Christmas at Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 3)

by Kate Hewitt

  Having said hello to the dozen or so animals currently in residence at the centre, Roger retreated to the front desk to greet any enquiring customers who might come through the door and also to look through the charity’s books, something he did for free since he was an accountant.

  He’d been sitting there for about twenty minutes, scanning the monthly figures, when the door opened and he heard an audible gasp. He looked up, and felt that weird heart thing—a flip, a flutter, a jolt or jerk, maybe all four—as he saw Lindy Jamison coming through the door.

  Chapter Five

  The look of horror on Roger Wentworth’s face was comical. Almost. Lindy suspected she had a similar expression on her face, although she quickly masked it with a smile. At least, she hoped she did. She realised she was actually rather pleased to see him, despite what had and hadn’t passed between them before.

  “Roger! What are you doing here?” she asked as she came into the reception area of the rehoming centre, a small space with a couple of chairs and a counter that Roger stood behind.

  “I volunteer here,” he answered in a well-duh sort of tone. “Two Saturdays a month, afternoons only.”

  “I didn’t know,” Lindy said, and Roger gave her a blank look.

  “That is to be expected, considering I never imparted the information.”

  “Right.” She smiled, struggling not to laugh, because his deadpan manner was surprisingly charming if still slightly odd. “I suppose there’s a lot I don’t know about you, except that you don’t like dancing. I haven’t changed your mind on that one yet?”

  Roger managed a tight smile. “No, you have not.”

  “It’s very kind of you, to come with your mother.”

  He inclined his head, saying nothing, and Lindy wondered if that was something of a no-go area. He was a very difficult man to read.

  “You do like animals, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you got a pet of your own?”

  “No, that would be quite impossible, with the amount I work.”

  “What do you do?” Lindy was starting to feel like an interrogator, but she really was curious.

  “I’m an accountant.”

  “Oh, wow, are you? That’s what I did up in Manchester, before I started Take a Twirl.” He gave her a look of blank incomprehension, as if he could not imagine such a thing, and Lindy let out a gurgle of laughter. “What, do I not seem like an accountant?”

  “I did not consider your previous employment one way or the other,” Roger answered.

  “Still,” Lindy teased, “you seem surprised.”

  “I confess, if I’d had to take a guess as to what profession you’d been involved in formerly, I would most likely not have considered accountancy.”

  “Hmm.” Lindy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You don’t seem like a man prone to taking guesses.” She realised, with an electric jolt of shock, that she sounded as if she were flirting, but she couldn’t be, surely. Roger Wentworth was, after all, so unsuitable.

  Colour had risen in Roger’s cheeks, and Lindy suspected he didn’t know how to respond to her flirtatious manner. She didn’t even know why she’d adopted it; it really wasn’t like her. She’d had precisely one romantic relationship in her life, and it had fizzled out after just a few months. Flirting was not her forte, and that was probably obvious, even to Roger.

  “Guesses should be based on probability,” Roger replied after a moment. “And so I’d consider them rather as informed estimations, which are perfectly reasonable to give.”

  “Spoken like a true accountant.”

  He gave a little nod, and Lindy wondered what she was hoping to achieve through this conversation. A smile, she supposed, would be nice.

  “I presume you’re here for a particular reason?” he asked, and it was clear their conversation, such as it had been, was over.

  “Yes, I am, actually. I was hoping to adopt a pet. A cat or a dog, in particular.”

  “You wish to rehome one of our animals currently in residence?” he verified, and Lindy nodded.

  “That is correct.” She realised she might sound as if she was mocking him with her serious tone, but she wasn’t. It was just difficult not to talk like Roger when she was with him. It was similar to how she felt after watching a Jane Austen adaptation on the BBC—she suddenly had an urge to say things like ‘prithee, sir’ and to curtsey.

  “The process must begin with you filling out an online application, which is then reviewed by the staff,” Roger explained, sounding slightly censorious of her ignorance of this matter. Lindy supposed she should have looked it up online before haring out here, but she’d been so excited to enact her plan.

