9

Christy

Would her plan work or was she being foolish?

She pulled on her favorite black wool dress, scooped up her hair and added her favorite earrings. It was far too dressy for an evening at home in the cottage, but that was the point. They needed to shake up the life they had. They needed to somehow extract some lightness from the dark. She needed to remind him that their relationship wasn’t all about Holly. Hadn’t always been about Holly, even though the time they’d spent on their own had been limited.

Seb was downstairs in his study, job-hunting and preparing for the interview. The door had been closed all day, and she’d only opened it once to take him a cup of tea and a slice of her homemade ginger cake, which was his favorite.

She was desperate to talk more, but she knew his mind was on work and the interview, so instead she was left to ruminate on their conversation the day before.

Although he hadn’t actually said he regretted marrying her, there had been a heaviness to the conversation. A seriousness that was sapping the life from their relationship. They were drowning, pulled under the surface by the sheer weight of everything. The pressure he was feeling, the sense of responsibility—she was the reason.

What had he said? I’m constantly reminded of the stakes.

Apparently, she was the stakes. She was the reason it mattered, and nothing she said seemed to reassure him on that score.

So now she was taking a different approach. She was going to try her hardest to make him forget the stakes and the responsibility. Together they somehow needed to rediscover the feelings they’d shared at the beginning of their relationship, before Holly and marriage. Not only for his sake, but for hers. But how? How did you throw off all the stress and anxiety and just enjoy being together?

She’d decided on a romantic dinner and had drawn up a list of everything she needed to do to make the evening perfect. It had nineteen points on it, and she only had two left to cross out.

She’d spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen. She had duck roasting in the oven, which she was serving with Seb’s favorite sauce. The table was laid with candles and silverware that she only used when she had guests.

Now there was only herself to think about.

She studied herself in the mirror, then flopped onto the bed, defeated.

She looked—ordinary. Boring. Wasn’t she always telling Alix to stop wearing black? She could have gone straight from dinner to a funeral without needing to change.

This wasn’t going to make Seb think about the woman he’d danced with that night.

She needed something sparkly. Sexy. She needed…

“Damn it.” She stood up, pulled the dress off and rifled through her clothes again, this time knowing exactly what she was going to wear. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Probably because the dress in question was tucked away, along with a bunch of others she’d worn when she was single and living in London. They were of no use to her in her current life so she’d all but forgotten them.

Until now.

There it was: a shimmer of peacock blue. She pulled the dress out and felt a wave of nostalgia. She’d found the dress in a little boutique tucked away in a backstreet in Knightsbridge. Although she’d been drawn to the color, she’d almost put the dress back on the rack. It was far too sexy and revealing, and not at all the type of dress she usually wore, but she’d been shopping with Alix who had insisted she try it and then that she buy it.

Despite her reservations, Christy had fallen in love with the colors. The blended blues and greens of the dress made her think of Holly’s picture of the aurora, and she felt a pang as she thought about her daughter. She’d spoken to her that morning, and Holly had been so breathless with excitement, Christy had struggled to understand her. She’d caught the words snow and dogs before Holly had sprinted off to have more fun, leaving Christy to talk to Alix.

It had been a short conversation, mostly because Christy had no intention of discussing what was currently happening in her life. How could she after what had happened?

Still, part of her longed to snuggle up on the sofa and talk the whole thing through with her friend. She and Alix had always sorted everything out together. School. Friends. Clothes. College. Work. Boys. Sex. Family. Home. There wasn’t a subject they hadn’t dissected in their long and special friendship, and it was ironic, and horribly tough, that this—without a doubt, the hardest thing she’d ever had to handle—she didn’t feel able to share with her friend. Not only would it have been disloyal to Seb, but Alix, she knew, was incapable of being objective.

Christy tugged on the dress and was instantly transported back to the last time she’d worn it. The darkness, the swirl of lights, the pulsing heat and Seb Sullivan, leaning on the bar with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease with who he was.

What had happened to that man? He’d gone, replaced by someone she barely knew, and it seemed that she was responsible, albeit unwittingly. Ultimately, he was going to have to sort his thoughts and feelings by himself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do her part to help.

She glanced in the mirror at her bare arms and then out of the window at the snow that had softly layered the ground.

Was it worth risking pneumonia to save her relationship?

Yes, it was.

She could wear a wrap of course, but that would ruin the effect. No, she’d crank the heating up and hope the system could handle it.

