Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride

by Autumn Macarthur

  As the room erupted into cheers and shouts and the church bells rang in the New Year, they kissed. The merest touch of their lips, but it shook her to the core.

  “Happy New Year,” she murmured, staring up at him, her hands still resting on his shoulders, feeling the tension in the strong muscles under her fingertips. “May the Lord bless you and keep you safe.”

  She knew, more than anything, she wanted to kiss him again, but the expression on his face was unreadable. Then he grabbed her hand and towed her through the groups forming to sing Auld Lang Syne.

  “Come with me,” he said. “The fireworks are about to begin, and you won’t want to miss that.”

  He led her out through a door at the far end of the hall. A short corridor led to a flight of stairs. At the foot of the stairs, he let go of her hand and turned back to her. “There’s a little room half way up the tower, I made sure to borrow the key. You’ll get a grand view from up there. Everyone usually goes out onto the hill to watch.”

  Tiff nodded, but shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t tell if it was losing the touch of his warm hand, or the cool of the unheated stone passageway that chilled her.

  “Here.” Mac pulled a red woollen cloak from a hook on the wall. “It’s Mum’s, she won’t mind you using it.”

  Gently, he wrapped it around her shoulders, doing up the buttons for her. He smiled, and brushed a finger against her cheek. “It might be Hogmanay, but you look like a Christmas elf in that red and green.”

  For a breathless moment, their eyes met. She yearned toward him, toward the possibility of another kiss, trembling in the air between them.

  Then a distant bang like an explosion sounded. The amusement vanished from his face, replaced with a wary stillness. His hands tightened on her shoulders and his body stiffened.

  After a long pause, he relaxed, let loose a tense breath, and laughed, a harsh bitter laugh. “Sorry. I overreact to loud noises now. That’s the fireworks starting.” He handed her a huge old fashioned key. “You go up ahead of me. You’ll see the door on the landing. I’ll follow.” He gave her a gentle push.

  Tiff hurried up the stone stairs, put the key in the lock, and paused with her hand on the heavy timber door. Mac’s footsteps behind her had slowed, then stopped.

  She looked back, and saw him put something in his mouth and grimace as he swallowed. Pain meds? Concern tightened her stomach and she silently prayed for him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Is coming up here a good idea if your leg is hurting?”

  “I’m fine. Just go on in. Please?”

  It was the please that got to her. Something raw and naked and ragged in his voice and in his eyes. Something that suggested maybe the kiss had touched a place deep inside him, the way it had her.

  She shook her head at his stubbornness, but did as he asked.

  Looked like she’d decided to take a chance on Mac.

  Chapter 11

  Mac walked the last few steps to the small room hidden away in the church tower, clenching his teeth and breathing slowly in and out through his nose. It took effort to stay on top of the adrenaline flooding him.

  The firework blasts didn’t sound quite the same as gunfire, mortar shelling, or exploding bombs, but they were close enough to get him twitched. To tighten his muscles, and constrict his stomach.

  Tiffany’s wide-eyed look of concern hadn’t helped. He’d had enough of judgemental and worried looks from people for one night.

  No, enough for one lifetime.

  Coming home had been a huge mistake.

  But kissing Tiff at midnight had been an even bigger one. That mere brush of the lips hadn’t been nearly enough. Resisting his longing to pull her close and kiss her properly had been a battle he’d come close to losing. He’d seen the same longing reflected in her storm dark eyes as she’d stretched toward him. Then he’d nearly kissed her again downstairs.

  Bringing her up here alone hadn’t been wise. He’d had the idea this afternoon, hoping the view of the fireworks would delight her. What he hadn’t planned for was how strongly he’d react to her.

  Now just as he needed to steel himself to override his body’s reaction to the sound of detonating gunpowder, he’d have to steel himself again his response to her.

  Five minutes, that’s all he needed to stay strong for. Just as long as the fireworks display lasted. Then he could take her safely downstairs.