  “I see,” she said after a second’s pause. “Could I do that now?”

  “I suppose that would be possible, but as I have already said, the application will need to be reviewed by a member of staff. I’m only a volunteer.”

  “Oh. Right. Of course.” Lindy fought against the stupid, sweeping sense of disappointment this news caused. Of course you couldn’t just pop in and get a puppy. Nothing worked that way anymore.

  “If you like,” Roger said stiffly, “I could show you the animals we currently have in residence.”

  “Oh, could you?” Lindy couldn’t keep from sounding as if he’d just offered her the moon, making Roger look a bit taken aback. “That would be fab.”

  “Very well.” He came out from behind the desk; unlike every time she’d seen him before, he was not wearing a suit. He wore a navy-blue polo shirt with the Blue Cross logo, and a pair of tan khakis. Boring clothes, and yet even so Lindy couldn’t keep from noticing how fit he was—a broad chest, muscled arms, powerful legs. It helped that he was well over six feet, probably pushing six three or six four. But why on earth was she thinking this way? This was Roger. Unsuitable, somewhat annoying Roger.

  “Come this way,” Roger instructed, and obediently Lindy followed him to a heavy metal door that led to the kennels.

  “How long have you been working here?” she asked as he unlocked the door.

  “Six years, I believe.”

  “You live in Wychwood-on-Lea?”

  “Yes.”

  He wasn’t particularly chatty, Lindy acknowledged, but he didn’t sound as if he minded her questions all that much, and so she kept at it.

  “You grew up in Wychwood?” she asked as she followed him through the door to a concrete hallway with kennels on either side. The ensuing yapping, barking, and meowing kept Roger from replying for a moment and Lindy looked around in both dismay and wonder—the animals were all lovely, but many looked battered and bruised, victims of circumstance or even cruelty.

  “Oh, what a sweetie.” She stopped in front of the first kennel that housed a Yorkshire terrier with huge eyes and white, fluffy fur. “May I pet her? Or is it a him?”

  A heavy pause ensued as Roger gazed into the kennel, his expression impossible to read. “It’s a her, and very well,” he said at last, and he unlocked the kennel, crouching down as he began to speak to the tiny Yorkshire terrier in a soothing voice, his gentle tone quite unlike any other that Lindy had heard from him.

  “Hello, sweetheart. Aren’t you excited today.” His large hands fondled the dog’s silky ears and something in Lindy melted like chocolate under the summer sun. She was strangely mesmerised by the sight of Roger’s hands—strong, capable hands, with neat, clipped nails. He glanced up at her, his expression as stiff and serious as ever. “This is Poppy. She was abandoned by the side of the road three months ago, with a broken leg. She’s doing much better, as you can see.”

  “Oh…” A lump formed in Lindy’s throat. “How could anyone do such a thing?”

  “It happens all too frequently.” He straightened to let her come closer, and carefully Lindy stroked the terrier, who yapped excitedly and licked her hand.

  “It’s so cruel, to just abandon an animal like that.”

  “People are often cruel,” Roger replied, and Lindy gl
anced up at him, wondering what exactly he meant by that. She hadn’t realised as she’d been petting the dog how close she was to him, and as she looked up her hair brushed his cheek, their faces—and more crucially, their lips—only inches apart. Roger took a hasty step backwards, banging into the kennel door, and Lindy stumbled back, falling flat onto her bottom. Poppy, seeing her way to freedom, scampered out of the kennel and raced down the hallway. Every other animal in the place started up with another chorus.

  “Damn it,” Roger muttered under his breath, looking more flustered than Lindy had ever seen him, his hair mussed, his face flushed. He shot her a quick, apologetic look. “Sorry…”

  “It’s fine,” Lindy assured him although her bottom might beg to differ. The concrete floor was hard.

  Roger hurried after Poppy, and Lindy watched as he managed to catch the little dog, speaking gently to her all the while, and then brought her back to her kennel.

