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

  But he couldn’t afford the weakness of needing someone that way. He’d always been the independent one, the one who looked after others. Never the one who needed looking after. His feelings for Tiffany were a weakness to overcome, just like the leg injury.

  Keeping away from her was the safest way to deal with it. When they’d parted at the station, he’d deliberately just said ‘See you around.’ She hadn’t asked or mentioned wanting to see him again. Probably, she felt the same.

  He looked around for what to do to help. Talking to guests wasn’t on his agenda for tonight. Kitchen duties gave him the best chance to hide out yet be of some use.

  He stepped through the kitchen door, and saw trouble. His muscles tensed.

  Darren, the young squaddie he'd stopped bothering Tiffany on Christmas Day, stood at the table. The lad had his back to the door, jerking his head in time to the music he heard through his earphones, and singing off key. The tinny pounding beat leaked into the room.

  Some soldier he must have been. Mac shook his head. Darren seemed completely unaware of his presence.

  He had no intention of running away, but he didn’t want trouble either. He stayed just one step inside the door.

  “What’s for dinner?” he said, loud enough for the lad to hear.

  Darren spun around, fear contorting his face. His hand clenched white knuckled on the big knife he held, raised ready to strike at anything near enough.

  And this lad had been left alone with Tiffany? Mac’s shoulders and arms stiffened as rage-fuelled adrenaline flooded his system.

  Then deliberately he forced his hard fists to loosen, and lifted open hands, showing that he was unarmed. He’d protected Tiffany on Christmas Day, and he could deal with Darren now.

  “Darren, what’s happening?" he asked, using the best calming tone he knew.

  The emotions ricocheting through him were anything but calm.

  He had to defuse the situation, and fast. If Darren was this hair trigger in his reactions, why was he allowed to handle a knife?

  Mac didn't make direct eye contact. That could be seen as threatening. But he didn't back off, either. He stepped to the side, giving Darren an escape route so he didn’t feel cornered.

  Darren glared at him, through unfocused eyes. Then the knife wavered in his hand, and it clattered to the floor. He bent double over the table, face buried in his hands.

  Relief coursed through Mac and he sagged against the counter. The breath he’d been holding sighed quietly from his lungs.

  He stood there unmoving, doing nothing, saying nothing. If he remained silent, Darren would respond.

  The lad lifted his head and pulled the earbuds from his ears. He held his own hands up the way Mac had, but his dropped shoulders and apologetic expression said surrender. His eyes darted around, not quite meeting Mac’s.

  "Sorry. I thought you were my old man."

  Mac pulled a chair to the table, and pointed for the lad to sit if he wanted to.

  Darren sat.

  Taking a seat at the opposite side of the table, Mac carefully slid the knife and cutting board away from Darren, and got to work cutting up the mountain of peeled potatoes on the table, like nothing had happened.

  “Back to the door isn’t a good defensive position,” he said, as mildly as if they were discussing the drizzly weather. “Nor is wearing those things,” he pointed to the earbuds handing on Darren’s chest. “You’re better off hearing who is approaching.”

  Darren fumbled in his pocket and slipped something in his mouth. Some sort of tablet. His throat convulsed as he swallowed without water.

  The uncomfortable parallel to the way Mac had taken his own painkillers echoed in his mind. He pushed the thought aside. His medication use wasn’t the issue. Dealing with a distressed, pill-popping, knife-waving kid was the issue.

  "I'm guessing you and your dad didn't get on too well."

  Darren barked a short bitter laugh. "Yeah, you could say that. He hit my mum, then threw me out at sixteen when was big enough to hit him back.” His expression changed, became one of entreaty. “But look, I said I’m sorry. Don't say anything about what happened, will ya? Simon warned me, if I goofed again, I'd be blacklisted. I want to go straight this time. Truly I do." He rubbed his hands over his face again. "I want a life. Not living the way I have been since the Army threw me out."

