If Kisses Were Snowflakes

by Serenity Woods

  The woman laughed as she steamed the milk. “He should—he comes in here often enough! He’s a sweetie.”

  “He seems nice,” Angel said, sure her face was turning red.

  “He is. I used to sing in the choir with him back in the day.”

  Angel grinned. “I bet he had a lovely voice.”

  “He still does—he came to my cousin’s wedding and I could hear him singing above everyone else. He’s one of the good guys, everyone around here says so.”

  Angel didn’t say anything else, watching as the woman poured the hot milk onto the espresso, but she felt a glow inside at the thought that he was well liked in the town.

  When the coffee was ready, she asked where the best place was to buy groceries. The woman said there was no supermarket, but she directed Angel back up the road to a general store.

  Angel went there and bought herself some basics—bread, milk, instant coffee, cereal for the mornings, ham and cheese for sandwiches, a few ready meals for the evenings, snacks if she got the munchies, and a couple of bottles of wine. She wasn’t planning to do a lot of cooking, and hoped that a few evenings she might be able to eat out at the pubs. She also bought herself a new mobile phone and a SIM card that let her transfer over her old number.

  When she’d dropped it all back at the cottage, she left again, a map in her hand, and this time headed south, toward the English Heritage site.

  Chapter Eleven

  The road ended in a car park, and she crossed it and entered the church grounds.

  First, she went into The Parish Church of Saint Mary the Virgin. This close to Christmas, it had a nativity scene at the front, and she spent a while admiring the beautifully painted, hand-carved statues and reading some of the history before wandering out again.

  Crossing the cemetery, she finally came to the reason she’d driven six hours to the island.

  Lindisfarne Priory glowed in the rays of the afternoon sun that had briefly peeped out between the gathering clouds. Built in the twelfth century, the monastery had a beautiful rainbow arch that arced over her head, and an impressive amount of standing remains. She wandered through them, stopping by an English Heritage board describing the layout of the monastery. She reached out a hand and traced the shape of the floor plan. Had Hal done this? He’d said it was his job to design this type of thing.

  It was too cold to spend as much time as she wanted looking around, so she planned to come back when she’d wrapped up a bit better, maybe with a hot water bottle stuffed down her sweater.

  Striding out, she walked around the edge of the monastery, heading south to the high ridge the map said was called the Heugh. How did you pronounce that? Hugh? Hee-uff? She climbed up it, surprised to find her knees a little wobbly when she got to the top. She was still weak from last night. The cold had affected her more than she’d realized.

  There was a lookout tower here, which wasn’t surprising considering the magnificent view. She could see all the way to Lindisfarne Castle in the distance, shaped like a Walnut Whip. And not far from where she stood was the natural harbor with the long beach. Was that where the Vikings had landed at the end of the eighth century? The thought gave her goosebumps.

  When she turned to the west, now the tide was low, she could see the small piece of land called St. Cuthbert’s Island, where the saint had once spent his hermit years. It was ridiculous to think she had anything in connection with a long-dead saint, but even so, she thought she could understand why he’d come here, and how peaceful he must have found the place.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, announcing the arrival of a text. She hesitated, then pulled it out and brushed her thumb over the screen. It was from Lesa. How are you doing? Everything okay?

  She texted back, All good thanks! xxx and put the phone back in her pocket.

  Once she’d replaced her SIM card, she’d discovered that Lesa had already texted several times that day, checking up on her. So had her mother.

  Her hands deep in her pockets, her hood warming her ears, Angel sat on a small wall surrounding the lookout tower and closed her eyes for a moment. The only sounds were the keening wind and the occasional squawk from a flock of geese down on the mudflats.

  She knew her sister and mother were worried about her, but she couldn’t stifle a flare of irritation at their assumption that she wasn’t able to last five minutes without being checked on. It was her own fault, because she’d proven in the past that she couldn’t cope, but why couldn’t they see that she was trying to change?

