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

by Kate Hewitt

“Ask you out,” he repeated neutrally. No help there in terms of what he might be thinking.

  “If you wanted to,” Lindy said, feeling the need for a caveat.

  “Do you mean…” Roger paused. “On a…a date?” He sounded so hesitant, so incredulous, that Lindy didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.

  “Yes, of course I meant on a date, Roger,” she exclaimed rather recklessly. “Do you want to go on a date with me?” Another pause, this one far too long. “Say something, Roger,” she cried. “Don’t you realise how I’m putting myself out here?”

  “Very well, of course I want to,” he practically snapped, and Lindy let out an incredulous laugh. She hadn’t been expecting that.

  “Oh…”

  “I just didn’t think that you…that you were… Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What did you think?”

  “That we were friends. You kept saying how we were friends all the time.”

  “Good friends—”

  “Yes, but friends. Very much friends. My colleague at work told me I’d been friend-zoned. Firmly friend-zoned, were his actual words.”

  “You talked to someone at work about me?”

  “I didn’t mention your name,” Roger informed her stiffly. “I was merely asking for advice.”

  Lindy realised she was grinning. He’d been asking for advice…! About her. “So are you going to ask me out?” she demanded. “On a date? A proper date?”

  Yet another pause, but Lindy didn’t mind this one so much. “Yes,” Roger said at last, sounding surprised. “I believe I am.”

  Chapter Twenty

  So this was it. Make-or-break territory. An actual date. He’d been on plenty—well, several—before, so why was he so terrified?

  Roger straightened the collar of his blue shirt—yes, he was wearing it again—as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Boring brown hair. Boring brown eyes. Crow’s feet too, that were becoming more pronounced, and streaks of grey above his ears. He was getting old. The thought depressed him, not because of what he saw in the mirror, but because of where he was in life. Single. Childless. He wanted those things—a wife and a family—the same as most any other man, even if he’d never dared to think he could obtain them.

  But now he had a date—and not just any date, but with someone he genuinely cared about. Someone he both feared and hoped he was falling in love with. Hence, the terror.

  Taking a deep breath, Roger turned away from the mirror. He’d had to tell his mother about the date, because they normally watched telly together on a Saturday night—what a life he led!—and she’d been, predictably and a bit worryingly, ecstatic.

  “Oh, Roger.” She’d clasped her hands together, eyes shining. “I’m so happy for you. You and Lindy are perfect for each other. I knew it from that first evening—”

  “We’re just going out to dinner,” Roger warned her. “Not getting engaged.” Just saying the words felt forbidden, dangerous. He feared he was going to start having heart palpitations.

  “I know,” Ellen replied with a roll of her eyes. “But it’s a start, and remember, you’re not getting any younger.”

  Thinking of his crow’s feet and grey hair again, Roger knew she spoke the truth—yet he still didn’t want to rush things, for his own safety as well as Lindy’s. Well, mainly for his own. The chance of humiliation, of hurt, was simply too great.

  He’d agreed to pick Lindy up at Willoughby Close, and then they were driving to a restaurant on the outskirts of Burford, a Michelin-starred place that he hoped wouldn’t be too la-di-da. He’d wanted to go somewhere nice, somewhere neither of them had been before, but as he drove towards Willoughby Close he wondered what on earth he’d been thinking in choosing such an unknown. He didn’t like surprises. He didn’t do well with them, and enough about the very fact of tonight felt unexpected. At least he’d been able to view the menu online, and decide what he was going to order. That was one potential minefield avoided.

  Willoughby Close was cloaked in darkness as Roger parked and walked up to the door of number two. He rapped smartly twice, and Lindy opened almost immediately.

