Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

by Fiona Harper

  Louise dropped her head, letting her hair fall over her face, and disentangled her fingers from his. ‘I think you’re my guardian angel, Ben Oliver.’

  He liked it when she said his whole name like that. Somehow it made it seem more intimate rather than more formal. She walked over to a hat stand by the door and pulled her coat off it. While she did up her buttons, she risked another look at him. ‘You always seem to be there when I need someone to make me think straight.’

  He pretended not to be touched as he turned off the lamp and ushered her out of the door. And he tried very hard not to be stupidly pleased at being what Louise Thornton needed.

  Louise locked the door and hid the key in its usual hole and they walked the short distance down to the jetty in silence. He was still mulling it over, standing in the boat with the rope in his hand, ready to cast off, when Louise stepped into the boat beside him and, as she brushed past him to sit down in the stern, she stopped. He felt her breath warm on his face as she leaned close, just for a second or so, and the soft skin of her lips met his cheek.

  He whipped his head round to look at her, but she was already sitting on the low wooden bench looking up at him. ‘Thank you, Ben.’

  A realisation hit him with as much force as the cold waves buffeting the little boat. He wanted to be what she needed. And he wanted to keep being what she needed. The only thing was, he had no idea if it was a role he could ever play. She didn’t need a man in her life right now. What she really needed was a friend. He fired up the motor and untied the boat before heading off across the choppy water.

  A friend. Now, that was a role he could manage.

  The house seemed empty without Jack in it. Maybe moving to the country had been a mistake. If she’d been staying in London, she could have lost herself in the last-minute Christmas Eve panic in Oxford Street. It might have even been fun to try and spot the most harried male shopper with a look of desperation in his eyes.

  Louise stopped by a shallow pool surrounded by bamboo. A copper statue of a Chinese Buddha, covered in verdigris, stared back at her. He was the closest thing to a human being she’d seen since Sunday evening. The statue stared past her, looking serenely through the trees to the river below, and she decided he probably wasn’t the life and soul of the party, anyway, and moved on.

  She only entered the house to collect a few things and make a flask of tea. In the last few days she’d spent a lot of time at the boathouse, preferring the cosy little space to the multitude of echoes that seemed to have appeared around Whitehaven.

  Tonight, she was going to sleep in the boathouse, tucked up under both the duvet and the quilt, with the fire and a good book for company. Hopefully, Santa wouldn’t discover her hiding place, set between the beach and the woods, and he’d fly straight past.

  She pottered around the house, wandering from the kitchen to her bedroom and back again, picking up the few things she’d need. All the while, she distracted herself with her favourite Christmas daydream. At least in her imagination she could keep the loneliness at bay.

  The fire was glowing and coloured fairy lights twinkled on a huge blue spruce in the bay window of a cosy cottage sitting room. It was early in the morning, the sky a deep indigo, and Jas and Jack were fighting good-naturedly about who was going to hand out the presents. She and Ben were laughing and eventually they let the kids get on with it, just to keep them quiet.

  Then, amidst the sounds of giggling children and wrapping paper being ripped, Ben drew her to one side and presented her with a silver box with a delicate ribbon of white velvet tied round it. She stopped and smiled at him, a look that said ‘you shouldn’t have’ glowing in her eyes.

  Then she gave in and tugged the wrappings free with as much abandon as the children had. Before she opened the box, she bit her lip and looked at him again. Then she prised open the lid to reveal…

  This was the bit where she always got stuck. What could be in the box? She didn’t want fancy jewellery and body lotion and stuff for the bath was just a bit too blah.

  Louise stood from where she was, putting a change of warm clothes into a holdall, and stared in her bedroom mirror. You’re losing it, girl. Seriously. Hasn’t this fantasising about the gardener gone just a little bit too far?

  It had. She knew it had. But it was warm and comforting—like hot chocolate for the soul—and heaven knew she needed a bit of comfort these days. She gave herself a cheeky smile in the mirror. And it’s one hundred per cent calorie-free too!