  She opened her eyes and extracted her journal from her bag. Opening it to a fresh page, she took out a pen and started writing.

  Dear Santa,

  Well, I’m here! I won’t go into the events of last night, but suffice to say it wasn’t quite the elegant arrival I’d hoped for. Still, I managed to get to the refuge hut, I survived for five hours, and I’m safe. Thanks to Mr. Viking :-)

  So... Lindisfarne. This was what I wanted—to be completely alone. To isolate myself from the rest of the world for a while, just like St. Cuthbert did, thirteen hundred years ago. I wanted to come here, to be a hermit, and have time to think.

  Angel nibbled the top of the pen. Jackie had suggested that when she wrote her daily journal, she concentrate on the positive, and not dwell on the things that brought her down. But Jackie wasn’t here. Angel was on her own, on Holy Island, with only the birds for company. The cold wind poked fingers inside her, scouring out her body, leaving her clean and raw. If there was a better time for openness and honesty, she couldn’t imagine it.

  When you died, Dad, a little piece of me died with you, she wrote. Blinking away tears, she set her jaw and continued. I didn’t understand at the time, and I felt as if you’d abandoned me. Lesa was upset, but maybe because I was the baby of the family, I took it so much harder. The family flocked around, trying to help, treading on eggshells so they didn’t upset me, and I know it made me worse. It wasn’t their fault, but I grew used to accepting help and support, to expecting it, even. As I grew older, I continued to rely on others to boost my self-worth. When you tell everyone you can’t cope and that you need help, eventually they’re going to believe you. And eventually you’re going to believe yourself.

  It was tough to acknowledge it, but she felt a lightness in her heart she hadn’t been aware of for a long time as she put the words down.

  It was nobody’s fault, not yours, not Lesa’s, not Mum’s, and not mine, either. I know that now. But I also know that it’s not up to anybody else to fix me. Only I can do that. And that’s why I’m here. To think about the future. To cope on my own at Christmas, which we both know is the most difficult time for me. To prove to myself I can do it.

  I will do it. I’m determined to be better, and to be whole again. I have to be, before I even think about looking for someone else to share my life.

  Briefly, an image of Hal flashed through her mind. Her lips curved up, but she pushed the thought aside.

  Anyway, that’s where I’m at. I’m determined to do my best. Hopefully, in ten days’ time when I set off back to Chepstow, I’ll be writing in here that I’m feeling better, and that I had a quiet Christmas, with plenty of time to think about my future, and where I go from here.

  Angel.

  She closed the journal and put it and the pen back into her bag.

  The cool wind blew across the mudflats, bringing the smell of the sea and the sensation of freshness and renewal. She wasn’t going to heal overnight, and she knew she had ups and downs ahead of her. But she was trying. And she couldn’t ask more of herself than that.

  She was getting cold, but she didn’t want to go back to the cottage yet. So she set off along the Heugh, following the path down to the harbor, and walked past all the boats, dreaming about Vikings and trying to imagine how scared the monks must have felt when they saw the longboats approaching the island. When she got to the end of the long road, she headed back toward the town, striding out, the wind whipping her cheeks.


  She was going to walk every day, she decided, until her legs were tired and she felt this delicious sense of freedom all the time. She was going to get better.

  Her stomach rumbled. Maybe she ought to stop by the pub and see if she needed to book a table for the evening. She didn’t fancy a ready meal tonight—a more substantial dinner was definitely needed after all this exercise!

  She reached the cottage and let herself in, and then stopped as the sight of an envelope on the mat. Picking it up, she saw one word on the front, “Angel,” written in a kid’s handwriting, and it was covered with sticky, glittery stars.

  Smiling, she tore it open and took out the piece of paper.

  “Pizza Evening,” it said, in a slightly older hand than the one on the front. “We would like to invite you to dinner. Please come! Five o’clock sharp. Love Jamie, Brenna, and Dad.”

