‘There’s a lot of uncertainty, ahead, for me,’ I say.
He takes my hand and kisses it. ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way.’
‘Thank you. Then I guess I accept your job offer.’ And heaven help us all.
‘That’s not necessary, Rosie. I’ll provide for you.’
Provide? I shiver at the thought. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t! I’ve always supported myself, Mitchell. I can’t have it any other way.’
He rests his forehead against mine, and takes my lips in a luscious kiss. ‘We’ll talk about that later. I think it’s time we spoke to Danny, what do you think?’
I search his face. He means it. He really, really means it. This is monumental. Apart from Danny, when has anything this good ever happened to me? I can scarcely believe my luck.
‘Uhm, can we wait a little while longer? Tomorrow is his birthday and I want it to be all about him.’
Mitchell grins and takes both my hands. ‘Of course, Rosie. From now on, it’s going to be all about family. And soon, you’ll meet my own daughter, yes?’
I smile. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Neither can I,’ he says, and leads me to his office where he continues to kiss me, and in a moment, something changes. We’ve shifted into a more urgent gear. Can it be he already wants to…? I know for a fact that I have been thinking of little else lately. Is it wrong to sleep with someone you barely know, even if the attraction is overwhelming?
I gasp and swallow at the same time. It’s here, the moment I’ve been waiting for. And now I don’t know how to act. I think of all the cool characters I’ve seen in movies or read about in books. How would Bridget Jones react? Either jump his bones or possibly puke with nerves – none of which are an option here.
But I don’t have to think about it at all, because he’s taken both my hands to his chest, where I can feel an incredible boom-ba-boom coming from his heart. So I’m not the only one, thank God. Only he manages to act upon his feelings and not sit there like a bump on a log. Me? I’m frozen, like a deer in headlights.
As I watch, caught midway between sheer lust and absolute stupor, he shifts so that his face is a couple of inches from mine again. I’m looking into his eyes, while his travel between mine and my mouth, back and forth, as if waiting for the right moment, like when you’re playing skipping rope with your friends and it’s your turn to jump in.
And me, looking like this! I swallow again, now in pure, heart-stopping panic. I should be cursing myself for not having reapplied my lip balm, because my lips must feel like sandpaper in this cold weather. That makes for some kiss.
But all the same, he doesn’t back away in horror. If anything, he takes my chin in his hand and gently tilts his head to fit against mine again in what is the most… delicious kiss on earth or in heaven. It’s got to be heaven, because I’m flying, soaring over the clifftops and enjoying it like nothing else.
‘Rosie, sweetheart. I don’t know if you’ve realised it yet but… I’d do anything to see you happy. Anything…’
Standing before him, on the abyss of something so monumental, it’s as if I’m being swallowed whole, into this unfamiliar world of longing and reciprocated attraction. I’m unprepared, as I didn’t expect this to happen. Not anymore, and certainly, not here, with Mitchell who, beyond any of my wildest hopes, is attracted to me just as much. And for a moment, just a moment, I hesitate.
‘Do you want to wait? I’ll understand, what with all that’s going on,’ he whispers against my mouth.
‘No, no more waiting,’ I whisper back, my hands on his slim hips, pulling him to me.
His hands are splayed across my back, holding me as if I was the most fragile, the most precious thing in the world, and he rests his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes, and he smiles. ‘I’ve been dying to make love to you, Rosie…’
I smile back. ‘Me, too, Mitchell.’
He lays me down gently, lifting my arms to kiss me everywhere, slowly, thoroughly, his lips hot on my skin, until, after almost nine long years, I can’t wait another minute.