  Her reflection gave her a look that said, Yeah, right. She turned her back on it, zipped up the holdall and slung it over her shoulder. The clock on the mantelpiece showed it was three o’clock. She needed to get a move on. No way was she trudging along the rough paths coated with soggy leaves in the dark.

  Louise took her time wandering back to the boathouse. There was something hauntingly beautiful about her wild garden in winter. However, when she was only minutes away from her destination, it began to rain—hard, stinging drops with a hint of ice—and she decided to hurry.

  She ran up the stairs to the upper level of the boathouse, only pausing to retrieve the key from its hiding place, and burst into her cosy upper room, only to stop in her tracks, leaving the door wide open and a malicious draught rushing in behind her.

  What…?

  She couldn’t quite believe her eyes. What had happened to her sanctuary while she’d been gone?

  On almost every available surface there were candles—big, thick, tall ones, the sort you’d find in churches—some balanced on saucers from the old china picnic set she’d rescued from the damp. The fire was burning bright, crackling with delight at the fresh logs it was hungrily devouring. There was holly and ivy on the mantle and, in the corner, near one of the windows…

  Louise laughed out loud. How could this be?

  A Christmas tree? Not a huge one, but at least five feet high, bare except for a silver star on top. She walked over to it and spotted a box of decorations sitting on the floor, waiting to be hung. Red, purple and silver shiny baubles would look amazing in the candlelight. She picked one out of the box and fingered it gently.

  How…? Who…?

  An outboard motor sputtered to life outside and suddenly all her questions were answered. She ran out on to the balcony and leaned over. ‘Ben!’

  The little wooden dinghy was already moving away from the jetty and he looked up at her, a sheepish smile on his face. He waved and yelled something back, but his words were snatched away by the billowing wind.

  Her natural response would have been to stand there and shake her head in disbelief, but the rain—which was rapidly solidifying into sleet—was bombarding her top to toe. She pushed her wet hair out of her face, ran back inside and closed all the doors.

  Not knowing what else to do, she sat cross-legged in front of the fire, staring at the patterns on the blue and white tile inserts until they danced in front of her eyes. Was this guy for real? No one had ever gone out of their way to do something so special for her before. Her father would have if he’d been able to, but he’d always been so fragile, and it had been her job to look after the others, to cheer them up and keep them strong when things had got tough.

  Toby had been good with show-stopping gifts—diamonds, cars, even a holiday villa in Majorca once—but none of those things measured up to this.

  Louise stood up and placed a hand over her mouth.

  Oh, this was dangerous. All at once, she saw the folly of her whole ‘daydreaming is safe’ plan. It was backfiring spectacularly. Her mind now revolved around Ben Oliver, her thoughts constantly drifting towards him at odd moments throughout the day. And now her brain was stuck in the habit, it was starting to clamour for more—more than just fantasies. Especially when he did things like this. She was aching for all the moments she’d rehearsed in her head to become real.

  Heaven help her.

  So much for standing on her own two feet and never letting a man overshadow her again. Ben Oliver was an ad
dictive substance and she was hooked. And the last thing she wanted was to lose herself again, not when she’d come so far. In the last few months she’d started to feel less like Toby’s wife and more like someone else. It would be so easy to fall into the role of the woman who adored Ben Oliver, and nothing else.

  Dangerous.

  She looked around the room. As a declaration of independence, she ought to just pack it all up and leave it outside the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. If she did, the boathouse would seem as stripped and hollow as the mansion sitting on the hill, and she’d come here to escape that.

  The decorations piled in the cardboard box twinkled, begging her to let them fulfil their purpose, and she obliged them, hanging each one with care from the soft pine needles, hoping that the repetitive action would lull her into a trance.

