His Christmas Surprise

by Harper, Grace

  Dean led me through the corridor, the patterned red carpet dulled the sound of the wheels of the cart until we reached the kitchen.

  “Whoa, this place is immense. This kitchen is bigger than my entire cafe.”

  “You own a cafe?”

  “I do. It’s on the high street in town. If you come in, the first coffee is on the house, by way of thanks for lugging all my stuff in here.”

  “I think I was in there a few days ago, you were complaining of a hangover to your friend.”

  “That was you? Over in the corner?”

  “That was me.”

  “Then you were ten feet away from the bride to be.”

  “I only heard your conversation rather than saw it. It made me laugh and distracted me from my work.”

  Dean had lifted out all my boxes, placing them in a long row on the central island in the kitchen. It was no wonder Jolene was excited for the wedding if she had this kitchen to work in.

  It would take me most of the day to assemble and decorate the cake. I also had to make a chocolate cake and apply icing to that too for Mollie. I hoped that Dean didn’t mind me hanging around.

  “I’m going to leave you to it. My submission won’t write itself. I’ll stay dressed, sorry you had to see me half-naked,” Dean said.

  “It wasn’t a chore, mate,” I whispered to his back as he left the kitchen.

  It wasn’t the warmest place, given its size, and no ovens were on or looked like they hadn’t been on for a while. I paced around the surfaces, unpacking what I needed to use and double-checked the ingredients, putting the butter and cream into the refrigerator.

  An hour later, I was hugging a mug of hot chocolate made from scratch with warm milk boiled in a saucepan on the gas burner stove. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t sat on the wooden chair in the kitchen, watching Dean make it. He was at home in his Uncle’s kitchen.

  Curled into the corner of an overstuffed sofa, Dean had taken his seat back at his laptop. This time he didn’t take off his jeans.

  “Why were you naked earlier?” I asked.

  I half hid behind the steaming mug, waiting for Dean’s answer. The lid of the laptop obscured my view of his face and body at this angle. The afternoon winter sun shone through the window giving the effect I was talking to a ghost.

  Shit.

  Maybe he was. What kind of man knew how to make hot chocolate from scratch?

  “I’m used to wearing next to nothing when I write in hot as hell countries.”

  “That explains the socks, but not why you were wearing a shirt.”

  “This chair has a scratchy back, it threw my concentration.”

  “What are you writing?”

  “An article and I’m late sending it to my editor, I should have sent it a few days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “That’s a complicated story,” he answered, tilting his head to the side of his laptop to give me a hard stare.

  “I bet it involved a girl.”

  “It did,” he said and disappeared behind the screen once again. “I need to get this finished.”

  Uncurling my legs that had gone to sleep, I stamped them hard on the floor to speed up the blood flow to the nerve endings.

  “What are you doing? The dead can hear you,” he said.

  “Bringing my legs back to life, I was too comfortable drinking this delicious elixir. Where did you learn to make it?”

  “A girl I once knew taught me.”

  “Sounds intriguing,” I said, pacing back and forth in front of the sofa, careful not to spill a drop of the hot chocolate. A thin layer had formed on the top, and I needed a spoon to scoop it off and into my mouth.

  “A story for another time, I have work to do, I’m sorry,” he pointed to his keyboard like I had an IQ of a toddler and ducked behind.

  “No, I’m sorry for distracting you with my probing questions. I’ll be in the kitchen, out of your hair.”

  Dean didn’t answer me, and I waited like a fool for a full minute for him to reply. Disgruntled at my host, I reluctantly went into the kitchen to make a start on the cakes. That’s why I was there, not to gawp at the hottie in the living room.

  Chapter 4

  Bronwyn

  Thursday – Two days until Mollie Gates gets married

  I’d warmed the apricot jam then coated the three fruit cakes. Cut the marzipan and covered each of the cakes. While I was letting them rest, the chocolate sponge was in the oven baking. I made Mollie’s cake by hand and the butter icing too. I’d tasted the fondant icing too many times and now felt sick.

  I wanted company.

  Mollie was with Charlie, finalising the seating plan with a last-minute addition. Eloise, Jolene and Cassie were at their day jobs, working late. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were in the pub and hadn’t invited me on the threat of Mollie.

  She thought I couldn’t make a cake in a day. How wrong she was.

  I would finish the cake tonight, drive home and spend tomorrow turning myself into a girl fit for a bridesmaid’s dress. Now that I’d met Dean, the best man, I had one more reason to make an effort.

  The only person available to talk to was so engrossed in his laptop, he didn’t look up when I put a mug of steaming hot tea next to his notebook. I had ten minutes to go before the timer went off, and I could get the sponge out of the oven.

  I spent that time rolling out the royal icing for the flowers for the decoration.

  The tabletops were made of granite, perfect for rolling icing, keeping it cold while I flattened it thin enough to sculpt. I had a scalpel to cut out the petals and managed to complete twenty when the timer announced the chocolate cake would be ready.

  I searched the cupboards for a wire cake rack. The kitchen had every pot, pan, dish and utensil you could want. I needed to find the correct cabinet.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Dean had come into the kitchen without me noticing, and I hit my head on an open cupboard door when he scared the shit out of me.

