Only a supreme act of restraint kept him from checking in with her. Nevertheless, curiosity ran amok, regardless of any attempt at respectful distance and discretion.
The creak of her door being opened, then gently closed, ended any thought of leaving bed. Peter resumed his novel. After restarting the same paragraph three times, he tossed the book aside and clicked off the lamp.
Tomorrow night, a group of friends from Vanessa and Alexa’s Manchester days would gather at Rose and Wills, a favorite pub located not far from the apartment.
Over dinner he would do his best to make up for abrasive and stilted behavior. He felt certain his emotions would resettle over the easy laughter and loving memories to be shared by a group of close-knit friends.
But as he punched a fist into the plump pillow beneath his head, Peter wondered. Would friendship with Alexa Gordon be enough to sustain their relationship much longer? He didn’t want to lose her under any circumstance, but now, the idea of Alexa with any other man set his teeth on edge.
Friendship no longer suited him. Did its established comforts still suit her? She had been through so much recently…and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.
Peter tossed onto his back and folded an arm across his eyes. Sounds and settlings in the apartment faded to silence. Night wrapped around him, yet he didn’t feel soothed.
Alexa and friendship. Alexa and romance. He wanted a taste—no, check that—he wanted a heaped serving of what God had shown him in the kitchen the other day. But all in all, that wish seemed impossible.
Worse by far, the consequence of his emotions seemed likely to sever the two of them for good.
5
“Bangers and mash, please.”
Peter laughed at Alexa’s food selection so she bumped against him in retaliation, grinning while he rolled his eyes in a teasing way. “Lexie, you’re seriously a walking cliché. What follows? A bit of mince pie?”
“I happen to love the combination.”
Peter surrendered the point by shaking his head. He addressed their waitress at Rose and Wills pub. “A Cumberland sausage sandwich for me, with chips and a Young’s Bitter for me and my friend here, please.”
Alexa thanked him with a nod, but speared him with a haughty look. “Cumberland sausage? Who’s the cliché now?”
Could this night possibly be more perfect? Alexa didn’t think so. Upon seating, Peter had squeezed onto the bench next to her, his shoulder a warm and solid connection as the remainder of their posse settled in.
She looked out the window to her left, taking in the swirl of fine flakes, the snow dusted streets and bustling bodies. Within the warmth of the Tudor-style restaurant, a crackling fire lit the massive fieldstone fireplace not far away. Multi-colored lights were strung in abundance and wreathes adorned the walls as well as giant, red velvet bows. The aroma of simmering foods, the appealing clamor of socializing crowds, filled her senses.
Nothing compared to this—especially the business-centric evening she had shared yesterday with the kind-hearted, but banking-obsessed Ray Callahan. Fortunately, Peter and Vanessa hadn’t questioned her about last night’s dinner. Eventually, Vanessa would prod—minx that she was—but the interrogation hadn’t happened yet.
So, Alexa’s joyful contentment couldn’t be contained. “Oh, why did I ever leave London? It’s so wonderful here.”
“Amen!” Vanessa lifted her freshly delivered pint, as did several others in their group as they chinked glasses.
Peter caught Alexa’s gaze in a trickling moment of suspense. “You do seem happy.”
She maintained their visual connection, delighted they had re-established their easy rapport. “That’s because I am happy.”
Her response prompted him to smile and arch a brow. He spied the charm bracelet on her wrist and fingered the sterling renderings. The feathery stroke of his touch against her skin caused her pulse to jump.
“So, we’re decided, right?” Josie Turner spoke, ending the moment. Stout and effervescent, she was a fellow international finance graduate from Alexa’s class at Manchester. “Thursday evening we meet up at Trafalgar for carols and a viewing of the holiday tree.”
“Christmas tree,” Peter and Alexa amended in unison, and with playful vehemence.
Vanessa tilted her head. Alexa could almost see the spiritual wheels turning in her friend’s mind, and she sent up a brief, earnest prayer to God, that He might work His loving grace in the heart of her friend.
“Yanks know nothing about such traditions as the Trafalgar tree lighting. They’re all hung up on that monstrosity that’s parked by some ice rink in New York City.”