  When she’d finished, she pulled the patchwork quilt off the day-bed, draped it around her shoulders and sat on the floor in front of the fire, her back supported by one of the wicker chairs. In the silence, all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing and the happy licking of the flames. She hadn’t been sitting there more than a few minutes when there was a knock at the door.

  She stared at it.

  Whoever it was—and let’s face it, she’d win no prizes for guessing who—knocked again. Slowly, Louise rose to her feet, keeping the quilt wrapped tightly around her, and walked over to open it. Her heart jumped as if it were on a trampoline when she saw him standing there, his wet hair plastered to his face, a large brown paper bag in one hand and a rucksack in the other.

  ‘Ben.’

  Nice, she thought. Eloquent.

  ‘Louise.’

  At least they both seemed to be afflicted by the same disease.

  He brandished the paper bag. ‘Can I come in?’

  She stepped back to let him pass and he handed her the paper bag, which was warm and smelled of exotic spices. He moved past her and placed the rucksack on the floor.

  ‘I ought not to let you in, really. Seeing as you’ve already indulged in a spot of breaking and entering today.’ She kept her voice deliberately flat and emotionless.

  He stopped halfway through struggling off his green waxed coat. ‘You don’t like it? Oh, Louise! I’m so sorry. I was just trying to…’

  How could she be cross with this wonderful, sweet man? She grabbed the back of his coat with one hand and tugged at it, smiling. ‘You succeeded.’

  The relief on his face was palpable. ‘Thank goodness for that. I have food in here and I didn’t want to have to sail it back across the river and eat it cold.’

  She peered in the top of the brown bag. ‘Curry? That’s not very traditional.’

  Ben took the bag from her and began unpacking its contents on to the low coffee table in the centre of the room. ‘Nonsense. I’m sure I read somewhere that Chicken Tikka Masala has now overtaken traditional Sunday roast as the nation’s favourite dish.’

  Louise reached for the old picnic set and pulled out a couple of plates and some cutlery, grateful she’d given it all a thorough wash yesterday. Pretty soon they were sitting in the wicker chairs, feasting on a selection of different curries, pilau rice and naan breads. She broke a crunchy onion bhaji apart with her fingers and dipped it in some mango chutney before popping it in her mouth.

  While she ate her bhaji, she looked at Ben, who was absorbed in his meal. Finally, when he glanced in her direction, he froze.

  ‘What?’

  How did she say how much this all meant to her? There just weren’t enough words, so she settled for simple and elegant. ‘Thank you, Ben.’

  The hesitation in his eyes turned to warmth.

  ‘Why did you…I mean…why…all this?’

  He put his plate down and looked at her long and hard. ‘I reckoned you needed some cheering up. I remember how awful it was my first Christmas without Jas.’ He gave a half-grin. ‘Put it down to me being a single dad with too much time on his hands. Jas is away, my parents live in Spain now and my sister has gone to visit her in-laws. I can’t even rely on work to be my saviour—no one wants any gardening done at this time of year.’

  Oh, that just sounded too good to be true. Too nice.

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t have to do all this.’ A horrible nagging thought whispered in the back of her mind: nobody does anything for entirely altruistic reasons. He must want something. ‘I’m not sleeping with you,’ she blurted out.

  Oh, Lord! Had she really just said that? Her cheeks flamed and burned.

  Ben’s grin turned to stone and he stood up and practically threw his naan bread down on the table. ‘If that’s what you think, I’d better leave.’

  Instantly, she was on her feet. ‘No! I’m so sorry! I don’t know what made me say that. After you’ve been so kind…’ At that moment, she hated herself more than she’d ever done for wearing fake smiles in front of the paparazzi and pretending her life with Toby was a glorious dream.

  Ben was pulling his coat on, his back to her. She laid a hand on the still-wet sleeve, tears blurring her vision. ‘Please, Ben! It’s just…’ Oh, hell. Her throat closed up and she couldn’t hide the emotion in her voice. ‘Nobody ever does something for me without wanting something—without wanting too much—back. I’m just not used to this.’

