WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel

by STEEPLES, JILL

  He glanced at his watch.

  ‘Maybe we could go for a quiet drink somewhere? Or I could come back to the flat?’ He lowered his voice, obviously noticing my less than pleased expression.

  ‘I don’t think so, Martin. Besides, I’m not going back to the flat tonight. I’m staying with Rocco at the moment,’ I said breezily, tapping my foot in time to the Scissor Sisters. And shagging him stupid morning and night was the inference I unfortunately failed to get across.

  ‘Ah, the new job. Lexi told me all about it. Going well?’

  ‘Fantastic.’ I ran a hand through my hair, trying to look nonchalant. ‘Look, Martin, it’s great to see you, but there’s some people here I need to catch up with. Maybe we’ll do this some other time.’ Really, I didn’t want to be raking up the past with my ex. ‘No doubt we’ll run into each other again at the wedding.’ I laughed a little too heartily.

  ‘Please, Beth. There’s something I need to say. Not here with all this noise. All these people. Let’s meet up. Soon?’

  I was desperate now. I needed to get away. Claustrophobia scratched at my throat. The place I most wanted to be was at home. Not my flat in London, I didn’t think of that as home anymore, if I ever had, nor my parent’s place, not even Lexi’s. No, the only place I wanted to be was at home in Rocco’s place in the country.

  ‘I have to go,’ I said with sudden urgency, prising his hands away from my arms. ‘Take care, Martin.’

  ‘I’ll ring you,’ he called, as I disappeared into the crowd. My eyes searched for Lexi; I was feeling desperate now to say my goodbyes. I’d had enough partying for one night. As I went I just happened to notice little Miss Mousey-average watching me from the shadows, the tiniest of smiles curling on her lips.

  Chapter 12

  By the time I got back to Whitefriars, a couple of hours later, Martin had fulfilled his promise. I had not one, but three text messages bleeping for attention. They could wait, I decided, throwing my switched-off phone into my handbag and turning off the ignition. I was feeling heaps happier, just at the mere fact of being home. Besides, I had other more pressing matters to attend to.

  ‘Hello, Millie,’ I cried, as I put the key in the door, pushing it open. ‘Am I pleased to see you!’ Her affectionate whimpering and the enthusiastic wagging of her tail was the best and only welcome I wanted. And I couldn’t quite quash the delightful anticipation at having the house to myself. For a little while longer at least I could pretend that this really was my home.

  ‘Out you go, darling,’ I said, shooing her through the back door, ‘and then I’ll find us some supper.’

  Closing the door on the night, I kicked off my shoes and felt the tensions of the day seep out through my bones. The trepidation I’d felt a few weeks earlier at being alone in a big house in complete darkness in the wilderness of the countryside had completely vanished; it didn’t bother me at all now. Being with Millie meant never feeling really alone, and the last couple of weeks had shown me that, despite my city girl tendencies, I really rather enjoyed my own company. I wondered if Rocco might consider handing his precious dog over to me as a leaving present.

  I made myself a mug of hot chocolate and found a banana and walnut muffin in the cake tin. Real comfort food, courtesy of Sylvia. This was no place for a half-hearted healthy eater like me. There were far too many yummy distractions.

  A garlic and liver treat from the terracotta pot in the pantry was the doggy equivalent and received an equally enthusiastic welcome from Millie when she scratched at the door a few minutes later asking to be let back in.

  With my goodies in hand, I settled into the old armchair in the corner of the kitchen, tucking my legs beneath me and looked at my phone. Maybe Rocco had texted me in the last five minutes, I thought with only the slightest touch of desperation. And soon pink pigs would be flying past the window too, I told myself. Who was I kidding? I snatched up my mobile and braced myself to look at the messages stacking up. They were all from Martin.

  “Great 2 c u 2nite. xx”

  “Can we meet 4 a drink?”

  “How about 2moro? Can I come down 2 c u.”

  “What d’you think?”

