A Mistletoe Miracle

by Emma Jackson

  ‘I’m not sure about anything.’ I laughed nervously. If he thought he saw a fearless person when he looked at me, perhaps he needed to get his glasses prescription checked. ‘I’ve lived with my head in the sand for years and now I’ve woken up at twenty-six, nothing is what I thought it was, and I’ve got no idea what to do with my life.’

  ‘I think that’s normal for everyone at some point.’ He stepped closer and pressed a kiss on my forehead, then backed away. ‘You’ll figure it out. If anyone can, you can. Anything that gets thrown at you, you’re immediately figuring out a way to deal with it.’

  ‘Like what? The problems with the hotel?’ I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, keeping myself from reaching out for him again.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They’re not exactly life-and-death matters. It’s not the same as what you do. When you’re flying you must have to make some big decisions and the pressure must be incredible. I don’t know how you can call yourself a coward.’

  He paused and blew out a breath that lifted a few wavy strands of hair from his forehead. ‘I’m too scared to go home.’

  ‘You haven’t been home since your mum died?’

  He shook his head and looked down at the floor. The shadow of my dad’s chair danced on the carpet between us as the lights from the Christmas tree flickered.

  ‘Your nan…she told me that you were with your mum when she died. Did it happen at home?’ He stayed quiet and I wondered if I’d pushed him enough for one night. He’d gone from not saying anything about his mum earlier in the day, to admitting that he was racked with his grief, full of guilt and fear. Just because I was burning to talk to him about this stuff and trying to help him, didn’t mean he was ready. ‘Do you want me to stop asking or would you like to talk about it?’ Silence still. All the tension back in his body. Maybe I’d been completely selfish going to him in the middle of the night. He was worn out; that much was obvious. ‘I’m sorry. How about I make us a drink and then we can try and get some sleep?’

  I filled the kettle up and glanced at him as I fetched a couple of mugs from the cupboard. He suddenly scrubbed his hands down his face.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it…but maybe I need to.’

  My ribs gave an involuntary squeeze and he went over to the sofa, collapsing heavily in the middle of it. I forgot about the kettle and followed him. My knees were trembling, so I bent them up as I sat down and tucked my ankles underneath me, facing him, even as he closed his eyes and tipped his head back on the sofa. I waited quietly and after a couple of minutes, he started talking:

  ‘I got back in the middle of the night from a flight and Mum was still up.’ He pressed his forearm over his eyes. ‘She said she’d been dozing in front of a film. But it was so late. Gone three. She shouldn’t have been up and when I was talking to her, she seemed confused. I…I should’ve realised something wasn’t right.’ His fingers curled into a fist. ‘But I went to take a shower and when I came out, she was still downstairs. I told her she needed to go to bed and asked her again if she felt okay. She said her head hurt and when she tried to stand up, she was too dizzy.’

  He swallowed a couple of times. I ventured a light touch onto his thigh, and he grabbed at my hand, clamping his fingers around it tight, like he was anchoring himself.

  ‘I told her we needed to go to the hospital. It wasn’t far to drive but she started to have a…convulsion in the car. I didn’t know whether to stop or keep going. We were so close. I kept driving. By the time we got there, she’d stopped but she wasn’t breathing. I did CPR in the car park…’ He shuddered to a halt and I pressed my other hand on top of his, palm flat over the top of his taut tendons. His chest heaved up and down a couple of times and he lifted his head, dropping his arm from his face and staring at the Christmas tree in the corner. ‘It was a depressed fracture of the skull. We found that out later, but we don’t know how it happened. Stephen said he found my dad’s big metal tool box on the floor in the garage, everything scattered like it had fallen…’ He trailed off and I rose on my knees, leaning towards him, curling his head in towards my chest. An ache was radiating through my bones for him. It was an awful, tragic, nightmare.

  ‘I’m so sorry that happened. I’m sorry you lost your mum like that. And I’m sorry you had to deal with it by yourself,’ I whispered into the soft curls on his head.

  ‘I’m not the only one who lost her.’ His voice vibrated through my chest. ‘And I chose not to talk to anyone about it.’

