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The Magpie (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 3)

Page 35

by K. J. Frost


  “While we’re on the subject of life altering experiences, like me learning to cook,” Amelie continues, even as my imagination is going into overdrive, “I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Me?” I turn to her.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to ask you how you’d feel about me giving up my job.”

  I smile. “Well, again, I have to admit, it’s not something I’ve even thought about.”

  “You’ve been distracted, have you?” she teases.

  “Yes.” She bites her bottom lip, looking up at me in a beautifully tempting way, although after our conversation this morning, I have my doubts she’s even aware of what she’s doing, or what she does to me either. “But in answer to your original question, it’s entirely up to you. It’s not for me to decide whether or not you continue working once we’re married, Amelie. That’s something only you can choose. If you want to keep working, then I won’t expect you to do everything around the house. I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier for you… I am used to taking care of myself, after all, so taking care of you at the same time won’t be a hardship, I can promise you that.”

  She stares at me for a moment, and then leans over and kisses me, regardless of my mother and aunts. “I do love you,” she says, loud enough for them to hear.

  “I love you too.” I smile at her, feeling rather flushed with pride at her outburst.

  “I think, in that case, if it’s alright with you, I’d rather stop working.”

  “As long as that’s what you want.”

  “It is. I want to look after you,” she murmurs, leaning into me again.

  “And I want to look after you too.” I kiss her forehead. “How much notice do you have to give at work?” I ask her, thinking of practicalities now.

  “A week,” she replies.

  “Then why not resign right after Christmas? That way you can devote your time to planning the wedding and overseeing the work on the house, to make sure it’s exactly what you want it to be, and not have to worry about working at the same time.”

  “That’s a good idea. And later on, once we’re married, if I want a change, I can always volunteer to do something to help the war, can’t I?” Amelie suggests.

  “Yes. As long as you don’t volunteer to do anything that takes you away from me.”

  “Never,” she replies and leans her head on my shoulder.

  “This is just perfect,” Aunt Dotty flusters, her eyes twinkling with delight. “Just perfect.”

  I, for one, cannot find a single reason to disagree with her.

  It’s late and we’ve had a marvellous day together, and just to make it complete, as I open the front door to walk Amelie home, we notice it’s snowing. It must have been for some time, because it’s settled on the ground, forming a layer of white dust over the hedges, walls, paths and the naked branches of the trees.

  “Oh… it’s beautiful.” Amelie turns to look at me, as I pull the door closed behind us and hold her hand to steady her down the path and out of the garden gate.

  “Mind your step,” I warn. “It’s icy.” She lets go of my hand and links arms with me instead.

  “At least we’ll fall down together now,” she remarks, smiling.

  “And I can break my other arm.”

  She giggles. “I’ll look after you.”

  “I think I’m supposed to say that, aren’t I?”

  “We can say it together.” We get to the other side of the road and she leans up and kisses my cheek. “Thank you for a wonderful day,” she whispers. “You’ve been…”

  “What?”

  “You.”

  “I’ve been me?” I shake my head. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’ve been kind, considerate, loving, gentle, funny, romantic… and all the other special things that make you who you are.”

  I nod my head. “If I am any of those things, my darling, it’s because of you.” She looks down, seemingly embarrassed, as we turn into her driveway. “And before we say goodnight, can I do one last thing?” She leans in closer, presumably expecting me to kiss her, which I do, just gently, before reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small box, wrapped in brown paper. “I know it’s not yet Christmas Day… well, not quite anyway, but I wanted to give you this while we we’re alone.”

  She glances down and then pulls off her gloves and reaches into her own pocket, revealing a tiny box, wrapped in similar paper, which she holds out to me. “I love you, Rufus,” she whispers. “Merry Christmas.” We swap gifts, and she looks up at me. “Shall we open them now?” she asks, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

  “I don’t see why not.” She smiles and starts to tear into the paper and I have to chuckle at her childish delight as I open my own present, with a little more care, to discover a black box, with the name of a jewellers on the outside.

  “Open it,” she murmurs, looking at me, holding her own dark blue box in her hand.

  “You first. I’m so nervous about this.”

  “You are?” She seems surprised and looks down again at the box in her hand, pulling open the lid and gasping.

  “You can’t see it clearly, but the stones are all different colours.” I point to them with my little finger. “And in the light, it sparkles like… well, like your eyes.” She swallows and I notice tears forming. “Don’t cry,” I whisper. “You’re not meant to cry.”

  “Even if you’ve just made me so happy it’s all I can think of doing?” she says and I pull her close to me and kiss her tenderly.

  “It’s my job to make you happy, remember? But I don’t expect you to cry every time I do it.”

  “Really? Then I’m afraid you might be disappointed, if you keep doing things like this.”

  She chuckles, looking down at her necklace and smiling. “It’s your turn,” she says, nodding to the box I’m still clutching, and I pull open the lid, to reveal a pair of cufflinks. “They’re gold,” she says, taking one out, and holding it for me to see more clearly. They’re square, with a bevelled edge and a small stone set in the corner. “And this is a garnet. It’s the birthstone for January… which we share.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I say, with utter honesty, because they are. Like her. “We share so much more than a birthstone, Amelie.”

  She gazes up at me. “I know.”

  “And very soon we’ll share everything.”

  The End

  The Rufus Stone Detective Stories will continue in Book 4,

  The Nightingale, due out in Autumn 2020.

  Copyright © K. J. Frost, 2020.

  The right of K. J. Frost as the Author of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  First Published in 2020

  by GWL Publishing

  an imprint of Great War Literature Publishing LLP

  Produced in United Kingdom

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication, with the exception of any obvious historical characters, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  GWL Publishing

  Forum House

  Sterling Road

  Chichester PO19 7DN

  www.gwlpublishing.co.uk

  Dedication

  To S.L.

 

 

 
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