  Oh Martin! Why were you doing this to me? Just as I was beginning to get myself straight. But it was funny what a couple of months could do. Obviously the break had given Martin time to reflect. And now he realised he’d made a mistake and wanted to give our relationship another go. He wouldn’t be the first man to walk away from a long-term partnership only to return a few weeks or months later knowing with certainty what, or who, it was he truly wanted.

  Seeing him again had stirred a whole range of emotions in me, but not for one moment had I felt like falling into his arms and begging him to take me back. I wouldn’t say it was the best thing that had ever happened to me, Martin leaving, but he had been right. Left to my own devices, I’d have still been bumbling along in my own sweet little way, content enough I suppose in the relationship, but with no real direction and without any plans for the future. And, as had been pointed out to me, that wasn’t a Good Thing. Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, Martin had done me a huge favour walking out on me like that.

  My phone bleeped again making me jump. Millie gave a little thump of her tail on the stone floor at my reaction and I smiled. It was Martin. Again.

  “Sorry 2 b a pain. Is 2moro ok? I could be there 4 lunch.”

  He was persistent. I’d give him that. And it was nice to think that someone cared enough about me to keep texting. I’d missed that. And I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to see him one last time, to clear up a few things. I owed him that. Parting like we did hadn’t given us any time for discussion and reflection and maybe that was best done now, after some time had elapsed. Besides, what else would I be doing on a Sunday alone in the countryside? I picked up my phone.

  “2moro will b fine. I’ll send directions in the morning.”

  * * *

  You know how it is. You go to sleep in a certain frame of mind, believing that you have everything straight and then you wake up the next day feeling a whole lot different. That’s how it was for me that Sunday. I felt, I suppose, excited at the prospect of seeing Martin again, at rekindling that easy familiarity, discussing some kind of future.

  Thinking about it, I had little else going on in my life. Yes, I loved this particular job at the moment and enjoyed living out a fantasy in which I could pretend that the talented, passionate and frankly gorgeous Rocco was a central part of my life, but sadly that’s all it was, a fantasy. I’d projected all my fanciful longings onto Rocco just because he happened to be there. Of course, I idolised him, lusted after his body, admired him hugely, but as I had to keep reminding myself, I was only there to do a job and if my instincts were right, that job would be ending any day soon. Like tomorrow. Then what would I do? God, how I would miss him, Millie, Sylvia, the house, the whole caboodle. I’d have to go back to my neglected flat and find another job. What a terrible idea. I didn’t even want to think about it.

  But maybe if I had some kind of future to look forward to with Martin, a new start, a more fulfilling commitment, then maybe things wouldn’t appear quite so bleak. Martin and I had fallen into the trap of taking each other for granted, of not working properly at our relationship. No wonder the whole thing had just withered and died.

  Martin had loved me, really loved me and with a second chance I could learn to be more appreciative of that love.

  After all not every relationship can be the real hearts and roses, slushy ‘B’ movie type romance. Wasn’t it better to have a partnership based on friendship, respect and trust?

  Martin was coming down to ask me to give our relationship another go and I would need no persuading. Without any hesitation or doubt, my answer would be yes.

  * * *

  ‘Wow! Haven’t you landed on your feet here!’ Martin was standing at the back door to the cottage, looking all around him. It felt weird him being here, us being together again. I tried
to quash the feeling that he was intruding somehow, gate-crashing into this new life of mine, where he most definitely didn’t belong.

  ‘This place is fantastic. And who’s this?’ he asked, bending down to greet Millie.

  ‘Millie. She’s adorable,’ I said, unnecessarily, sounding like a proud mother.

  ‘Hello, dog,’ he said, giving Millie a cursory ruffle of her coat. Then he stood back.

  ‘Beth!’ He held his arms wide taking in my appearance. I hadn’t wanted to look as though I’d gone to too much trouble for his visit, but in truth I’d spent the best part of the morning perfecting my ‘au naturel golden girl meets wood nymph’ look. I’d found a long floating calico skirt and topped it with a white tie front blouse from which my ample bosom spilled.

  ‘The country air’s obviously doing you the power of good. You look fantastic.’

  The charm offensive was starting early. I smiled, thanking him for the compliment with my eyes.