The comment, from Stephen Drakes, inspired Alexa’s competitiveness—the same competitiveness that had driven her to push past Peter during their recent run…the memory of which still filled her with hidden delight.
“I think you mean Rockefeller Plaza, Stephen, and our tree happens to be stunning.” Lips quirked, eyes narrow, Alexa tucked her hands, and her cell phone, beneath the table and initiated the Internet. Seconds later, she snickered to herself. “As to your comments about the London version, it would seem the Trafalgar tree is a Norwegian spruce, a gift to the people of London from Oslo, and it remains in the square until just before Twelfth Night. Furthermore, and in conclusion, if Thursday’s plans come to fruition we’ll be enjoying the London City Singers.” She lifted her gaze and speared Stephen with a challenging glower. “Any other information needed?”
Peter turned to her slowly, eyes wide. “I am so proud.”
Alexa tilted her head and fluttered her lashes. “Of what?”
“Of you.” He chuckled at her antics and reached up to twiddle a fingertip beneath one of the slender, gold hoops that formed her earrings. “My protégée has learned how to finesse her phone apps.”
She blushed and ducked her head, fingering a loose tumble of hair behind her ear.
Peter leaned in closer. When she looked up, she noticed the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light of the pub. “You’re quite brilliant, you know.” He lifted his pint and tapped it against hers. “Cheers, love.”
Basking in the glow of his praise, she lost herself in his gaze—if only for a few precious seconds. “Cheers to you.”
Vanessa, meanwhile, lifted her glass and sipped. “Returning to the previous topic, which was a discussion about the merits of London and the UK, I have to say, Alexa, since you’re so happy here, I think you need to make a move.”
A chorus of “Here, here” rounded their table. Alexa helped herself to a handful of peanuts from a bowl that was positioned at the center of their long wooden table. “OK, consider it done. I’ll call the movers first thing tomorrow and have everything shipped right over.”
Vanessa pouted. “I’m not joking. There’s something seriously wrong with men in America. That’s why you need to transplant.”
This episode of playfulness headed fast into deep and dangerous territory. Alexa grinned, but backed off.
Peter sagged. “Why is it every time a group of people get together, talk always turns to romance?”
“I have to agree.” Intent on dissuading the conversation, Alexa tossed back a few more peanuts while they waited for their food. “In fact, it’s hardly worth mentioning. Back to Trafalgar—”
“You’re a perfect case in point, Lexie.” Typically relentless, Vanessa grabbed a handful of nuts with one hand, and punched a finger in the air by Alexa’s arm with the other. “You’re fantastic. You’re great looking and sweet—”
Alexa melted into affection. “Aww, Vannie, I completely heart you.”
“Plus, you’re reasonably intelligent.”
She frowned. “Well, right up to that point, anyway. You think I’m only reasonably intelligent?”
Vanessa swept Alexa’s words aside with dismissive gesture. “Really—if you were smart, you’d latch onto a fabulous man who happens to be British.”
“Oh, save me,” Peter sidled Alexa a playful glance. “Here s
he goes, prompting you back to England again. Not that it wouldn’t be amazing, mind you—”
“Peter! Peter, how are you?” Into what promised to be a delicious interlude stepped a tall, willowy woman with a tumble of fiery red hair who brimmed with chic verve and flirty charm.
Peter stood promptly. “Sarah!” He hugged her tight and kissed both her cheeks. “What are you doing here? Can you join us?”
Sarah rested a hand comfortably against Peter’s arm. “So sorry, I can’t. Flat mate’s having a birthday.” Her lips curved. Long, thick lashes lowered, as she moved a bit closer. “I’ll make it up to you soon, though.”
“Done.” He hugged her once more.
Sarah initiated a private, lingering look before walking away.
Alexa tried to refuse an onerous delivery from the green-eyed monster, but her perfect bubble of an evening had burst. As dinner progressed, she forced herself to relax and move beyond. In the end, caught up in the lingering tenderness of hugs farewell, she felt a lot better, and their group made its way toward the front of the pub to account for the bill.