  “Hello, Roger.” She smiled shyly, and Roger stared back, finding himself utterly silenced. She looked magnificent in a knit dress in forest green that clung in all the right places and then flared out around her calves. Her hair was half-up, half-down, so a few tendrils framed her face and the rest tumbled down her back. In her matching green heels, she was only an inch or two shorter than he was. When he tried to speak, he smelled vanilla, and he found suddenly he could neither speak nor think.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?” she asked teasingly, and Roger managed to bark out, “Hello.”

  Lindy’s eyes widened and he amended quickly, “I mean, hi. You look…” Amazing. Gorgeous. Like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. “Green.”

  Lindy’s eyes widened further as her mouth curved. “Green?”

  “Great,” he amended. “You look great.” He exhaled in relief that he’d managed to navigate that moment tolerably well. At least Lindy was smiling.

  “Thanks,” she said, and she stepped out of her cottage, locking the door behind her.

  They didn’t speak in the car as they drove through the darkness towards Burford. Roger tried desperately to think of something to say, but his mind was insistently, utterly blank. He focused on the road.

  “How is your mum?” Lindy asked after a few minutes of tense silence.

  “Good.” He was barking again, each word bitten off and offered tersely, even though he didn’t mean it to be. It just kept happening.

  “Has she been very tired?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  Lindy turned to look out the window. Roger cursed himself.

  “How are the rehearsals going for the performance?” he asked, grateful that he’d finally thought of a question. “The Year Sixes and the junior class?”

  “The Year Sixes are going brilliantly,” Lindy replied. “The junior class is a bit of a disaster, but I don’t think anyone will mind. Seeing Ollie in his tuxedo will be enough of a show, I think.” She let out a little laugh. “They have fun, at any rate, and they burn off a lot of energy.”

  “That’s good.”

  And that was their conversation over. If Roger hadn’t been driving, he would have closed his eyes. He could usually, with effort, make acceptable conversation, but tonight it felt impossible. The stakes were simply too high. The pressure in his chest felt too great.

  “Where are we going, as a matter of interest?” Lindy asked after a few moments.

  “The White Hare, outside Burford. It has a very good reputation and atmosphere.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  More silence. Thankfully they were almost there. Roger made an extra effort to seem as if he had to concentrate on driving, simply as an excuse not to talk. When it came to the companionable silences they’d once spoken about, he reflected miserably, this definitely wasn’t one of them.

  At last he pulled into the car park of the restaurant, which was lit by fairy lights, the sixteenth-century stone building decorated with Christmas holly and evergreen and looking both quaint and welcoming. The next few minutes were spent walking into the restaurant and then being shown to their table, precluding the need for conversation.

  Their waiter handed them menus, and it only took Roger a few seconds to realise the menu had completely changed since he’d looked it up online three days ago.

  “This isn’t your menu,” he blurted, while Lindy looked at him in surprise.

  “It is, sir,” the waiter replied smoothly. “We change our menu every few days, to make best use of fresh ingredients that are locally sourced.”

  “But I was going to have the sautéed chicken breast with tarragon cream, charred leeks and Reblochon pomme puree.” He’d said the name of the entire dish, and belatedly he realised that was a bit weird. It was also weird that he was making a fuss about it, but it was just he was thrown
.

  “I would be happy to help you find an alternative dish on the menu, sir,” the waiter said after an excruciating pause.

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary.” Roger buried his nose in the menu as he tried to cover his gaffes. “I was simply taken by surprise.”

  The waiter gave a little bow and left and Roger inspected the short menu with an entirely affected studiousness, simply so he didn’t have to look at Lindy and no doubt see the appalled expression on her face.

  “You don’t like surprises, do you?” she murmured after a few moments.

  “I prefer to be prepared for all eventualities, which is why I looked at the menu online before we came,” he said stiffly, knowing he probably sounded like a complete arse.

  “Well, is there anything you like on this menu?” Lindy asked, her tone both reasonable and gentle and making him feel even more ridiculous.

  “I’m sure there is,” he muttered, still staring at the menu. “I just wasn’t expecting the change.”

  “I know.”