  ‘You weren’t ready. Sometimes these things take time.’

  ‘I’ve been hiding.’ That blunt tone was back in his voice, but it was all directed at himself. ‘And now the thought of going home makes me feel physically sick. But the house is going to be sold and Stephen wants me to go back because I need to pick up my stuff. And he thinks I need to say goodbye.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think he’s wrong but it’s easy for me to say. I never had to deal with what you did. Something so sudden. My dad was sick. And it was horrible to watch him get weaker and lose weight and slow down but in those last days, he was at the hospice and I only visited a couple of times. I got to say goodbye.’ I took a wobbly breath. I’d got to hold my dad’s hand, and even though he had an oxygen mask on, I’d seen him smile at me, his dark eyes on mine, crinkled at the corners, and he’d squeezed my hand. I could still feel that squeeze.

  Nick lifted his head and kissed my cheek where a tear had rolled down that I never even noticed falling. ‘I’m sorry, Beth. I’m probably bringing up bad memories for you. I should go.’

  ‘Don’t you dare. I’m okay.’ I looked over my shoulder at Dad’s chair.

  ‘How can you stand it though? The reminders everywhere you look?’

  ‘Because it’s not all bad. I want to remember him… How long did you live in that house?’

  ‘Most of my life.’

  ‘There will be so many good memories there too then. You won’t lose them, if you don’t go back. They’re all in here.’ I touched a fingertip to his temple. ‘But you will be stuck thinking of that house as the place you couldn’t go back to. Rather than your family home.’

  ‘I know. I know.’

  ‘Where did you grow up?’ I stroked his hair back from his face and as I sank down onto my heels again next to him, he smoothed his hand up my thigh to my hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. The trembling in my legs had now moved up to my stomach.

  ‘Clapham.’

  ‘And how long have you got before the house is sold?’ I pressed the tip of my index finger into the hollow between his collarbones and felt his pulse, tripping quickly. I couldn’t stop touching him. He was like a gorgeous cashmere jumper. I wanted to keep him in my wardrobe and bring him out to wrap around me whenever I was cold. Or hot. Just whenever, really.

  ‘About six weeks.’

  ‘Okay.’ I paused. It wasn’t just touching him that I was getting addicted to I realised. I wanted to know if he was going to be able to go back to his family home. I needed it, the same way I’d needed to find out this evening if he was okay after leaving the library. One desire just replaced another as soon as it was fulfilled. He was a book I had to read the next chapter of, even though it hadn’t been written yet.

  An idea popped into my head about how I could satisfy my new obsession with the added benefit of helping him too, hopefully. But my throat closed up when I tried to speak. Normally, I couldn’t keep my thoughts to myself for longer than the space of an advertisement break, so why could I not just say what I wanted? Because my brain knew I was nuts. That this was impulsive and risky and could lead to short-term and long-term pain.

  But he’d been brave and honest with me. The least I could do was be honest too.

  ‘I’ve got this New-Year’s-Eve-slash-engagement party that I’ve been invited to. It’s in London. Fulham – not far from Clapham really,’ I started, trying to sound breezy. I slid my finger down and hooked it just above the first button on his shirt, letti
ng the dead weight of my arm tug him nearer. When his face was just a few inches away, his blue eyes fastened on mine, I dug deep. He liked me. If he didn’t want anything more, would he really keep following me around and looking at me like he wanted to breathe me in, the way he was doing now? ‘Maybe you could come to the party with me, and then, whilst I’m in London, we could go to your house together, the day after. Or before. You said being with me helped. Do you think I could help you with that too?’

  ‘I…’ He touched his thumb to the corner of my mouth, and I shivered. ‘Yeah, I think it would. But—’

  ‘But?’ My heart seized up in my chest, waiting for the let-down. Better to find out now.

  ‘This isn’t just a pity thing is it?’

  ‘No. It’s definitely not.’

  ‘Okay, so…’ He cupped my face between both his hands, as his eyes searched mine. Even in the dim light I could see that his pupils were blown up to big black circles. ‘Are you asking me on out a date? A proper one, that doesn’t involve being chaperoned by a couple of dozen other people you need to look after, or baking mince pies or wheeling meat joints up a hill?’