  He turned to face her, his expression softening slightly. ‘Really? No one?’

  She shook her head, too ashamed to speak any more. How did you tell a man like him that nobody had ever thought enough of you to make that kind of effort? She always had to earn people’s love—by being the one who gave and gave and gave. Even Toby had only kept around as long as he had because it was good for his image, nothing more. And her younger brothers and sisters had grown up thinking she never needed anything, and they had their own lives now. It was their turn to shine. She couldn’t burden them with all her problems.

  She turned away from him and sank down into the nearest chair, hiding her face in her hands. ‘Oh, God. I’m such a mess.’

  Ben wasn’t sure what to do. Louise had the ability to make his head swim, to prompt him into doing outrageous things that the sensible side of his brain knew he shouldn’t be doing. He looked round at the holly, the candles, the stupid tree. It was all too much.

  Then he did a double-take and looked at the tree again. It was dripping with baubles. He’d abandoned the box when he’d seen Louise emerge from the woods, deciding it was best not to be standing there like a prize banana when she walked in. But, while he’d been away getting the curry, she’d decorated the stupid tree. Hope flared within him.

  Louise was sitting, all curled in on herself, staring at the floor. With startling clarity he realised she was one of those people who didn’t know how to accept things. She gave of herself constantly—any fool could see that if they looked hard enough—but she’d forgotten that giving was only half of the equation. Or perhaps she’d never known.

  He’d pieced enough together from their chats over the last couple of months to realise that she’d had it tough growing up. She’d always had to be the responsible one, the one who carried everyone else. No wonder she didn’t know how to receive what had been freely given. And her life since her childhood hadn’t helped. Every good deed came with a web of strings attached.

  He pulled his coat off and hung it on the hat stand. Louise turned round and stared at him, her mouth gaping in shock.

  She hadn’t expected him to stay. Not even after her heartfelt apology. Why did she think so little of herself?

  He refused to answer the questions written all over her face with words. Instead, he walked calmly over to the chair he’d just vacated, sat down and crossed one leg over the other, resting his ankle on the other knee. She arranged her features into a more neutral expression and relaxed back into her chair, but her hands stayed tightly clasped in her lap.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ he said, ‘but I could do with some dessert.’

  Louise’s mouth formed a circle of surprise. �
�Dessert?’

  He smiled to himself and reached down into the rucksack he’d dropped by the chair earlier and pulled out a bottle of red wine. Nothing extravagant. Just a bottle of supermarket Cabernet.

  In one smooth second, Louise unclenched. She smiled at him, started to speak and then just shook her head. She rose, extracted a couple of teacups from Laura’s picnic set and plonked them on the coffee table. Thankfully, the bottle had a screw cap, because he doubted the picnic set came complete with corkscrew. After pouring a generous amount of wine into each cup, he handed one to her.

  ‘A toast—to Christmas,’ he said as they cheerfully clinked teacups.

  Louise just laughed. ‘Something weird is happening here…To Christmas!’

  Ben took a sip of the warm, rich wine and kept his thoughts to himself. He knew exactly why he’d phrased the toast that way. Christmas was about giving—and receiving. That weird feeling Louise didn’t recognise? That was the joy of letting someone show you how much they cared. If there was one thing he could give as a present this Christmas, it would be to show her that not all gifts had hidden traps, and that receiving them could be a pleasure.

  She needed a friend. A true friend. And that was the sort of gift a friend could give safely.

  As they worked their way through the bottle of wine, a tiny teacup at a time, they retreated to the sofa thing that was piled high with cushions. Even though it was on the opposite wall to the fire, the boathouse’s upper room was small enough for them to get all the benefits of its warmth. They talked about anything and everything before falling into a comfortable silence. The candles flickered, the sun set and the temperature outside began to drop.

  He was just starting to think that it was about time to get going when Louise suddenly said, ‘I don’t think I know who I am any more.’