  It was finished with a big X, and decorated all around the edge with Christmas stickers.

  Angel smiled, feeling warm all the way through. Was this Hal’s idea? Maybe the kids had pushed him into it. But surely he wouldn’t have agreed if he wasn’t interested in seeing her again.

  After taking off her coat and boots, she went into the living room and sat on the sofa, looking at the letter.

  Was there any subtext to this note? Or was he just being nice? Was anyone really that altruistic?

  She went to put the note back in the envelope, then realized there was a smaller piece of paper inside. Her heart thumping, she pulled it out and opened it up. It was from Hal.

  We thought you might not have had the chance to make dinner tonight, he said. So we’d like to invite you for pizza. If you’ve already made other plans, no worries! But we’d all love to see you again. Hope you’ve had a good day. Keep warm! Hal.

  It was such a lovely thought. But she had to be careful not to lead him on. Yeah, it might be super fun to have a passionate holiday fling...

  Her eyes glazed over for a moment at the thought of getting naked with Halvar Carlson. She bet it wasn’t only his feet and hands that were big...

  Then she shook her head. No, no. That was totally not going to happen. For a start, he had problems of his own. The last thing he needed was to get involved with someone who was... broken.

  She lowered the piece of paper and leaned back, stretching out her feet toward the fire.

  Jackie disliked her using the word, but it was how Angel felt—like a broken doll. Not irretrievably smashed to smithereens, but full of invisible hairline fractures that threatened to deepen and spread under pressure.

  No, she had to mend herself first. Apply the SuperGlue of meditation and careful thought, until she was a whole person once again. Then, and only then, could she even begin to think about getting involved with anyone else.

  But he was only offering pizza...

  She chewed her bottom lip. His kids were going to be there. And she was really hungry...

  He was a decent guy—he wouldn’t take eating pizza one evening as a sign that she was looking for romance. Spending some time while she was here with the man who’d saved her life would be a pleasant way to pass the time. She liked him, and he could turn out to be a good friend. Just because he was a man, it didn’t mean a friendship had to develop into something else. She lived nearly four hundred miles away, for God’s sake. Providing she kept her head screwed on right, everything would be fine.

  Having her head screwed on right wasn’t particularly something she’d been very good at in the past, but she was hopeful that things would be better in the future.

  She checked her new phone—it had just gone four p.m. Pulling out the business card Hal had given her, she sent him a text. Thank you so much for the invitation! Will be there at five :-)

  Only a minute after she sent it, he replied, The kids will be thrilled! Oh, and me too :-)

  Unable to stop a smile spreading across her face, she ran herself a bath and had a soak for thirty minutes, then took her time getting dressed while she listened to some music. Black leggings, an oversized blue sweater, and thick socks and boots. She left her long hair down, but put on a little makeup, because it made her feel better, and that was what this week was all about.

  When she’d done, she looked at herself in the mirror for a moment.

  Jackie had talked to her often about repeating positive affirmations to herself on a daily basis. Angel tended to feel foolish while doing it and so hadn’t made it a part of her routine like she should have. But today she stood there and took a long, hard look at herself.

  She might have made the mistake of getting caught by the tide, but she hadn’t just given in to the black dog and let herself be swept away. She’d acknowledged her mistake, fought back, and done the best she could to keep herself safe. It was an accomplishment, and she should be proud of herself for it.

  Although she might not be as brave as a real shield maiden, neither was she completely hopeless. She’d been through some dark times in her life, but here she was, still alive, and coping on her own.

  She was going to be okay.

  The realization came in a rush, like a flurry of snowflakes spinning around her. She really was going to be fine. Not just this week, but in the future. She’d have ups and downs, but she had changed, because she now knew that she could cope with the downs on her own. No longer did she have to run to someone else to beg for help. And she wouldn’t have to credit the ups to anyone else, either.

  It was such a small thing, but it felt as if she’d climbed a mountain. She studied her flushed face, and the way her eyes lit with joy, and smiled. The island was already working its healing power.