  Five minutes sticking to the new rules.

  No touching.

  No personal talk.

  Kissing her again would be wrong. They both had goals, taking them in opposite directions. He couldn’t risk hurting her, or seeing his cynicism and lack of faith dim her sweet joy in living. She deserved way better than he could offer. Coming home reminded him even more strongly of Gina, how he’d failed her. He wasn’t ready to feel that deeply for anyone again.

  But his rules were tested as soon as he walked into the tiny square room, making sure to leave the door open.

  Tiffany stood with her nose almost pressed against the arched window. She turned her head as he approached, her face radiant. With her long blonde curls streaming loose on her shoulders and the scarlet cloak pulled tightly around her, she reminded him of a beauty in an old portrait. He wished he had a camera with him, to photograph her looking like that.

  “It’s amazing. Like the sky is full of flowers. Thank you for bringing me up here.” She swung back to watch the display. “Where do they launch them from?”

  “Edinburgh Castle,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal. He needed to sound like a man giving information to a tourist, not a man aching to wrap his arms around her tighter than the cloak. “You’ll see more from here than you would have at the street party, surrounded by crowds.”

  He stepped nearer to the window to look out over her shoulder, making sure to keep at least a foot of careful distance between them.

  The sky beyond her blazed with spectacular explosions of light. He could hear the oohs and ahhs of the ceilidh goers, gathered on the hill below. The tower room was high enough to lift them above the rooftops and trees and give an even better view.

  Now he could see the fireworks, the bangs and booms bothered him less.

  But now he was close to Tiffany, her nearness bothered him more.

  The tension he sensed in her stiff shoulders suggested she felt it too. He stepped back, away from her, to minimise her distracting nearness.

  He’d seen the fireworks many times. He could do without seeing them tonight. And he could do without stirring up his senses by standing too close to the lass who was far more beautiful than any fireworks.

  Even at a safer distance, he found his attention still lingered far more on her than anything else. With every breath, he inhaled her sweet subtle scent. His ears tuned out the noisy explosions, hearing only her gasps as she watched the display. His gaze focused on the line of her back, the lift of her head, her small movements.

  Awareness of her flooded him with yearning, throbbing in his veins.

  At last, the fireworks ended, and she turned away from the window with a sigh and a glowing smile. “That was wonderful.”

  “I hoped you’d enjoy it. We should go back down now.” The effort to speak made his voice harsher than he intended.

  She nodded. When she stepped forward, he assumed she was headed for the door and moved out of her way, against the wall. Instead she stopped right in front of him. In the confines of the small room, there was nowhere else for him to move.

  “Thank you, Mac,” she breathed. “This wasn’t the New Year’s Eve I planned. But it’s been better. Far better.”

  Then she overrode all his good intentions by moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. Her face lifted to his, lips parted in an invitation to kiss her again.

  His heart pounded against his ribs. An honourable man would push her away. His hands raised to cup her shoulders, meaning to do that, but as he hesitated, his grip became a caress.
<
br />   “Tiffany….” He dragged in a shaky breath.

  From somewhere, he found the resolve to do the proper thing. Gently but firmly, he moved her away. Away from that dangerously tempting nearness.

  “No, Tiffany. This isn’t right.” The words rasped his throat.

  She looked up, startled, and her arms dropped from their embrace. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” Her voice sounded so young. So sweetly innocent.

  Even more reason he had to be strong. He straightened his arms and pushed her further away.

  “It’s not that. You know as soon as I can I’ll be going back to the Middle East. Maybe next week, if I pass the medical.” He shook his head. “And when I’m there, I can’t afford the distraction of knowing there’s someone waiting back here.”

  Doubt and a hint of hurt clouded her eyes, and an embarrassed pink coloured her cheeks. Her gaze slid away from him, and her long lashes swept down like a curtain. She pulled the cloak tighter around herself.

  “I should go. I can leave in the morning if there’s a seat on the train. I might even be able to find a hotel tonight.”