  My chest flooded with the heat and light of hope. There was no room for air. I wanted to make a joke to make the moment easier to deal with, soften the shiny edges that I couldn’t breathe around but now was not the time. ‘Yes. I am.’

  ‘Then yes. I’d like to do that, very much.’

  I felt the smile he gave me down to the tips of my toes and when he touched his mouth to mine, maybe I was imagining it, but this didn’t have the same desperation as earlier. He pressed his thumbs gently against my chin as he sat up taller and I found myself led straight into a deep, drugging kiss. He gathered me against his chest with smooth, gliding hands and strong arms; each point of contact burning through the stretchy wool of my dress.

  And then he broke the kiss with a slow, tender tug on my bottom lip that echoed between my legs. A noise of protest snuck out of the back of my throat and I struggled to open my eyes. He was removing his glasses and putting them on the coffee table. Seriously, what could be more of a turn-on than the premeditation in that careful move? The kissing wasn’t over; clearly, he was just getting started. One glance at that sculpted profile, the shifting light of the room playing over his cheekbones, making shadows beneath his fair eyelashes and I was gone.

  I crawled into his lap, legs straddling his hips before he’d even turned back properly. I chased his mouth back to mine, and when I caught it, began working on the first button of his shirt. It fell open easily and my hands slid inside over his bare shoulders; solid bone, firm muscles. I was fixated on that taut slope between his neck and shoulder, finally dropping my mouth to it and it felt, tasted and smelt like heaven, the faint salt on my tongue and fresh eucalyptus smell of him filling my lungs. If this little piece of him could be so dreamy, I really needed to do some further inspection.

  I rose up on my knees so I could get a better angle to explore all that beautiful, warm skin. I should have asked him if that was okay, I was moving us fast all of a sudden, but his groan as I coasted my greedy fingertips over his ribs and the firm ripples of his stomach was all the encouragement I needed.

  I climbed off the sofa, grabbing his shirt in a fistful and tugging him after me as I backed towards the door that led to the hallway and my bedroom. I worked on the buttons of his shirt as we walked, and his hands traced the straps of my bra at my back. As we stumbled through the door, he pushed my hair off my shoulder and leaned down to kiss my neck. I tilted my head in readiness and was shocked when what happened instead was laughter. I opened my eyes to see he was looking over my shoulder at the wall behind my bed where my Twilight poster was.

  ‘You weren’t kidding about liking vampires.’ He laughed again and I half-groaned, half-laughed too.

  ‘Look, I was a teenager okay—’

  He didn’t let me finish my sentence. His mouth was back on mine and his hands ran up my thighs beneath my dress, curling around where the edge of my knickers created a seam. I had tights on, but the sensation was still enough to make my hips tilt forwards involuntarily; like he’d tripped a lever he’d known was there, but I hadn’t. I had to snatch air between kisses. I was getting dizzy.

  I pulled him down to the bed and he wrapped one arm across my back, reclining me in one slow, controlled move as we kept kissing, so gradually I lay back, his body hovering over mine. Was he showing off his strength? Maybe. Did I care? No. Honestly, I couldn’t get enough of the way he was touching me. I felt worshipped. I felt amazing and beautiful and all the wonderful things he’d told me, because why shouldn’t I believe him? I arched against him, took fistfuls of his hair and he fit himself against me in the cradle of my thighs. My mind had melted off at the edges into a darkness full of velvet tongue and heat and simmering sensations that were building up everywhere my pulse beat.

  His lips travelled to my ear as his hand moved between us, finding the waistband of my tights.

  ‘Can I touch you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sparks, sparks as his fingers dipped inside my underwear, skin to skin. My head tipped back, caught between the headboard and the pillow but I didn’t care. I was barely aware of anything except the circles he was drawing with perfect pressure, every pass ratcheting the excitement higher, moving onto plains I’d never found before. He took my earlobe in his teeth as his touch slid deeper. He murmured my name and I was coming apart, breaking into glorious pieces beneath him. Warmth spilled through me and he held me close as I shuddered and gasped.