  “Sorry, Bronwyn, I didn’t mean to startle you, I thought I could speed up the process.”

  He darted around the room to where I stood, rubbing the back of my head, looking into my eyes as held me firm.

  “I need a wire rack, for the cake to cool on, do you think your uncle has one? I forgot to bring mine.”

  Breaking away when Dean nodded, I rubbed my head on the sore spot until I reached the oven gloves I’d thrown on the side earlier. Opening the over door, I stepped back to let the waft of heat escape and reached in for the tins. I placed them on the cold gas burners and slammed the oven door shut with my foot.

  Dean found the cupboard with all the cake paraphernalia in it the first time and handed me the wire rack that would fit a few cakes on at the same time. Taking it from him to put next to the oven, I then picked up the tins, forgetting that one of my hands didn’t have an oven glove on.

  “Fuck,” I yelled, holding my thumb under my armpit for protection. “Fuckety fuck, that really hurts.”

  I hopped on the spot on one leg, holding back the tears as the heat seared through my thumb almost making me pass out.

  Dean lurched towards me, grabbing my wrist to pull me across the kitchen. He turned on the cold tap to the maximum and thrust my thumb underneath. The relief was instant, and I wanted to pass out again. He hadn’t let go of my wrist as he wrestled with the sink plug. The metal sink started to fill with cold water, and when it was deep enough, he took my hand to plunge it into the water.

  “Don’t move,” he said, looking over at the oven. He gauged my obedience, working out if I would disobey him. When he came to a decision I would stay put, he left me to see to the oven and the cake tins.

  “What should I do with these?” He asked from the other side of the kitchen.

  “You need to slip a knife around the edge of the cake, turn them over and lift the tin. The cakes should slip out.”

  “All right then,” he sai
d, staring at chocolate sponges. “Let’s see if I can fuck this up.”

  He wasn’t talking to me. The sheer concentration on his face said that he was giving himself a pep talk. Dean took the oven gloves and turned both of the tins over onto the rack. With nimble fingers, he pulled off the gunmetal grey baking tins to reveal dark brown sponge. With a triumphant cheer, his arms above his head, Dean made the sound of a roaring crowd at a football match. Tossing the tins into the empty sink next to my water bath, he came to inspect my thumb.

  “Looks serious. You might have to have your thumb amputated.”

  We both watched as the blister continued to grow bulbous out of the pad of my thumb, covering the whole of the top half above the knuckle. I snatched my hand away from Dean and scurried across the kitchen like he had the machete ready to chop off my entire arm. Tucked into the corner by the Welsh dresser I stared, unblinking as he approached, cradling my hand like it might fall off by itself. Five seconds later, the pain took over all my senses. I had a low pain threshold at the best of times, but the blister topped any pain I’d previously experienced.

  “I was kidding,” he said, holding up his palms in surrender. “It was supposed to be a joke, to ease the pain. It must hurt like hell roasted you alive.”

  A single tear crawled down my face because he was spot on with his assessment. The searing pain was too much for me to be a brave, independent woman. I wanted his arms around me while he obliterated away the pain.

  “Come back to the sink,” he coaxed.

  I’d lost my voice to speak any words at all. Dean took me by the elbow until I’d walked out of my protective corner and then he slipped an arm around my waist to keep me close. What shocked me was when he placed a soft kiss on my temple.

  I sank against him.

  I looked at his profile as we walked the few steps to the sink, puzzled by the stranger showing me so much kindness.

  “Thank you, Dean,” I said.

  As soon as my hand was underwater, I let out a long sigh of relief. I had planned on standing in the same spot until the pain stopped. No matter how long that took. So long as it was only half an hour as I had a wedding cake to decorate, and a chocolate sponge cake to assemble.

  “Let’s take another look,” he asked.

  Dean reached for my hand, but I moved it to the other side of the sink, giving him my best pout.

  “It’s fine where it is.”

  “I need to take a look, if it covers too much surface area, we may need to go and get it seen to.”

  “My thumb isn’t that big. I thought that rule was for two inches.”

  “It is. Show it to me anyway.”

  He used his stern voice, the command was shrill.

  Reluctantly I pulled my hand from the cold water and lifted it for him to see. The bulbous digit startled me into silence. The massive blister that had formed covered my thumb and forefinger. I hadn’t realised that I had burned my other finger too. They were large squashy, liquid-filled, blisters.

  On my right hand.

  “Are you right-handed?”

  “Yep.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yep.”

  Dean let me plunge my hand back into the water where blessed relief consumed me. My best friend was going to kill me if I didn’t get this cake done in time. I’d have to come back tomorrow once the pain had gone down.

  “I’ve never burned myself like this before. I don’t know how to deal with this pain, it’s immense.”

  “Your nerve endings will get bored soon, and the pain will lessen.”

  “When exactly? How many seconds?”

  He chuckled as my desperation.

  “I don’t know exactly, it varies from person to person. What are you like with other types of pain?”

  “Awful, I stub my toe and full-on cry. I once got pepper in my eye, and I thought I was going to be blinded for life. That stuff is nasty.”