“Oh—freeze, you two!” Vanessa stuttered to an abrupt stop right next to Peter and Alexa
Peter had placed a guiding hand against the small of Alexa’s back. When he halted, the connection dropped away as he turned. Alexa stopped, too, and focused on Vanessa’s urgent summons, but she instantly missed the touch of Peter’s hand.
“Look up.” Vanessa pointed toward the ceiling.
Mistletoe. Alexa caught her breath, and blinked.
Peter, however, was unaffected and didn’t miss a beat. He bent down and glided a pair of light, easy kisses against the corners of her mouth, nothing more.
Still, Alexa tingled. Still, her heart reacted. “Nicely played, Peter. Thank you.” She schooled her tone to be playful and light, just to keep with the spirit of the exchange.
“Doesn’t even begin to count.” Vanessa tapped a sleek-booted toe against the worn wood floor of the pub and folded her arms across her chest. Mischievous aggravation lit her eyes.
“Oh, I see.” Peter faced his sister. ”There are terms and conditions to executing a kiss beneath the mistletoe?”
“In my world, yes.”
Alexa wanted to duck her flush-stung cheeks from view. Once more, the evening escalated rapidly out of hand, over her roiling emotions toward Peter Colby.
“C’mon.” Vanessa persisted. “It’s Christmas. It’s snowing. There are tiny little fairy lights everywhere. Indulge my romantic spirit!”
Peter released a long suffering sigh. “I guess we’d better shut her up.”
But…
The one-word thought ended against a kiss so soft, so tender and thorough it flooded her heart, spreading out to her arms and legs, sparkling against her senses. She released a small exclamation, for his ears only, and began to sink.
Thankfully, Peter held her fast, letting the kiss linger just a few seconds longer, and richer, than was strictly necessary to fulfill an ancient Christmas tradition. Not only didn’t Alexa mind, she found herself staggered, craving his new and wonderful flavor.
Her head spun as he slowly edged away, stroking the back of his fingertips against her cheek. A restless urge left her wanting to reach up, and smooth her fingertips through the dark, well-styled waves of his hair, or sculpt his jaw with a fingertip.
Vanessa glided past, appearing self-satisfied and smug. “Hmm. Asked for a simple kiss; got to witness a fabulous snog instead. Very nice.” She traipsed into the snow cushioned night without a backward glance.
6
Kisses under the mistletoe. Peter closed his eyes, caught up in the memory. Carried away, he gave himself a solid shake and snapped out of it. The way he saw it, he and Alexa were adults. They were cherished friends as well. As such, they could move past the pulse-stirring interlude they had shared at Rose and Wills. Sure, Alexa acted a touch shy around him at present, but that stood to reason, considering Vanessa’s maneuverings.
So, Peter soldiered on within the increasingly uncomfortable cloak of friendship. He simply wouldn’t acknowledge the rush of thrilled pleasure Alexa inspired. As her visit continued, he gave thanks for the small mercy that neither Vanessa nor Alexa had mentioned any further developments concerning Ray Callahan.
In his bedroom, changing after work, Peter pulled a dark green sweater over his head, fingering his hair into place before trotting downstairs to the study. Dressed in jeans, he intended to prepare further for their visit to Trafalgar Square by tapping into the Internet and checking the evening weather forecast.
A short time later, Alexa joined him at his desk, peering at the images on the glowing monitor of his laptop. “What are you up to?”
Staring at you. “Tracking the weather.” And, he couldn’t stop staring. She had on a heavy, deep blue sweater over black jeans. The vivid colors played beautifully against ivory skin, those stunning eyes, and that line of golden hair. Her cheeks were brush stroked with soft, pink color, and—
“Anything of interest?”
You, Lexie. “It would seem your wishes for a Dickens-style visit to London continue to be answered. Check out this weather system.” She leaned in to study the website, close enough that he detected the enticing scent of her hair—apple and something spicy. “The forecast calls for four to five centimeters.”
Peter didn’t possess the strength, or ability, to move away, so he feigned interest in computer-generated cloud patterns set to swirl over a digital map.