  The smile still on her face, she turned, picked up her bag, and headed out of the cottage, locking the door behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  The kids were just starting to prepare the ingredients for their pizza toppings when the doorbell went.

  His heart picking up speed, Hal answered the door, and then stared at the woman standing there. “Oh,” he said, his brain turning to mush.

  Her smile gradually faded. “Something wrong? Sorry, did you not really expect me to come?”

  “God, no, nothing like that.” He stepped back to let her pass. “It’s just... you look quite different from last night.”

  She laughed as she walked into the house and unzipped her coat. “I don’t scrub up too badly.”

  That was the understatement of the year. He’d thought she was gorgeous when she’d been half frozen, white as a sheet, and with her hair plastered to her head. Now, she was stunning. Her hair had dried to an almost white blonde that looked natural, she had a bit of color to her cheeks and lips, and a sparkle in her eyes that he was sure wasn’t entirely due to the glittery eyeshadow.

  She stopped and turned to him, the rosy pink in her cheeks matching her jacket. “Thank you for the note. It was a lovely thing to do.”

  “We went around earlier to ask you,” he said, “but you were out, so the kids decided to write a letter.”

  “Completely against your wishes,” she said impishly. Her dark eyes looked up into his, filled with warmth. She looked... better.

  His lips twitched. “Completely.”

  Smiling, she removed her coat, and he hung it on the hook by the door as she took off her boots. She was wearing black leggings that revealed shapely legs, and an oversized blue sweater that didn’t quite manage to hide the curves beneath.

  Oh Hal. If you weren’t lost already, you are now.

  Pursing his lips, he followed her into the kitchen, where the kids greeted her with a cheer.

  “You look pretty,” Brenna said, her eyes widening.

  “Aw, thank you! And look at your amazing tiara.” Angel touched the girl’s sparkly headpiece. It had only cost two pounds at the local toyshop, but Brenna loved it. “It’s so lovely and Christmassy.”

  “We’re getting the toppings ready,” Jamie told her, not wanting to be left out. “What kind of things do you like? Are you a vegetarian?”

&nbs
p; “No, I’ll eat anything except Brussel sprouts,” Angel said.

  Hal laughed. “I’ll get the dough.” He’d left it in the airing cupboard to rise, and now he brought it into the kitchen, tipped it onto the table, and cut it into four equal pieces.

  For the next ten minutes, the four of them stood at the table and made their pizzas, talking all the time. They rolled out the dough into rough circles and placed them in pizza tins, added tomato sauce as a base with a scatter of herbs and grated cheese, then began to choose their toppings from the shredded chicken, cooked bacon, chopped up ham, and various sliced vegetables on the table.

  Hal couldn’t help but imagine how the same scene would have played out if Rebecca had been with them instead of Angel. She would have disapproved of pizza in the first place, claiming it had too many carbs, and although she might have let the kids have one from time to time, she would never have eaten it herself. And she wouldn’t have joined in with making them like this. The activity would have been something she would have overseen, helping occasionally, while pointing out to the children that they should include more vegetables.

  He knew he mustn’t compare the two women. Rebecca loved her kids deeply, and anyway, Angel wasn’t responsible for their wellbeing, so it didn’t matter to her what they ate. And yet he watched her slice some mushrooms and offer them to Brenna, and smiled as the little girl laid them on her pizza so it looked exactly the same as Angel’s.

  When they were done, they topped them all with another scatter of grated cheese and put them in the oven. After setting the timer, Hal suggested the kids show Angel their new PlayStation, so they all went into the living room and turned the machine on.

  They loaded up the Lego Harry Potter game, and Jamie and Brenna explained to Angel how to play it. When the timer went off, Hal and Angel cut up the pizzas and brought them into the living room, and they took turns to take the characters through the puzzles, while the two who weren’t playing ate their pizzas.