She selected different earrings, let her hair fall loose over her shoulders, slid on shoes with heels that made you rethink everything you thought you knew about walking and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Before she walked into the kitchen, she remembered there was one final thing on her list for the perfect evening. The first thing Seb had done when they’d moved in was set up a sound system throughout the cottage, and she pulled out her phone and selected some soft jazz.

The muted, sultry tones of the saxophone floated through the air, warming the atmosphere. In that moment, with the soft fairy lights twinkling from the low beams, the cottage seemed as romantic as it had when she’d first seen it. The ambience reminded her of that small coffee shop they’d discovered tucked away in a cobbled side street in London.

She felt a moment of satisfaction. She’d done everything she could to make the evening perfect.

Seb had his back to her, staring into the fridge. “I could have sworn we had a jar of olives in here. Did we finish them?” He turned, and his expression changed.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected his response to be, but she wasn’t disappointed.

Even in the dim light, she saw something shift in his gaze, as if she’d reawakened a part of him that had been dormant for years. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. Or maybe he was remembering that first time, because that was what she was doing.

The look they shared took her right back to that night they’d met in the glamorous, upmarket bar where Alix had taken her to cheer her up after yet another romantic disappointment. Seb had been standing next to her at the bar, laughing with a male friend. Alix must have seen her staring, because she’d muttered Not your type in Christy’s ear a split second before he turned and Christy decided that if that was the case, then she’d got her type wrong.

“Hi, I’m Seb.” His smile had been a deadly combination of warmth and wickedness. She’d felt electrifying tingles and a delicious sense of connection. And as she’d stared into his amused blue gaze, she’d known he felt it, too.

It wasn’t as if dates with her supposed type were working out. Maybe it was time to throw away those assumptions.

“I’m Christy.”

“And I’m Alix.” Her friend had all but thrust herself between them, as if trying to break the flow of electricity, but Seb hadn’t shifted his gaze from Christy.

“I bet you’re a great dancer, Christy.”

Alix had frowned. “We just arrived, and no, she—”

“I love dancing.” Christy had taken the hand he’d extended and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Her brief glance back at her friend showed Alix shaking her head furiously and mouthing No! but she’d ignored her. Alix was the one who had brought her to this place! And it was one dance. Where was the harm in one dance?

But one dance had turned into two, and then ten, and then it had turned into a frantic, passionate, dizzying kiss in a dark corner of the bar, followed by a quick farewell to Alix and then more drinks at his place, followed by the most exciting, incredible sex of her life. Turned out Seb Sullivan was as good at that as he was at dancing, and that night had become unforgettable for many reasons, not least of all Holly.

If she hadn’t got pregnant that night, what would have happened? He’d already told her he was that guy who never called the morning after, but he’d called her, hadn’t he? He’d called every day for three weeks, and then her period had been late…

How long would their relationship have lasted?

Alix had said he wasn’t her type, but Christy knew she was wrong about that.

Turned out Seb Sullivan was exactly her type. It was the men she’d dated before him who had been wrong.

“Christy,” he said and licked his lips, “you look—”

“Overdressed? Or maybe underdressed given the outside temperature.” She gave a self-conscious smile, hoping he wasn’t going to laugh.

His gaze slid slowly down from her face to her toes.

He didn’t laugh. “That’s the dress you were wearing the night we met.”

The fact that he remembered gave her hope. “I haven’t worn it since.”

“No.” His voice sounded strange. “Why not?”

“I suppose partly because I got pregnant that night and there is no room in this dress for me and a baby, and partly because—” she slid her hands over her hips, and he followed the movement with his eyes “—when Holly was born we did different things. We saved our money. We spent more time at home. Or we grabbed dinner with friends. Sometimes we were too tired to do anything except sleep. We didn’t—”

“Date?”

“We didn’t go anywhere I can wear a dress like this.” She shrugged. “We’ll need to bump the heating up, or I’ll get frostbite.”

He closed the fridge slowly. “I can think of ways of staying warm.” He walked across to her and pulled her into his arms. “This dress should come with a warning.”

He kissed her, his mouth warm and gentle, and she kissed him back, knowing immediately that they hadn’t lost what they’d had, that it was still there somewhere, buried under the weight of real life and the demands of parenthood. Soft notes of jazz floated past them, and she felt a rush of excitement and also relief because finally she felt everything was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. They could fix this. They could—

She gasped as he swung her up into his arms. “I should take the duck out of the oven—”

“Forget the duck. It will be okay.” His mouth was on hers as he carried her out of the kitchen, this time remembering to bend as he went through the door into the hallway.

He carried her up the stairs and into their bedroom, which she’d lit with candles and more tiny lights in preparation for what she’d hoped would be a romantic ending to their evening.