“That’s awesome!” Alexa tilted her head, capturing his gaze. Her smile worked straight through him. And, sure enough, when Peter used a hand to draw back the sheers in front of the window, the darkening streets played host to an enchanting display of tumbling snowflakes.
Alexa let out a happy yelp and spun away, dancing across the study to the entryway closet. While she donned her coat and that smashing little red cap, she hummed. Catching her choice of tune, Peter chuckled. Let it Snow.
****
Alexa dropped onto the seat of the train next to Peter and he felt her shudder. “Move closer. You’re toasty warm.”
Hmm. I wonder why that would be? he thought, beguiled by the comfortable way she tucked against him and looped an arm through his.
Once the underground shuttle pulled away from Pimlico station, he watched Alexa try to stay awake. She blinked hard and kept shaking her head, but before long, she dozed, surrendering without much more of a fight. Her head came to rest against his shoulder and her face relaxed into innocent lines that stirred him to reach out and glide a fingertip slow and light against her cheek, then her chin. Only a short series of minutes would elapse before they changed trains, but he loved having the opportunity to watch after her, to wonder about her, and absorb her beauty.
Once the train shuddered and screeched to a halt at the Charing Cross stop, Alexa yawned hugely and continued to snuggle against him. “What is it about riding the tube? I can never keep my eyes open—not even for a few minutes.”
Peter chuckled. “Let’s get you above ground, into some bracing cold air. That ought to do the trick. Vannie shot me a text. She’s in the square, and caught up with a few of the others. She gave me a landmark to go by.”
“What’s her chosen meeting spot?” Peter shared the text, and it made Alexa laugh: I’m stationed near the second lion statue along the north-facing base of Nelson’s Column.
There were around ten of them in all, and Peter was relieved to find their friends, since Trafalgar was jammed by Christmas revelers. The area around the massive spruce was so brightly lit it might have been midday. Thousands of lights cascaded in straight lines from the tip of the tree to its base, and the sight prompted Alexa to grab hold of Peter’s hand.
“Get Vannie, and let’s take some pictures. This is amazing!”
She handed off her mobile to one of their friends and offered brief operating instructions. From there, a partially serious, but mostly hilarious photo shoot took place. There were shots of Alexa
and Vanessa, shots of the three of them, and then, Alexa yanked off her cap, fingered her hair and aligned to Peter’s side.
“Last ones, I promise.” She winked at their photographer. “I’ve gotta get a few of me and my best guy.”
The words stopped him short and left him feeling like a schoolboy who’d been given a compliment from the loveliest girl ever. He couldn’t wait to see the photos.
They stood near the massive fountain, joking and catching up as the London Singers began their program with “Oh Holy Night.” In the far distance, he spied the immense, wheel-like shape of the London Eye, lit and creeping through its endless cycle. The statuary of the square was lit by multi-colored lights and water from the fountain tossed through the air, adding its own musical cadence to the atmosphere.
Next, the choir launched into a lively version of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” and Alexa sang along, closing her eyes, swaying a bit in time to the music. Positioned just behind her, Peter could almost hear Vanessa’s voice. Revise her perceptions. Shake things up.
He settled his hands against Alexa’s waist. When she glanced over her shoulder, he smiled into her eyes and bounced a fingertip against the visor of the woolen cap she had settled back into place after pictures. Silent, he returned to watching the choir. A few seconds later, so did Alexa.
Soon enough, though, she relaxed against him and nestled against the warmth he offered. “Jingle Bells” and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” continued the choral program.
When “Silent Night” began, he glanced to his right, because movement caught his eye. Vanessa had shifted, and dipped her head. His sister flicked a tear from her cheek. Hiding, he figured—from herself and from God. Peter laid a cheek against the crown of Alexa’s head. “Look at Vannie,” he whispered. When you two go shopping tomorrow, have a chat with her, will you?”
Alexa tilted her head toward him, and the subtle aroma of her perfume—that wonderful rose scent—entered his bloodstream. Their gazes met, and held. “I’m already planning on it. She’s struggling to find her way to something right now—whether it’s God or not, I don’t really know, but she has such a precious heart.”
Finding Home Page 5