  He felt cruel, as if he’d kicked a kitten, or a friendly puppy, something he’d never dream of doing.

  “No.” He loosed a long breath. “Stay longer. Until Monday, if you can.”

  Tiffany reacted exactly the way he didn’t want her to. She suddenly looked so eager, so hopeful, leaning toward him. Her grip on the cloak loosened, and she clasped her hands in front of her chest, like a little girl praying.

  “You want me to stay?” Her voice held glad surprise.

  The urge to say ‘Yes’, to make her happy, flickered through him. Quickly, he crushed it, though it felt as if he crushed something hopeful in himself, as well.

  He didn’t want the thought of spending more time with him to make her happy.

  As soon as he was able, he’d be back to his real work. He didn’t want to leave a worried girlfriend behind. Besides, Tiffany had her own life and her own dreams. And he’d meant it when he said she deserved better.

  Three good reasons not to feel the way he felt for her, or encourage her to feel anything for him.

  Asking her to stay was a bad idea.

  He dragged in a breath, blowing it out before he spoke. He didn’t look at her, not wanting to see that hope fade from her eyes.

  “It’s to stop Mum from worrying about me. I usually only stay one or two nights when I come home for Hogmanay. But I have my Army medical on Monday morning, here in Edinburgh. If she knows the medical is why I’m staying, she’ll worry. If she thinks I’ve stayed to show you around, she won’t worry. It’s as easy as that.”

  He stamped hard on the whisper that it was far more than that, that he wanted to spend more time with Tiffany.

  Her clasped hands had dropped to her waist, but the creases in her brow and her pursed lips seemed more confused and questioning than hurt. “So, what do you want me to do? I won’t tell her any lies.”

  He shook his head, and straightened. “We’re not going to pretend anything. You want to see Edinburgh. I’m staying longer to be your tour guide. After the medical on Monday, we can both go back to London, and go our separate ways.”

  A pang of something very like disappointment tightened in his chest at the thought. He pushed it away. He didn’t need that sort of weakness. His job was to be strong. To not rely on anyone, to not worry anyone.

  “I still don’t understand.” Tiff slowly shook her head, and sighed, biting on one half of her lower lip.

  He pushed an impatient hand through his hair. “If I pass my fitness test, I’ll go back to the Middle East as soon as the Army let me. If I fail, at least my family has been spared needless worry. They don’t want me to go back.”

  Her head tilted to one side like a cute little sparrow. “Why go back? You’ve already been hurt. Why put yourself at risk again?”

  He didn’t think he could explain. He wasn’t sure he knew himself. He only knew he felt a compulsion to go back, and prove he could do it.

  Besides, he didn’t belong in Edinburgh any more. Every time he came home, he felt it. No one needed him here, especially Brodie. And the place was full of memories of Gina. That was the real reason he came home so seldom.

  He rubbed his hands over his face as he felt his way toward some sort of honest answer. “There are people there. Soldiers and civilians. People who deserve to be seen and have their stories told, the same way that Josie and Doreen at the shelter do. I feel the need to do something for them, to make a difference. This is one way I can.”

  Tiffany frowned, chewing on her lower lip. She fiddled with the top button of the cloak. “This is important to you, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. It is.”

  She loosed a sigh. “Okay then. I’ll do it for you.”

  Mac had to stomp down hard on a sense of anticipation. This was only to keep Mum from worrying when she didn’t need to.

  Nothing else.

  But when he and Tiff left the church and walked into his mother’s big yellow kitchen, he wondered if going with Plan B and spending a pile of money and time on going back to London tomorrow then simply returning for his medical wouldn’t be the wiser plan.

  Everyone sat crowded around the table. The room seemed too full of people, too full of emotional undercurrents.

  “So here you two are at last. Just in time for supper. We saved you both places.” Mum pointed to two seats, side by side at the big scrubbed pine table he’d grown up eating at. “I’ll make you tea and cut you some black bun.” The smile Mum and Cat exchanged was way too smug.