  ‘Come on in. I’ll make you a cuppa.’

  ‘Umm, great. It’s such a lovely day out there, though. I thought maybe we could go for a walk somewhere later.’ Martin wasn’t known for his romantic gestures, but today he was really pulling all the stops out. ‘Or to the pub perhaps? I’m sure there must be plenty of good ones around here.’ That was more like the Martin I knew and liked.

  ‘Yes, loads. I’ll tell you what; I’ll take you down to the Painted Lady. We can walk there if you like; it will only take us about twenty minutes.’

  ‘The Painted Lady? That’s an unusual name for a pub.’

  I giggled. ‘No, it’s not a pub. It’s Rocco’s boat, moored on the canal. But it’s right next to a pub.’

  ‘Sounds like heaven. So,’ asked Martin, pulling out a chair and observing me as I pottered around the kitchen. ‘How are you finding it, working for the great man himself?’

  I let out a huge sigh of contentment.

  ‘I’m loving it, Martin. If someone had said to me a few months ago I’d be working out in the sticks for an egocentric chef, I’d have said no way. But it’s been great, really it has. After everything that happened, you know, between us, it was just what I needed, getting away, coming here. It’s given me time to reflect.’ I fell quiet for a moment and Martin had the good grace to look bashful, his eyes moving away from my face. ‘And Rocco’s been just great. I think all that hype about him being a foul-mouthed, bad-tempered genius is just that, really. Hype. I’ve found him nothing but completely charming.’

  ‘Really?’ Martin raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘I mean, he’s hot-headed and passionate, but then that’s only to be expected from such a creative personality. I can’t speak for his staff at the restaurants, but I’ve seen the way he treats his housekeeper Sylvia, and he’s just so kind and thoughtful towards her.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And I must admit he’s been great with me. I was ill for a short while and he was really concerned, made me stay in bed and got Sylvia to look after me until I was better.’

  ‘Ill?’ Martin turned his head to one side. ‘Nothing too serious, I hope.’

  ‘Oh no, it was just a throat infection. I’m much better now.’ Thinking about it, Rocco had been a complete sweetheart when I’d been poorly. Not overly attentive or anything like that, but just showing a concern that I’d found really touching. And how had I gone and repaid him? By getting ridiculously drunk, acting like an idiot and making improper suggestions. I winced, busying myself with setting some plates out to erase the memory. ‘Fancy a muffin?’ I asked, popping an overflowing plate in front of Martin. ‘Carrot and walnut. They’re delicious.’

  ‘Mmm. Are these Rocco’s handiwork?’ Martin took a big bite from a bun.

  ‘No, ’fraid not. Sylvia’s, but you won’t find a better baker for miles. Funnily enough, Rocco doesn’t do a lot of baking. Of course he’s a master dessert maker; his lemon tart is to die for. Really, you’d love it; it just melts on the tongue, but the cakes and biscuits he tends to leave to Sylvia.’

  ‘Really.’ Martin helped himself to another muffin. ‘These are scrummy.’

  ‘He’s in London at the moment.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Rocco,’ I added. ‘His life’s one big social whirl, you wouldn’t believe the number of invitations he receives, book launches, gallery openings, parties, product launches. I don’t think he actually enjoys most of them, he’d much prefer to be here, but it’s all part of the job, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ Martin sighed, a wry expression on his face.

  I paused for breath.

  ‘Listen to me rattling on. What about you, Martin? How have you been?’

  He certainly looked well. Replenished somehow. He was wearing his hair longer than I remembered, which made him appear younger than his years. There was no sign of the purple rings that sometimes framed his eyes when he was feeling tired or stressed, nor were there any of the spots that usually marred his chin. If it was possible for a man to glow, then that’s what he was doing. Glowing.

  ‘Good. You know, it was hard at first, adjusting to um, being alone again, but I’ve been keeping myself really busy at work. Sorting out somewhere to live. I stayed with Joe for a while, but that wasn’t going to work for any length of time.’

  My eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Martin’s younger brother, a musician, lived in an entirely different time zone. Sleeping all day, surfacing at about eight in the evening and then disappearing into the darkness with an odd assortment of fellow musicians to do whatever they did— make music, I suppose.