  Mac looked at him, considering. The lad was a mess, but something told him this might be a turning point, if he was given a chance. "I have a responsibility to speak to Simon about it. He needs to know so he can help you and keep everyone else safe. But I'll explain I startled you and that you put the knife down. He might be able to get you counselling that will help."

  Darren nodded. “Okay.”

  Mac hesitated, knife in mid air over the potato he was about to chop. His question might send Darren off again, but it was important to know. He needed to give Simon all the information he could. "What tablets did you just take?”

  Darren’s face became closed and defensive. “Only painkillers. Legit. Over the counter stuff.”

  “Containing codeine?” Mac asked. He’d had to buy pain meds over the counter himself occasionally, when he’d run out. Not as effective as the prescription ones, but still, 12.5mg of codeine per tablet in the stronger over the counter pills added up.

  Darren nodded. “I got shot, see, in the army. It still gives me gyp.” He looked up. Genuine distress shadowed his eyes and tightened his lips. “The stuff from the chemist helps. Numbs the edges. Using my music to close out the world helps, too.”

  Mac shook his head. “Not if it means you aren’t able to deal with something as simple as someone entering the room. Trying to block out the world won’t make it go away.”

  Darren nodded, slowly. “Were you daft and barmy too, like I was? Jock?”

  Mac recognised the slang for the Army, and for the Scottish Regiment. “Civilian. Attached to a unit of the Jocks.”

  He sucked in a deep breath and released it. A desire to help the kid tweaked at him. If he truly wanted work that made a difference, he’d been handed an opportunity on a plate. It didn’t take much to guess that Darren was abusing codeine, probably mixed with alcohol.

  Standing to slide the cut up potatoes into the pot on the stove, he dragged in another breath and asked for the right words to say. The cutting board and knife went onto the sink, well out of Darren’s reach.

  He sat again and focused on the lad across the table, then spoke.

  "I take prescription painkillers for my leg. I know how easy it is to take one or two more pills than I should.”

  Darren frowned. Recognition pushed the haze from his eyes. “You’re that photographer guy, aren’t you? Working with the Army. You were in the papers back in the summer, when you got hurt?”

  Mac nodded. “I was hit by a bomb blast in the Middle East. Eight weeks in hospital. Months more recovering.” Flattening his hands on the table, he hesitated a moment. He’d been careful to keep how bad things had been away from the press and the public. He hadn’t even let his family know.

  Especially not his family. But something told him it would help Darren to know. “At one stage, they talked about amputating my leg."

  A noise at the door made him turn. Tiffany stood there, eyes wide, her hands over her mouth.

  Mac’s throat tightened. He grimaced and his fingers clenched on the table as a muscle spasm racked his leg. The timing was enough to make him swear.

  That the person he told the truth was a punk kid, overheard by the lass he least wanted to know was typical of the way his life was going lately.

  God had a sense of humour, and it was a warped one.

  That's how it felt, anyway.

  "I... I just came in to get some scissors," she stammered, grabbing what she needed and bolting like a startled rabbit.

  He'd have to talk to her later, he knew. Maybe it wasn't hearing about his injuries that had affected her. Probably she hadn’t even heard what he said. More like
ly, she’d reacted to seeing Darren again. The kid had scared her badly last time.

  Whatever it was, he'd need to talk to her about it.

  Darren gawped after her.

  Mac’s fists balled. He wouldn’t leave Tiffany alone with the lad for a minute.

  "Touch her again and you’ll be sorry, understand? You frightened her on Christmas Day."

  He realised as he said it he was overreacting. Darren hadn’t looked at Tiffany with lust in his eyes. More a look of confusion, as if he couldn’t quite recognise her.

  Still, best not to take any chances. He wouldn’t allow Tiffany to be upset again.

  The younger man glared across the table at him, eyes narrowed, chin thrust forward. Mac sat and looked calmly back. He had to show the lad he wasn’t intimidated by him. Something told him this was just a display of bravado.

  Darren looked away, then raised his hands in the air in surrender. "If she’s your girl, it’s hands off. I don’t mess with other guys’ chicks.”