  More silence. Not companionable. This date, Roger was quickly realising, was a mistake. He’d much rather be Lindy’s friend than wreck any potential romance. He’d far prefer holding her in his arms—and what exquisite agony that had been—than push her away completely. And his behaviour so far was definitely pushing her away. How could it not be?

  “Have you reached a decision?” the waiter asked in a professionally urbane and deliberately blank voice. The man had already decided he was going to be a difficult customer, Roger was sure of it.

  “I think I have,” Lindy said. “Roger?”

  In all his intent scrutiny of the menu, he hadn’t actually managed to read it. “Ladies first,” he said, as he scanned the list a bit frantically.

  Lindy ordered the prosciutto starter and a steak, and in a moment of panicked recklessness Roger decided to order the fish, even though he didn’t actually like fish. This was another unfortunate default of his—to panic and pick the worst option rather than the best or even the middling, mediocre one.

  “I’ll have the Cornish crab to start, and the sea bass with prawn tortellini, fennel puree, and the white wine sauce for my entrée.”

  “Very good, sir. And would you like any wine with your meal?”

  Roger glanced at Lindy, who shrugged and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of your house red.”

  “I’ll have the same. Thank you.” He handed his menu back to the waiter, and so did Lindy, and then there they were, staring at each other with nothing to say, just as Roger had feared.

  “Roger, you seem nervous,” she said quietly, and for some reason he puffed up indignantly.

  “I am not nervous.”

  “Well, I am,” Lindy said candidly. “We’re friends, and now we’re on a date. It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” She smiled, and Roger managed a small smile back.

  “I suppose it is, a bit.”

  “Perhaps it doesn’t have to be,” Lindy suggested. “If we just remember that we’re friends and we can talk to each other?”

  Which had the effect of making him completely tongue-tied.

  “I’ve decided to sell the house up in Derbyshire,” Lindy said after a moment, clearly doing her valiant best to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s time.”

  “You should do the repairs first, or you won’t get a good price for it.” Lindy stared at him, and Roger realised how unfeeling he’d sounded. “What I mean is…” He cleared his throat. “How do you feel about that decision?”

  She smiled, and he breathed a hopefully silent sigh of relief that he’d navigated that potential pitfall without falling straight into it. “Sad but also at peace.”

  “Did you spend much time at the house, considering all the travel you did?”

  “Enough. It was always the place that felt like home, and even more so after my parents died. Does that make sense?”

  “I suppose, in a way,” he said, and Lindy laughed.

  “Oh, Roger, you don’t think it does. It’s okay. You can tell me so.”

  “I would expect that it felt far more of a home when your parents were in it, but I suppose, upon reflection, I can understand that you might have been projecting more emotion onto the place than your actual experience warranted.”

  “Hmm. You might be right, there.”

  The waiter came back with their wine, which was a relief. They hadn’t even had their starters yet and Roger already couldn’t wait for the evening to be over. This was all so much more difficult than he’d hoped.

  “Well, to first dates,” Lindy said with a somewhat shaky laugh, and they clinked glasses. She took a sip of hers and then she replaced her glass on the table. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just nip to the loo.”

  “Of course.” He lurched upright to a standing position, banging into the table and almost causing both of their wine glasses to topple over, as she smiled and excused herself. Roger slumped back into his seat. He felt exhausted, not to mention depressed by his own poor performance. What on earth was Lindy thinking?

  *

  Lindy was glad the ladies’ was empty as she closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Goodness, but this was hard work. She’d been so looking forward to tonight ever since she’d rather recklessly asked Roger to ask her out, but in the forty-five minutes since he’d picked her up, she was starting to wonder if trying to turn their friendship into a romance was a good idea.

  Roger certainly didn’t seem to think so, judging by how awkward and difficult he was being. The man who had held her in the night, who had stroked her hair and been her rock, felt like a stranger. A fantasy.