  “If you had done either of those things this evening, by now, you would have gotten over it. The thing with this size and depth of the blister is that you are going to feel the pain for a few hours, maybe five or six hours.”

  I lifted my hand out to see if it had stopped and for ten seconds it had, but then the pain came back tenfold. I wanted to climb into the sink and curl up into a ball.

  “I don’t have six hours to wait around for the pain to go and use my hand again. I need a drink to blot out all these feelings. Neat vodka will do.”

  He chuckled again as I searched the room with my x-ray vision looking for the stack of vodka bottles ready for the wedding reception.

  “If you’re looking for the alcohol for the party, it’s in the cellar.”

  I watched as he walked around the room looking for something. He opened doors and closed them just as quickly until he found the cupboard he was looking for. Out came a large metal bowl. Dean then went to the freezer. A bag of ice landed on the tabletop with a bang. With all the bits and pieces he needed, he brought them over to where I was standing.

  “I’m going to make you a mini water bath so that you can sit down. Then we need to work on a game plan to get the cakes finished.”

  “I can come back tomorrow,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

  “There may be a problem with that. It was the reason I came into the kitchen in the first place.”

  “Did someone steal my car? I can walk home, two miles is no distance at all.”

  “No, your car is still there. I think.”

  “What do you mean, you think?”

  “Let me take care of your hand and then I think it is better I show you.”

  He opened the plastic bag of ice and tipped it into the metal bowl. Filling it up with water, he then placed my hand into the container. Dean got me to lift my hand out completely and count the seconds until the pain got too much. This time it was twelve seconds. An improvement of sorts.

  “Let’s go and see the thing I wanted to show you.”

  “You’re not going to give me a tiny clue?”

  “I think I might be looking forward to your reaction.”

  “This doesn’t sound good.”

  Chapter 5

  Bronwyn

  Thursday – Two days until Mollie gets married

  I SLOSHED MY WAY THROUGH the house to the Drawing Room, where the ceremony was going to be held. Rows of gold-coloured straight-backed chairs were on each side of an aisle, five chairs on each side. A sturdy writing desk was at the top with sprigs of mistletoe and holly as a straight-backed.

  Two chairs were behind the desk right next to the drawn curtains. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls on three sides of the room. A grand window covered by red velvet curtains were at the far end where Dean wanted me to go. I was expecting a leak or a secret panel that took me to another part of the house. In Dean’s hand was a remote control.

  “Are you ready? Make sure you hold that bowl nice and firm. In fact, sit on the desk, I don’t want you to fall over with rage.”

  “With rage? What the hell are you going to show me?” I said all this while hitching my arse onto the table, without lifting my hand out of the metal bowl and its soothing water. I looked to Dean, then the remote and back to the curtains that were slowly pulling apart. I would be impressed with the modern addition to the room that hadn’t been refurbished in the last fifty years if it weren’t for the view. The floodlights were on outside the house and all I could see was white.

  “Holy smoke,” I said.

  “Doesn’t it look pretty?”

  “No, it doesn’t look pretty.” I stretched forward to get a better look out of the window while sitting on the desk. “Although I would happily stuff my hand in the white stuff, I imagine it to have magical snowflakes healing my hand.”

  “I think you’d have better luck keeping your hand in that bowl.”

  “It looks like it is staying for weeks and there’s going to be a wedding here in two days.“

  “It won’t stick, the weddin
g will go ahead.”

  “You sure? I can’t see my car.”

  “The snow has drifted so you can’t see this side of your car. I bet the other side is untouched by the weather.”

  “Shall we go find out?”

  “Not a chance, you are not going out there. I can already tell you’re accident prone with your giant finger and thumb.”

  “Oh my god. What am I going to do about the cake? I can’t come back tomorrow now if I can’t leave.”

  “There are plenty of rooms. You can stay here. Do you have to be back for anyone tonight?”

  “No, I’m shockingly single.” Like a petulant child, I mumbled the words, with my chin dipped.

  “Is that why you kiss strange men?”

  “You heard about that? Well, I’m not surprised, there are no secrets in this town.”

  He was about to open his mouth and then closed it again.

  “Come on, let’s go and pick you out a room. You can borrow some of my pyjamas to sleep in and then we’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

  “You’re pretty relaxed about this. Heavy snow outside, and a strange woman in your house with giant fingers.”

  “I’ve been in worse situations. I can’t remember the last time I saw snow. Probably when I was a kid staying here for Christmas.”

  “When was the last time you were here at the house?”

  “I come back most summers for a few weeks, but not this year. I was stuck out in Africa doing a piece on kids in Kenya. It took longer to investigate than I anticipated by which time my uncle had been moved to a nursing home.”

  “Are you two close?”

  “Yeah, I loved that man, like a father. He supported me when no one else would. My mum is always terrified when I get on a plane, thinking I’ll never come back. She forgets she raised a responsible son who could take care of himself.”

  “You said, loved?”

  “He died a week ago. I’m going to miss the old man so much. He listened to me drone on about my travels. Sometimes we’d been to the same places, only fifty years apart.”