Page 75 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

“They’re not—” he cut off and couldn’t help the laugh that came from him. “That’s not mince pies.”

All wide eyes and staring at him. Rosie put one hand on her hip. “It’s not?”

“Noooo. I mean, I know I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy. Come here. Let me show you.”

The cafe was just behind Santa’s grotto. Strategically placed of course from the eyes of a retail store. Kids could mull around Santa while the parents sat in the cafe and had afternoon tea. William led Rosie around the side and to the part where they were serving free drinks. He loved it for this. “Two hot chocolates and two mince pies please,” he said and threw coins into the charity box. The woman gave him the pies, but he kept his pie in the little bag and took Rosie’s out.

“This,” he said, holding it out in the palm of his hand. “Is a mince pie.”

“And there’s no peas and carrots in it?”

“Nope. Fruit. You like raisins and currants, right?”

The way she took it from him was like she didn’t believe him. Like she still thought he might have laced it with beef or something worse.

“Try it.”

“I …” She raised it to her mouth, sniffed it. “It smells …”

“Fruity?”

Waiting for Rosie to take a bite, he studied her. His Rosie. All perfect and here. She raised the pie to her lips … those lips.

“It isn’t going to bite you, you know?”

“I know. I just …” She raised her eyes to meet his, and there was no name for what he felt when she looked at him this way. Innocent? Strong? A combination of the two perhaps. “If this tastes bad, you’re in trouble.”

“Just try it. It’s good. I promise.”

She did. A small nibble at first, dainty like her, shy, quiet. She took another bite, bigger this time. More daring. “Oh wow,” she said, breathing pastry flakes at him. “This is good.”

“Right?” He could only nod like a fool and breathe with relief. He’d wanted to share this with her, this place, his traditions. But each step they took, he felt more and more afraid. Like she’d maybe not like things or toss them away with idle comments. “Here’s your chocolate.”

The woman had capped the drinks for them, putting them in takeaway cups so they didn’t spill as they walked. William took his mince pie down in three bites and then cursed himself for doing that and not savouring the moment. But it didn’t matter the moment they stepped outside, and Rosie caught sight of the rows of Christmas trees—all Nordmann firs and Blue spruces.

“Firs are the best ones,” William said. “They’re the ones that don’t drop their needles everywhere.”

"That’s good.” Rosie popped the last of her pie into her mouth, and there was that mood again. Inside, she'd dropped it a little, and he’d felt it ease, but it was back. Big and pushing in on their special moment.

“Any size tree?”

Rosie shrugged. “I don’t mind. What do you like?”

That wasn’t the answer he wanted.

“I want something big,” William said, holding his arms out. “I want something so big there’s no room for anything else.”

But there was no reaction from Rosie as he spoke. No nod of excitement, no disappointment. The way she looked at him made him feel flat, and that creeping feeling started on him — the one laced with the fear that she’d not like his favourite place.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean. Not just tired? Is it our parents?” Even as he asked, he knew he could sense it in her, she wasn’t telling him.

“I’m fine.” She walked away from him—one hand in her pocket, the other holding her hot chocolate.

He shoved a hand into his pocket and tried not to let his own mood sink. It could go right down. It could hide in the deepest of caverns, and if he were to get into that mental place just now, he feared the struggle to get out of it.

He tried again. “This is nice,” he said, holding the branch of a tree. “We could theme it like you wanted. Blue and green?”

“Red and green.”

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