  ‘I’m sorted now, though. Found a nice little place near the Archway. It’s only a temporary thing, just to tide me for the next couple of months.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, feeling, unexpectedly, a stab of jealousy as I imagined him making those kinds of decisions, like where to live, without me. I wondered when he would get down to the nitty-gritty, to talk about whatever he’d come to talk to me about. I ventured into the unknown.

  ‘So have you missed me?’ My voice rang out unnaturally bright.

  Martin stretched his arms out in front of him, examining the backs of his arms.

  ‘Of course,’ he laughed. ‘You don’t spend five years, five good years, with someone and then forget them in a hurry. We made some good memories together, didn’t we, Beth?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nodded, feeling a swell of emotion rise to the back of my throat. We had. Quickly, I got up from my chair, collecting the dirty mugs and plates from the table and went over and opened the dishwasher. I stacked the dirty dishes inside. ‘I’m glad you came,’ I said, addressing a tray load of crockery, ‘because I wanted to say sorry.’

  ‘Heh?’

  I stood up, turning to face him. He was looking at me expectantly, a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘Yes, you know for not being more loving, more supportive, a better girlfriend.’

  A wry smile settled on his lips.

  ‘Oh, come here.’

  His arms around me felt so natural, familiar and comforting. The last time I’d been as close with a man was when Rocco had tucked me up in bed. Then the overwhelming power of his presence had made me feel dangerously out of control. Like a shooting star quivering through the sky, not sure which direction I was going in or where I was about to land, but enjoying the trip hugely. In contrast, being here now, just felt safe. Who needed to reach for the stars when you had the clouds under your feet?

  Martin held me at arm’s length, looking intently into my face.

  ‘You have nothing to apologise for. Really. That’s all in the past. We’ve got to look forward now. Move on. Both of us.’

  I knew it. Moving forward. The two of us. Somehow I knew we could make this work.

  ‘Fancy going for that walk now?’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘I’ll just grab my coat.’

  Chapter 13

  The early morning frost had refused to budge. It lingered long into the afternoon, spreading a blanket of wh
iteness over the fields and trees. It was less than three weeks until Christmas and the views unfolding before us wouldn’t have shamed any festive card.

  We walked together, shoulder-to-shoulder, Millie running ahead, her paws leaving an imprint on the sugar-iced ground, her brown-tipped tail wagging gaily on its way.

  ‘When do you finish here?’ Martin’s wind-flushed face looked out from beneath the hood of his grey fleece, his hands thrust deep into its pockets.

  I shrugged. ‘My contract takes me up to Christmas. Filming should be finished by then and all of the work on the book will be done, so I’m guessing Rocco will be back in London running his restaurants.’ The cold stung my eyes and I wiped a tear away with my glove.

  ‘Then what will you do?’

  His question was like a knife through my heart. I hadn’t wanted to think about it. I didn’t want to face that uncertain future. Falling into this job, this life with Rocco and Sylvia and Millie, meant I hadn’t needed to make any decisions. In a way, those life changes had been foisted upon me and I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I’d been.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted, wondering if Martin was sounding me out. ‘I’ve not really thought that far ahead.’ I took a deep breath, the icy air catching at the back of my throat. ‘I’ll go back to London, to the flat, and find another contract, I suppose.’ My heart slumped to the bottom of my wellies at the thought. I wasn’t sure I could face it alone. Not after everything that had happened.

  Martin took hold of my hand, squeezing it in encouragement.

  ‘New Year, new start, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I shrugged, feeling nothing but despair at the thought of an empty diary stretching out in front of me. But maybe it wasn’t such a bleak future. After all, why else would Martin be here with me?

  ‘What about you? Have you made any plans for next year?’

  Martin climbed over the stile that led from the field onto the towpath. Millie squeezed beneath the gate and stood beside him, looking at me anxiously, urging me to get a move on. I climbed over into Martin’s waiting arms, his face expectant, his eyes shining with hope, just as I remembered they had when we’d first met all those years ago.