  They’d made sure he and Tiffany sat together, of course.

  He should have known they’d try to make more of him bringing her than it really was. Unfortunately, that last dance before midnight then sneaking off together wouldn’t help correct their wrong ideas.

  Tiff smiled around at everyone.

  “Can I help you with anything, Helen?”

  “Och no, lass. You sit down. The kettle is boiled and everything is ready.”

  Tiff sat, nestled in next to him, close by necessity, with so many chairs around the table.

  She seemed to belong, in a way he’d never felt he had. It was hard to ignore the warmth that emanated from her, more surely than from the oil fired Aga stove that warmed the room. He wished he could ignore it. He didn’t want or need the attraction he felt for her.

  “So where did you disappear to at midnight?” Brodie asked, with his twisted grin, as Mum deposited two steaming cups of tea in front of them. “You missed Auld Lang Syne. And the fireworks. And the first footing.”

  Tiffany blushed, and she ducked her head so her hair fell forward hiding her face. Then she lifted her head with a determined air. “We watched the fireworks. Mac showed me a great place to see them from.”

  “I took her up to the tower. She’d get a better view from there.”

  Brodie looked ready to say more. His brother delighted in finding excuses to needle him.

  “What’s black bun?” Tiffany asked with the air of someone determined to change the subject. She wouldn’t want any questions, either.

  “This is black bun,” Cat said, placing a platter of sliced fruit cake wrapped in pastry on the table in front of them.

  By the look on Tiff’s face, she’d never seen anything like it before.

  “It’s ‘a black substance inimical to life’ according to Robert Louis Stevenson,” Dad explained. “But actually, it’s delicious, in small quantities.”

  Mac picked up his tea, cupping his hands around the mug.

  Just as he raised it to his lips Dad said, “Let’s remember to give thanks to God before we eat and drink. Colin, would you say a grace?”

  Mac put down his mug with a thump, as dull heat rose in his cheeks. He looked at Dad.

  His father smiled back, blandly.

  Mac hadn’t discussed his loss of faith, but something told him Dad had guessed. It wasn’t just his wound. He’d started qu
estioning after Gina.

  He felt more aware than he’d ever been of the God shaped hole in his heart. It ached like an unhealed wound. But how could he praise and trust a God who’d let the things he’d seen happen.

  Everyone watched him, waiting for his reply. They just needed to add a spotlight to shine in his eyes, and it would feel like a total inquisition.

  “Sure,” he muttered.

  As his family and Tiff bowed their heads, he racked his brain for words he could say without feeling a hypocrite, and fell back on Robbie Burns’ Selkirk Grace.

  “Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit.”

  “Amen,” echoed around the table.

  He glanced at Tiff, and something in his chest tightened. Her eyes shone, as if he’d said the old Scottish grace especially for her. Quickly, he looked away, suppressing the thought that perhaps that was true.

  He lifted his mug again, and took a swig to wet his dry mouth. He grimaced at the sweetness. Mum never did remember that he stopped taking sugar in his tea years ago. It was Brodie who took sugar.

  Now was the time to speak. “Mum, is it okay if Tiffany stays a few more days? This is probably her only trip to Edinburgh, and I’d like to show her around.”

  “Of course. I’d love that. A rare treat to have you here a few days longer, son. Now have some black bun.”

  Everyone else reached out for a slice, but between his mother’s beaming smile and the hope lighting Tiffany’s face, he’d lost his appetite.

  For better or worse, they were committed to his plan.

  Chapter 12

  Tiff sat in the kitchen with the Maclean family around her, nibbling on a slice of toasted bannock for brunch on New Year’s Day.

  Mac sat beside her, a presence she couldn’t ignore, tickling her awareness and taking away her appetite, even when she looked anywhere but at him. After the kiss last night, all her senses seemed attuned to him.