This wasn’t exactly the way she’d planned it, but she was happy to go with it. It was a while since they’d done anything spontaneous.

He lowered her onto the bed, still kissing her, and she tugged at his shirt.

“I need you naked.”

He trailed kisses from her jaw to her neck and lower.

“I’ve forgotten how to have sex without keeping one ear open for Holly in case she walks into the room.”

She gasped as he tugged at the neckline of her dress, seeking access. “I’m sure it’s something that we can relearn. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too.” He shifted lower, easing her dress down, and she was writhing under him, urging him to hurry, just hurry, when there was an ominous rumble followed by a shower of plaster and dust.

Seb swore and covered her body with his, cradling her against him until the white flakes stopped falling. “Are you okay?”

“I… Yes. What happened?”

“The damn ceiling fell in, or at least part of it did. All that rain, I guess. Must be a leak up in the attic somewhere. This place is going to be the death of us. Or the death of our finances. Better move, in case the whole thing comes down and buries us.” He shook off the larger chunks, then rolled away from her and tugged her off the bed onto the floor. “Unbelievable.”

She brushed dust and flakes of plaster from her hair and her shoulders, then glanced up at the plaster hanging from the ceiling. “Yes.” She’d worked so hard to make everything perfect, and now it was ruined. Even tonight, when it mattered most, the cottage had let her down.

They sat for a moment, saying nothing.

What was there to say? He was right. The place was going to be the death of them. Literally.

She removed a piece of plaster that was clinging to her legs and finally looked at Seb. His dark hair was streaked with white dust, and his shoulders were shaking. For a moment she thought he was crying, and then she saw he was laughing. Laughing so hard he couldn’t speak.

She was bemused. “What’s so funny?”

“This is.” He was doubled over, gasping for air between laughs. “Best night ever.”

“Best night ever?”

“Yes. I guess you could say the earth moved.”

It was a relief to see him laughing, even though this wasn’t quite the entertainment she’d had in mind. “So much for seduction.” She started to laugh, too, which was strange because mostly she felt like crying. It was as if the cottage was conspiring against her.

Just to add to her woes, the smoke alarm went off, the noise shrieking through the cottage and killing off any last residue of intimacy.

“Oops. I guess that means the duck isn’t okay after all.” Still laughing, Seb launched himself toward the door, wearing only his jeans. He paused in the doorway and held out his hand to her. “Better come with me. If it turns out the cottage is on fire, then we’ll need to evacuate, and if the roof is about to fall in, I don’t want you trapped in the rubble. No way are the emergency services getting an eye full of you in that dress.”

She abandoned the heels, pulled on a pair of flats and a warm sweater and took his hand.

“This was supposed to be the perfect evening. I planned it so carefully.”

“It is the perfect evening. We’re escaping a collapsing, burning building. You’re wearing a short sexy dress like all good movie heroines, and I get to look like an action hero, although I could do with a bit more dirt streaked on my face. This is the most excitement either of us has had in a while.”

And he was more like himself than he’d been for a long time.

She glanced briefly back at their bed, now covered in fragments of the ceiling, and closed the door on the room.

They headed downstairs to the kitchen, and Seb threw open the windows and the back door in an attempt to clear the smoke.

Finally, the alarm stopped screeching, and he cautiously opened the oven. Plumes of smoke emerged, and he slammed the oven door closed again.

“I think the duck is cooked, darling.”

“No kidding.” She flopped down on the nearest kitchen chair. “This has to be the least romantic evening we’ve ever spent.”

“I don’t know.” Seb tried to waft the smoke toward the open window. “That night Holly had croup and we had to rush to the hospital was probably a contender.”

She tried to laugh again, but she couldn’t. They had so little time to sort out their relationship before they had to join the others. Her throat thickened, and tears welled up in her eyes. “I wanted tonight to be perfect. And now it’s all ruined. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” He opened the window wider and then glanced at her. “Are you crying? Don’t cry!”

“I’m not crying.” She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. “It’s the smoke making my eyes water. And it is my fault. I’m the one who wanted to move here—” she hiccuped “—and I’m the one who chose duck.” She thought about her mother’s dinner parties. The relaxed atmosphere. The perfect food. Stimulating conversation. No ceilings falling in. No smoke alarms. No guests running through a smoky house. No charred duck.

“Hey.” Seb abandoned smoke duties and crouched down in front of her. “I know you like things to be perfect, but that isn’t how life works.”

“Not lately, that’s for sure. But just this once—” she sniffed “—this once when it mattered so much, I wanted things to go smoothly. And it should have happened. I stuck to my list. I was so careful.”