  Mac didn’t correct him, just nodded. If letting Darren get the wrong idea about the two of them helped keep Tiffany safe, that was fine with him.

  The lad sunk his head into his hands again and stared down at the stainless steel table top.

  Mac got up and went to the fridge to check the menu on the door.

  Keeping busy with food prep gave him something to do, and normalised the situation. He pulled out a catering sized tray of sausages and dumped it on the table. While he peered at the cooking instructions, Darren began to talk.

  “I’m sorry I scared your girl. The truth is, I can’t remember what I did on Christmas Day. I messed up bad.” Despair laced his voice. “I sunk a few beers and some scotch in the park with a mate, then found an open chemist. Downed a bottle of cough medicine.” He shook his head. “I’m okay if it’s just the tablets. Mixing it wasn't smart. But I’ve wised up since then. That’s why I came back here. To get help."

  “Smart move,” Mac said, bending to turn the oven on.

  Darren raised his head. His cheeks flushed a dull red, but he smiled. "I’ve met a girl, see. I know I’m not good enough for her. But I want to be.”

  Something twisted in Mac’s chest at the hopeful determination and pride lighting the lad’s face and voice. Even his habitual slouch had straightened.

  “Good motivation to make some changes. You’ll do it, with the right support.”

  Darren slumped again. “Not doing too well so far, am I? Waving a knife around. Trying to make out I’m proper hard. I’m acting just like my old man.”

  Mac didn’t pray much anymore, but he did silently ask God to help the lad. Before he could reply to Darren, someone knocked on the door and pushed it open.

  The girl Tiff had been talking to on their last session, Josie, poked her head into the room.

  “Simon sent us to see what we can do to help with dinner, guys.”

  Darren’s flush intensified as she walked over to the table. No prizes for guessing who the girl he meant was. Mac smiled.

  Tiffany followed Josie, pink faced and shy, carefully not looking at him. His own cheeks heated.

  God help him, too. Feeling that way for her was the last thing he wanted. It would be a disaster for both of them.

  But for all his intentions to stay strong, he couldn’t help smiling.

  Something about her was simply irresistible.

  Chapter 16

  Tiff couldn't help her gaze going straight to Mac, standing between the stove and the table with a large foil tray in front of him.

  The bland smile he wore gave nothing away.

  Obviously, she’d been the only one reduced to a gibbering heap by finding him here unexpectedly. More fool her.

  It seemed the way they’d held hands on the train meant nothing to him. She’d guessed as much, when he’d pulled his hand away and buried himself in reading the paper for the rest of the trip. He’d hurried off when they arrived back at the station with only a ‘See you around.’

  The decision to focus on her career couldn't have come at a better time. She’d come back to London with renewed determination to prove herself.

  The only problem was, she’d got nowhere so far with any of the designers she’d tried, and her list of places that might consider an intern was running out.

  Volunteering here felt like the only productive thing she did, so when Simon called, even with his warning that Darren was back, she hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t thought to warm her that Mac was here, too.

  She’d sat at home alone the last few nights. Mom and Dad were treating the trip as a second honeymoon and having date nights, Nick had gone back to L.A. to sort things out there before moving to London for the year, and Zoe was too busy with her coursework to want to do anything but stare at her laptop.

  British TV wore thin fast. She didn’t want to admit to herself that after five days with Mac, she missed him.

  And he didn’t seem to care about seeing her again.

  At least she had a good excuse for acting so flustered.

  Not seeing Mac, seeing Darren.

  Not that she was worried about any trouble. With Mac there, she knew she was safe.

  And she could look after herself, of course.

  Though Darren’s expression when she’d first come into the kitchen had seemed remorseful rather than threatening. She glanced quickly at him, then away before there was any chance he’d notice and misinterpret.

  His gaze was glued on Josie.

  The hair on the back of her neck itched, like hackles rising. She wanted to hurry Josie away from him. Everything she’d seen of Darren said he wasn’t good enough for a girl like her.