  He was breathing fast in my ear, gifting small kisses to my neck and cheek as the delicious shocks receded. I sighed and attempted to open my eyes, tried to move my hand to stroke his face but my body had given up.

  ‘Wow, I’m sorry, I think I’m gonna pass out,’ I mumbled, trying to crawl up from the pit of exhaustion that was dragging me down.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s more than okay.’ He smoothed his hand over my hair, down my back and tightened his hold. A whole new level of intimacy opened up to me and I fell a little bit further.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I woke with the heart-leaping panic of exam days. The room was dark, and I was still dressed in the clothes I’d worn the night before with the exception of my shoes.

  The night before…

  My head snapped around, looking for Nick. I was in my bedroom and he wasn’t with me. My stomach rolled over slowly as I thought of his lips travelling over my skin, the flood of pleasure that I’d drowned in before I passed out.

  God, I’d basically fallen to sleep in the middle of foreplay. Hopefully he’d known it was nothing to do with how exciting I found him. That much should have been obvious. It was everything to do with how little sleep I was currently getting, running up and down the stairs of the hotel and the fact it had been the middle of the night.

  I blinked my itchy eyes and focused on the clock: 5.45. I’d slept through my alarm but not by much. Actually, now I thought about it, I’d had no alarm to sleep through – my phone was still missing.

  And just like that, a slew of worries rushed to clog up my already foggy brain, pushing out any of the warm, tingly feelings left over from what had happened with Nick.

  I bumbled around my bedroom, trying to find clothes in the darkness because I couldn’t face the aggression of a light bulb just yet. It soon became obvious that I didn’t have much in the way of clean clothing. How on earth my mum found time to remember to do washing was beyond me. So, I was stuck with a red knit dress I hadn’t worn since I was twenty and a pair of novelty stripy tights. Not exactly the armour to make me channel my inner hotel manager but at least I would look festive.

  A quick shower, hair styled, and novelty costume donned, and I was as ready as I would ever be. When I opened the door to the living room, I was surprised to find Nick, asleep on the sofa.

  I’d assumed he’d go down to his bed. The one with the brushed cotton sheets, sprung mattress and ample room for his long b
ody. I wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to crash on our cramped little sofa – unless he’d been completely exhausted too. That was not that unrealistic actually. He’d said he’d been having trouble sleeping and then he’d kind of purged himself talking to me, so he was probably emotionally and physically drained.

  His arm was thrown over his face so all I could see was his mouth – lips parted as he breathed quiet and even – as I crept by him. He needed to sleep for as long as he could. I considered leaving him a note – but he’d know where to find me when he woke up.

  The first thing I noticed as I descended the stairs was the unnaturally high level of noise for that time in the morning. When I got to the ground floor, I peeked into the lounge where the squeals and fast-paced chatter were coming from.

  The kids were all in the midst of unwrapping presents, some on the carpet, some at the sofa or armchairs with their parents who were grinning back at their children’s faces, despite obvious bags under their eyes. And I realised I was grinning too because that was the other side of the Christmas coin. When some people were missing lost loved ones – or even at the same time – there was such unadulterated excitement and joy.

  Mrs Henderson looked up and spotted me, quickly mouthing ‘thank you’ and then wished me a Merry Christmas out loud. The littlest girl, her daughter, alerted to my presence, came running over to show me what she’d got from Santa and then I lost half an hour I couldn’t really afford to lose, when all the other kids joined in too. It felt worth it, getting to sit amid the peaks of shiny, glittery paper like a hamster, while they paraded books and dolls and Lego and slime and craft kits and chocolate selections boxes.

  At least until all the other guests starting arriving downstairs and I came to my senses. I hadn’t even laid out the buffet table. Luckily, no one seemed too put out that breakfast was running a little late. I could only hope their goodwill extended to dinner time.

  There was lots of wishing each other – and me – a Merry Christmas before ordering slap-up English breakfasts. I needn’t have put out the cereal or fruit at all. Anyone who was on a diet had thrown that out the window. They were all planning to eat and eat and eat, and I was supposed to provide thousands of delicious calories for them to gorge on.