“You made a list for this evening?”

“Yes.” She rubbed her eyes. “Food. Music. Drink. Lighting. My mother always did the same, and nothing like this ever happened to her. I shouldn’t have cooked duck. She always said to prepare food that didn’t need last-minute attention. I should have cooked salmon.”

“Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” His voice was serious, and she looked at him, thoroughly miserable, and braced for more disaster.

“What?”

“I’m glad you cooked duck. I hate salmon.”

She stared at him. “You hate salmon?”

He gave a shudder. “Loathe it.”

“But—” How did she not know this? “Is it the way I cook it? Something I do or don’t do?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing to do with the chef.”

“So what do you loathe, exactly?”

“Everything.” He rocked back on his heels. “The taste of it. The slimy texture. The fishy smell. Can’t stand it.”

She blew her nose, her mind absorbed by the wider implications of that confession. “But I make you salmon every week. Omega-3 is important for health. And you always eat it and say it’s great.”

“I’m lying. It isn’t great, although that’s not your fault. I know you’ve spent time in the kitchen, and I appreciate that.”

“I’ve been making you salmon for almost five years. When did you start hating it?”

He pulled a face. “I’ve hated it right from the beginning. Five years.”

“Five years?”

“Fifty-two weeks a year.” He tilted his head and paused. “By my calculation that’s about two hundred and sixty pieces of salmon I’ve managed to force down with a smile. That’s a lot of omega-3. Go me!”

“You… No! That can’t be true. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He lifted his hand and touched her cheek gently. “Because you are working so hard to create this perfect home for us. Feed us the perfect diet. All of it, perfect. And honestly, I didn’t know you that well when we got together. No way was I going to risk offending you by saying I didn’t like something. Also, I was embarrassed. Or maybe self-conscious is a better description.”

“Self-conscious? About not liking salmon?”

“I’m the first to admit that when I met you, I didn’t have the most sophisticated palate. I was a burgers-and-steak guy. If I wanted variety I ate pizza. I was Mr. Eat Out or Take Out. Didn’t know my way round a kitchen. And then, there you were, whipping up elaborate meals and cakes like something out of a TV show, complete with garnish. I had to look that up, by the way. And we ate at the table, not on our laps. Napkins. Silverware. Candles. Civilized living.” His eyes were an intense blue. “Every evening with you was like a date in a smart restaurant. I didn’t know what half the food was.”

She blew her nose. “The first time I served you quinoa—”

“I thought it was bird food.”

They both laughed, and she gave a little shrug. “But salmon?”

“The first few times you made it, I ate it to be polite, and then you were making it every week, and I couldn’t find a way to tell you how much I hate salmon. The longer I left it, the more difficult it became.”

She hadn’t known about his job, and now she discovered he hated salmon. What else didn’t she know about him? “This is terrible.”

He covered her hands with his. “Honey, it’s not terrible. But maybe it’s time we were both a bit more honest.” He stood up and tugged her to her feet. “And maybe we both need to stop trying so hard.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re trying so hard to make life perfect, and when things fall short, which they inevitably do, you feel disappointed and personally responsible.” He brushed dust from her cheek. “And I’m trying so hard to be perfect enough to fit into your perfect world. I confess I even check your little book occasionally to find out what I’m supposed to be doing.”

She felt her face grow hot. “You know about my book?”

“Of course. Why? Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“It’s my behind-the-scenes organization.”

“Why does it need to be behind the scenes?”

“Because it’s supposed to all look smooth and effortless.”

“Why?” He shook his head, confused. “You think I don’t know how much effort goes into creating our home? Believe me, I do. It’s another reason I feel pressure to play my part. It matters to you to have things a certain way. I don’t want to let you down.”

“But you’re not letting me down.” Her eyes filled again. “I’m the one letting you down. Tonight was supposed to be special. Memorable. We get so little time together, and you were feeling the pressure of it all, and I wanted to remind you of how it was when we were just a couple—” Her breath came in jerks. “I wanted us to have fun, and now it’s ruined.”

“Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. I haven’t laughed this much for a long time.”

“Do you mean that?” It was true that he seemed more buoyant.

“Yes. The evening hasn’t gone as planned, that’s true, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be romantic.” He smoothed his hand over her hair, flicking away tiny pieces of plaster.

“You think this is romantic?”

“Sure. Have I never told you that you look cute with bits of ceiling in your hair?”

She managed a choked laugh. “Every woman dreams of hearing a man say that to her.”