  But he wasn’t, Lindy reminded herself as she touched up her make-up, frowning at her reflection in the mirror. The real Roger was the man who had held her in his arms, not this fussy stranger. This was just nervous Roger, the face he presented to the world because he found social situations difficult. She knew that, so she didn’t have to let it bother her. She just had to find a way to get back the man she’d been falling in love with.

  But how?

  Well, she certainly couldn’t do it while she was hiding in the loo. Briskly Lindy washed her hands, gave her reflection one last determined look, and then headed back into the fray.

  By the time she got back to their table, their starters had arrived, and Roger was looking at his crab with something like dismay.

  “Is everything all right?” Lindy asked as she took her seat.

  “Yes, fine.” He gave her a tense smile as he picked up his fork. “I was just waiting for you.”

  “This looks delicious,” she said, and Roger didn’t reply. She took a few bites of the melt-in-her-mouth slivers of prosciutto, only to glance up and see that Roger was toying with the first bite of crab that he had not yet eaten.

  “Roger…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is everything all right with your starter?”

  He swelled up in that silly way of his that had once annoyed her but now made her want to smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, because you’re not eating it.”

  Roger sighed and put down his fork. “That’s because I don’t like fish. Well, not just fish. All seafood, but fish in particular.”

  “What?” A bubble of surprised laughter escaped Lindy as she looked at him in incredulity. “But didn’t you order the crab and the sea bass?”

  “Yes.” He grimaced. “I have an unfortunate habit of panicking in a moment of crisis, and then choosing the worst option.”

  “What?” Lindy exclaimed. “I don’t believe that. When I was flipping out all over town about my parents’ house, you were as solid as a rock. Completely unflappable.”

  “Well, that’s different.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not picking something off a menu, I suppose.”

  “So you panic with small decisions like what to eat but not when life is throwing its worst at you?”

  “I’ve neve
r thought about it in that particular way, but perhaps.”

  “Well, I’d rather panic about what I order in a restaurant than fall to pieces when life gets hard.”

  He gave her a small, unhappy smile, and something reckless yet certain solidified in her centre, and then spread out. She loved this man. She really did. He could be quirky and difficult and sometimes just plain odd, but he was also steady and generous and tender and warm-hearted. She loved him. Lindy let out a laugh of pure, incredulous joy, and Roger gave a knowing, dispirited sigh, as if he thought she was mocking him rather than revelling in what she felt.

  “You must be deeply regretting this whole endeavour,” he said.

  “I’m regretting this restaurant, yes,” Lindy replied. “Because, to be honest, I think it’s bringing out the worst in both of us.”

  “Not in you,” Roger protested, and Lindy shook her head.

  “I’ve been a mass of nerves. I might be the tiniest bit better than you at hiding it, though.” She leaned forward, a new excitement sparking in her belly. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  Roger’s eyes widened. “What…?”

  “Let’s get out of here. I don’t really want to eat this meal, and I don’t think you do, either. It’s a waste of money, I know, and I’ll pay half—”

  “You will not—”

  “But let’s just go. Let’s run out of here and do something else. Something we want to do, rather than what we think a date should be.”

  She gazed at him, willing him to agree, wanting him to be brave enough to be uncharacteristically spontaneous.

  “Just…leave?” Roger said as if he couldn’t credit such a notion.

  “Yes. Right now.”

  “I need to pay—”

  “Okay, then. Pay, and we’ll go.”

  He stared at her for another moment, and then he raised his hand for the waiter, who hurried over to their table. “The bill, please.” Lindy grinned.

  “I’m sorry, sir…?”

  “We wish to leave early. Could I have the bill, please?”

  “But the chef has already begun to make your main course—”

  “I’ll pay for the lot. There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with the meal, we just wish to leave.” Roger kept his gaze on Lindy and the excitement she’d been feeling flamed into something more elemental. Was she imagining that almost dark, dangerous look in his eye? This was Roger, after all.