Page 24 of Every Christmas Eve
Us.
Whateverusmeant.
‘You,’ I told him, feeling my stomach flip as I said it. ‘I just want to be with you.’
His eyes lit up.
I’d never wanted to be around anyone as I did Ben Heaney, so to know he felt the same made me feel like we were standing on the edge of something very special. It both frightened and excited me in equal measure.
Maybe we didn’t need to put a label on it or make any big long-term announcements.
There was no denying it. When we were together, there was an electricity, a pull, a magic if you like, and it filled me up more than I’d even thought was possible.
From that day on, I wanted him more than ever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lou
NOW
I know it’s juvenile and somewhat ridiculous, but after the unexpected encounter with Ben Heaney outside under a flurry of snow and the glow of a street light at dusk, I run back inside and find myself in my tiny storeroom, where I shut the door, lean against the wall, close my eyes and remind myself to breathe.
But my breath catches in my throat. I cover my mouth for fear of letting out a loud and uncontrollable gasp. My hands are trembling as old feelings threaten to choke me. Memories swirl around my head, filling me full of regret and nostalgia.
‘The red amaryllis used to be my favourite, but I love the white ones more now,’ I hear his little girl say from the other side of the door. ‘It looks like a trumpet, but it represents strength and beauty and determination. My grandma told me that.’
‘Well, I had no idea. What a clever young girl you are,’Nana Molly replies. ‘As the saying goes, every day is a school day.’
I had no idea of that either. What I do know is that it’s going to take me more than a few minutes of hiding in a poky storeroom to get over the shock of my life.
The years have been kind to Ben Heaney.
Too kind, almost. The chiselled jawline is still there. The wavy hair, damp from the light snowfall, the piercing green eyes and the striking presence that never failed to make my legs buckle and my heart soar.
I hear the doorbell ring, announcing what I assume is his arrival into my shop. Oh God, this is insane.
‘What I’d give to have had those beautiful auburn locks back in my day,’ Nana Molly coos to his daughter. I decide to count to ten, then I’ll step out. No, twenty, actually. No, there’s no point denying it, I’m going to need to allow myself another few minutes before I leave my little cocoon of safety to face the music. ‘How old are you, Ava?’ Nana Molly asks.
‘I’m twelve,’ Ben’s daughter replies. ‘I was twelve in October.’
Ava …
What a beautiful name. I wonder did Ben choose it or was it his late wife’s favourite? I wonder does he still love the name Rose, which we’d once playfully decided we’d call our own baby girl after the white rose he picked for me one day from his father’s garden? I wonder did they know Ava would be a girl, or did they let their first baby’s gender be a surprise like John and I did? I wonder did they decorate thenursery together, making it perfect for their precious firstborn? I wonder did they plan to have any more children?
Most of all I wonder how he is coping without his wife and Ava’s mother. Her name was Stephanie. She was only thirty-five years old.
‘Lou? Lou, darling, you have customers?’
Nana Molly threatens to blow my cover before my personally designated minutes are up.
‘I’ll be right there, Nan!’ I call as quietly as I can. ‘I’m – I’m looking for some red velvet ribbon. I know it’s in here somewhere.’
‘Just there’s a veryhandsomecustomer waiting to be served,’ Nana calls in to me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I thank God that my own mother has gone to the hairdresser’s to her usual Friday appointment. I dread to think of how she’d react to the prodigal son’s return.
‘Can’t you see to him?’ I say through gritted teeth when she steps it up a gear by opening the storeroom door, almost revealing where I am. I peep out to notice how Ben is taking in his entire surroundings, running his hand along the woodwork of the coffee bar, gazing at the small chalkboard where I’ve written out my modest offering of hot drinks.
He touches one of the small square tables I painted with such care. He admires some Christmas wreaths I spent hours and hours making at home with silk blue ribbon, fresh holly and shiny red baubles. My shop was only intended to be a florist’s to bring together my passion for people and colour, but with a few mismatching small round tables by the window, a basic coffee machine, a wooden bar decoratedwith blackboards, local honeys and jams, and a selection of traybakes and treats, it has quickly become a hub of activity. With plenty of craic and gossip, I’m told it was just what the village needed.