  “Technically, I’m not actually allowed to open the kennels to visitors,” he said in his stiff way as he locked Poppy’s kennel. “So perhaps you should just view the rest.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have realised.” Had Roger actually bent the rules for her? The thought was both surprising and strangely thrilling.

  “There is no reason why you should have known the rules of this establishment.” He glanced down at her; she was still sitting rather inelegantly on the floor. “Are you hurt?”

  “My pride, I think, although my tail bone might be a bit bruised.” She smiled wryly and Roger extended a hand.

  “Let me help you up.”

  She took his hand, enjoying the way his fingers closed around hers. He pulled her up easily, considering that she was six feet tall and weighed eleven stone—so easily in fact that she took a step forward to balance herself and they nearly bumped noses. Again.

  It was impossible for Lindy to ignore the frisson of awareness that rippled through her at his nearness. Okay, so she was attracted to him. Despite his stiff way of speaking, his awkwardness and his occasional pompousness, she found him undeniably attractive. She’d felt it the first time she’d met him, and then when they’d danced, and she felt it now. It didn’t have to be a big deal. Physical attraction—chemistry—was just a part of life, a physical response to pheromones or whatever. And yet it had been a long time since Lindy had felt it for anyone, never mind this strongly.

  “Would you like to see the other animals?” Roger asked after a pause, his gaze somewhere to the left of her head, colour still touching his cheeks, and Lindy nodded. Was he feeling it too? she wondered. This frisson of…something?

  Roger moved past her to the next kennel, and Lindy followed him, determined to focus on the animals rather than the sight of Roger’s broad shoulders, or the fact that her insides were feeling all fluttery from what had just happened, which was really basically nothing.

  “This is Toby, a rescue greyhound,” Roger began as he gestured to a sleek, brown dog in the next kennel who was nudging his nose through the wire with a meltingly sweet look. “He was racing until last year, and he is a bit skittish as a result.”

  “Oh…” Lindy looked into the greyhound’s liquid eyes and felt her heart suffuse with love. “What a sweetie.”

  “And this is Mary…” Roger continued, his voice a bit monotone as he went through all the animals, not looking at Lindy once. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Feeling. And then she wondered why she cared. She might be attracted to him, but it wasn’t as if she wanted to date him or something. The idea was absurd.

  One by one he took her through all the animals—a Rottweiler mix, a battered-looking Staffie, another greyhound, a cat with a missing ear and a bare patch on his side. There was a horse in a stall outside and several rabbits in a hutch, and an adorable little brown and white hamster. They were all wonderful in their own individual ways, and each one made Lindy’s heart both break and melt.

  “I wish I could rescue them all,” she told Roger as they headed back to the front of the centre.

  “That would be quite impractical.” Lindy smiled at that and Roger continued, “They’ll be able to stay here until they are rehomed. Fortunately this is a no-kill shelter.” He glanced at her, his expression unreadable as always, as blank a slate as Lindy had ever seen. “Was there an animal you preferred, if you were to make an application?”

  “I think I’m partial to Toby,” she admitted. “The dark greyhound. I know he’s a bit skittish but there was just something about him…”

  To her surprised delight, Roger’s expression softened and his mouth quirked in a tiny smile, the first he’d ever given her. “He’s my favourite, too,” he said, and something in Lindy fizzed. When Roger smiled…she felt as if she’d swallowed a firework. An over-the-top reaction, undoubtedly, but one she couldn’t help but feel—and enjoy.

  “When do you finish your shift here?” she blurted and Roger’s eyes widened a fraction, clearly taken aback by her sudden question.

  “I finish at four.” He glanced at the clock. “In two hours and thirteen minutes.”

  Of course he was so precise. It was rather a long time to wait, but emboldened and a bit reckless, Lindy still asked rather stiltedly, “Would you…would you like to get a cup of coffee in Burford, after you’re done? I was going to wander around the town anyway…”

  Roger stared at her for a moment, looking completely uncomprehending. “I don’t drink coffee,” he said at last, and Lindy didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. Was he trying to let her down nicely, or simply stating a fact?