“There. You’re laughing.” He tugged her close. “That’s a sign of a good date. Laughter. Now, no more crying. I have an idea.”

She leaned her head against his chest. The crazy thing was she felt closer to him in that moment than she had for months. It felt as if they were on the same side. “If your idea doesn’t include burning the cottage to the ground, I probably don’t want to hear it.”

“It involves calling that local builder Zac recruited to help him when we first moved in. If he can fit us in, we’ll give him the keys to the cottage and ask him to fix it while we’re away.”

She took a deep breath. “But we’re not going to Lapland for a few more days. And you need peace and quiet to prepare for your interview. And rest. We can’t sleep in that bedroom, and the bed won’t fit in Holly’s room. I had a detailed plan for the next few days that allowed you time to prepare for your interview but still have rest and good food and—”

“Shh.” He covered her lips with his fingers. “Give me your plan. Your book. Where is it?”

She retrieved it from a drawer and handed it to him. “I thought we could—oh!” She watched as he tossed it out with the burned remains of the duck. “What are you doing?”

“Throwing away your plan. It’s making you miserable because life doesn’t work that way, and it’s making me miserable, too. We’re going off book. Spontaneous. Starting right now. Go and pack.”

“Pack for what?” Her heart raced. She actually felt a little panicky knowing that her plan, her list, was currently lying alongside potato peelings. That list was her life. She wasn’t sure she could handle things without it.

“We’re going on a romantic minibreak.”

“What? Seb, we can’t just go.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” She floundered. Could she say It’s not on my list? “We haven’t planned it.”

“I’m planning it now.” He was on his phone, scrolling through and searching.

Was he serious?“I have book group tomorrow. I have to make a quiche.” Item four on her list.

He glanced up from his phone. “You hate book group. You always say they sneer at your choice of reading.”

“They do, and I don’t love it, you’re right, but we’re trying to be part of the community, and I can’t not go.”

“Of course you can. Life is too short to spend time with people who make you feel bad about yourself. Call her and say something came up.”

“You mean lie?”

“It isn’t exactly lying. Something did come up.”

“You don’t know Alison Whitley the way I do. She can be so disapproving.”

“So what? Why do you need her good opinion?” He lowered his phone. “Wait a minute. You’re actually scared of that moody old bat?”

“Yes! She was headmistress of the local school for thirty years. She makes me feel as if I should be in detention.”

He shook his head. “You are choosing book group over a romantic minibreak?”

She was choosing it because the alternative was a difficult conversation.

On the other hand, this was her marriage, and he was offering time alone. Time to talk.

She sat up straighter. “No, I’m not. I’ll text her and say I’ve got a bad stomach.” The mere thought of the conversation would probably give her a bad stomach, so it wouldn’t be a lie.

Seb winked at her. “Tell her it was the salmon. How quickly can you pack?”

“You want to go right now? It’s already eight o’clock in the evening.” She had a flashback to the night they’d met. He’d been exactly the same. Let’s leave now. Grab some food. Walk along the river.

He went back to his phone. “Forget routine and bedtimes. Before I met you I went to bed when the fun stopped.”

She forgot about Alison Whitley and book group and remembered how they’d been in those early days. “You’re basically saying I ruined your life.”

“No, you changed my life, and I liked it. But maybe we threw out too much of the old stuff.” He held up his phone. “I need to make some calls. Go and throw some clothes together.”

He was decisive. Spontaneous. This was the guy she’d met that night in the bar. Let’s climb over the fence into the park.

She felt as if she was poised on the edge of something unfamiliar and a little dangerous. “I don’t have a list. How can I plan if I don’t know where we’re going?”

“You need warm clothes, something you can walk in, and if you want to pack a sexy dress, I’ll make sure we find a use for it.” He didn’t look up from his phone. “And you need all your Lapland gear because we’re going straight to the airport from London.”

“London?”

“Yes.” His fingers flew over the keys as he searched for something. “My interview is there, and I’m going to have to travel to the city in a few days, anyway. Might as well go now and stay.”

“We’re going to London?” The disproportionate level of excitement she felt probably should have told her something, but she couldn’t analyze that right now. There was already more than enough in her head. “Can we afford it?”

He gave a half smile. “I’m feeling optimistic about this job. Let’s be reckless.”

She felt a sudden rush of emotion. This was how she’d felt when they’d first met. As if she was hovering on the edge of an exciting adventure.

Christmas in London. Oh how she’d missed it! Festive shop windows. Knightsbridge. The Natural History Museum. The London Eye lit up against the night sky. “Can we go ice-skating?”

He grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug. “We’re going to do all of it.”