  But Josie ducked her head, the trace of a blush on her olive cheeks. She rushed to look at the tray Mac held. “What temperature does the oven need to be for these?” Her voice sounded just a little higher pitched than usual.

  So, Josie liked Darren too? The motherly urge she felt to protect the younger girl surprised her. If Darren did anything to hurt Josie…. Well, she didn’t know what she’d do, but she’d do something.

  Funny how sensible girls could fall for the most unsuitable guys.

  She peeked over at Mac again, wondering if he’d noticed what was going on.

  Big mistake. All she could think of as he lifted the foil tray and answered Josie was the muscles in his forearms, revealed by his rolled up Oxford shirt.

  Good thing she wasn’t the one turning the oven on, as the number he’d said hadn’t even registered in her mind.

  Her heart hiccupped, and she tore her gaze away.

  Hurrying to the stove, she lifted the lid on the bubbling pot and saw potatoes.

  Thank You Lord!

  At least now she could pretend it was the steam that caused her annoying blush. The meal prep gave her something to talk about, once she managed to unstick her tongue from her dry mouth.

  She turned to the guys, and directed her question somewhere in mid-air. “How long have these been cooking?”

  Mac’s apologetic grin, head tilted to one side, melted her. “Sorry, I forgot to put the timer on. Darren, can you remember?”

  Darren shrugged, and mumbled an inarticulate, “Dunno.” All his attention stayed fixed on Josie as she bustled around the kitchen, busily ignoring him.

  Mac smiled, and surprised Tiff with a wink. So he had noticed.

  “Five or ten minutes?” Mac said. “Stick a fork in and see if they’re done. It’s mash tonight so they need to be well cooked.”

  Tiff rolled her eyes and pretended a huff to cover up how he affected her. “I do know how to mash potatoes.”

  She might manage to stop Mac seeing it, but she couldn’t ignore the way she felt. Her accelerating pulse. Her shortness of breath. Her heated cheeks. The flutter in her tummy. The way she wanted to inhale the light spicy scent of his aftershave.

  No doubt about it, she had it bad, and for the worst possible person.

  He stepped nearer and peeled back the cover on the foil tr
ay, which she saw contained sausages. “We'd better get these in the oven too.”

  It would be so much easier if Mac would go somewhere else.

  “Guys!” she said. “Who told you that you could come in the kitchen? Why don’t you leave it to us girls?”

  “Hey, come on,” Mac said. “Men can cook too. The Army doesn’t pamper us, you know. Anyway, Nick told me the story of your cupcakes.”

  He only meant to tease her, she knew. The smile on his face said as much. But Tiff felt ready to sink through the floor.

  The day she'd baked those cupcakes had to be the worst of her life. Yet compared to what Josie and Mac and probably Darren had gone through, it was nothing. Her life had been so privileged and pampered in comparison.

  Help me to remember that please, Lord. Help me to get my current frustrations in proportion.

  Though Nick shouldn’t have told anyone here that story, least of all Mac. It was just another example of Tiff being useless, the family joke.

  Somehow, she had to convince Mac and her family that she could do something worthwhile.

  “Okay, so spill. What's the cupcake story?” Josie grinned and waggled her eyebrows before bending to open the oven door so Mac could slide the tray of sausages in.

  “Um, do you really want to know?” Tiff’s face felt hotter than the oven. “It seems so silly, though I was mortified at the time.”

  Josie nodded, and even Darren looked up expectantly from his seat at the table.

  Tiff dragged in a breath. Her family delighted in repeating the story. This was the first time she’d been the one to tell it. As a delaying tactic, she picked up the knife on the sink drainer, lifted the lid on the big pot again, and stuck the knife into a potato.

  “Still solid,” she reported. “Like my cakes.” She forced a laugh, the way she always did when the story was retold. No one had ever guessed how much it hurt her. “Mom is a wonderful cook. She's always baked for church fundraisers and potlucks and whatever she can. But I obviously didn't inherit her gift. I could burn water.” She grinned. “I have, in fact.”