  “A cup of tea, then?” she persevered. “Or something cold? Whatever.” Now she probably sounded desperate, and the truth was she didn’t even care. She just wanted him to say yes, even if all that resulted was an undeniably awkward conversation over cups of tea.

  Roger stared at her for another endless moment, as if he really couldn’t fathom what she was getting at. Lindy waited, trying not to blush or feel stupider than she already did.

  “Something cold would be refreshing,” he finally said. “Thank you.” He made it sound as if she was going to buy him a Coke and then send him on his way. Perhaps that was what he was expecting.

  “Great.” She smiled, realising as she did so how pleased she was he’d accepted. Was she that lonely, or did she actually like him? Lindy didn’t even know. “Where shall I meet you? You probably know Burford better than I do.”

  “I doubt that, but I am familiar with a café on the high street—Huffkins.”

  “I know it.” She’d only driven through Burford a couple of times, but she recalled the sign above the bow window in the middle of the high street. “Shall we meet there a little after four?”

  Another pause as Roger seemed to absorb her suggestion. “All right,” he said finally. “Yes.”

  “Great.”

  “And will you be making an application to rehome one of our animals?” Roger asked, sounding like such a salesman that Lindy had to smile.

  “Yes, I believe I will be. I’ll do it online, as you suggested.”

  Lindy was mentally shaking her head at herself as she drove the few miles back to Burford, coming down the wonderfully quaint high street lined with terraced cottages and shops, some dating back to medieval times, with crooked timbers and drooping eaves. The small town was considered the gateway to the Cotswolds, or at least one of them, and on a sunny Saturday afternoon in September it was filled with happily window-shopping tourists.

  With still two hours to kill, Lindy took her time wandering past shops selling expensive antiques and willow baskets full of ornaments and other trinkets. She spent a few moments looking in the window of a clothing shop that sold hundred-pound Wellington boots and even more expensive walking sticks. Burford clearly catered to a well-heeled clientele.

  An hour passed slowly enough in this manner, with Lindy checking her watch far too often. Roger had her mobile number, thanks to the dancing class—would he call her if he’d decided to back out? Would he back out? S
omehow she couldn’t actually picture him showing up. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him to show up.

  Conversation was sure to be stilted and awkward, coming in difficult fits and starts, and for what purpose? A moment’s chemical reaction when they’d got too close in the kennel?

  Yet just remembering that moment made everything in Lindy fizz…again. And actually, she realised, despite his often stiff and awkward manner, Roger was someone she liked. At least she thought she could like him, maybe, if given a chance. She didn’t know if she would get one.

  She walked down the high street all the way to the stone, single-track bridge that was congested with tourist traffic, and then back up again. The sun was warm on her back and her T-shirt was sticking to her shoulder blades. She checked her watch again. Twenty more minutes. What did Roger think of her, willing to wander through really a rather tiny town for two hours just so they could have a drink? She felt ridiculous.

  She spent the last fifteen minutes wandering through the churchyard, inspecting tumbled-down headstones and trying not to feel melancholy. Both her parents were buried in a similar little churchyard up in Derbyshire. She hardly ever went there.

  At four o’clock exactly she started making her way to Huffkins, taking her time because she knew Roger would need to lock up at the rehoming centre, drive into Burford, and find a parking space. He might not be at the café till half past, but she didn’t want to miss him.

  Why, she wondered, was she so nervous? Her heart was fluttering as if this was a date, and maybe it was. A cold drink with a man she found attractive? What else was she meant to call it? And yet the thought of dating a man like Roger Wentworth seemed—well, ludicrous. He was so…well, what was he? A man who liked animals? Who was kind to his mother? And who was awkward and pedantic and pompous and sometimes rude. Really, Lindy had no idea what to make of him. She couldn’t imagine dating him, although admittedly she couldn’t imagine dating anyone, since it had been so long. She supposed she just wanted to spend time with him, to see what happened. Most likely, considering the pair of them, nothing would.