Page 32 of Christmas Ever After
‘You think I’m a great hugger?’ He leans over, slings his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me into his side. ‘And thank you for making me blush. While it’s quite possible that there are, indeed, a crowd of women out there somewhere who are head-over-heels in love with me, none of them have made themselves known yet, but more importantly, I just don’t… believe in it?’ He sounds unsure of his answer. ‘No, that’s not right. I dobelievein it because my grandma and granddad had it, so did my mum and dad, and Erin and Quentin, but when it comes to me…’ He pushes air out through his nose and drops his arm from around me. ‘I’ve never met anyone special. I’ve never had that life-changing, all-consuming love, where they make your life better just by existing. I’ve never met anyone who inspires me. Who makes me want tobebetter. Who’s worth fighting for. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dated, I’ve been in relationships, but never anything with a spark. Never anyone I could see a future with. A few years ago, I gave in to the family pressure and tried to date – apps, set-ups, et cetera. None of the dates ever made me glad I was out with them rather than curled up at home watching a movie.’
I laugh out loud. That has always been my gauge of a good date too. Would I rather be at home with a box of chocolates and the TV on? If yes, they never got a second date.
‘Everyone I met seemed either selfish or desperate. Time is ticking when you’re in your thirties and your friends are getting married and having babies. I never felt like anyonecaredaboutme. Even after a few dates, it was always a “you’ll do” rather than, “you bowl me over and upturn my life”, you know? I’d rather be alone than be someone’s “good enough”.’ He sighs again. ‘And it’s not just that. Love has ruined something I loved. All I do, day-in, day-out, is think about love. I’m trying to find it for other people, trying to spot something that makes people a good match, something that was instinctive to my granddad but isn’t to me, and I’m failing. How would I ever be any good at love myself when I have no idea what makes it work and what makes two people fall for each other?’
I can’t help noticing the similarity between that and what Biddy said.If you can’t find love for yourself, how do you ever expect to find it for anyone else? I had no idea how much pressure is on Raff, and how much he’s struggling with his shop and the promises his grandfather made.
The nutcracker’s arms are secure now, and he picks up the head and glues it on without me having to instruct him, and then takes the hat and glues that on too. ‘How about you? You’re beautiful, funny, talented, fiercely independent… Why don’t I see hordes of nutcracker princes lining up to slay Mouse Kings for you?’
I blush at the compliments but laugh at the analogy. ‘I’m better off alone. After a couple of bad relationships over the years – one lacklustre, one that ended horribly, I’ve finally learnt that lesson now. If I sense my guard dropping and I’m letting someone get too close, I push them away. It isn’t easy to let people in when I’ve seen firsthand how bad things can get when relationships break down.’
Enough time has gone by that the glue has solidified, and Raff checks it over and hands me the finished blank nutcracker to inspect, making me appreciate the value of someone who already knew their way around woodworking and craftwork. ‘You’ve made your first nutcracker, Mr Dardenne.’
I love the way his cheeks redden as our fingers brush when I hand it back to him. ‘I’ve loved every minute of it.’
‘So have I.’ I find myself looking into his dark eyes again, and they have a way of making everything else feel distant and far away. The corner of his lip twitches, and it’s impossible to look away from his mouth. I swallow hard at how dry my tongue has gone… It must be the sawdust again. Of course it must.
‘Right, painting station.’ I jump up and direct Raff to the desk on the opposite side of the room, away from the machinery and any sawdust that might adhere itself to wet paint.
It’s a big oak desk with a shelving unit on top of it full of every kind and colour of paint under the sun. There are brushes, sponges, and mixing palettes because you never know what colour a customer is going to request, and there’s another workbench to the right where painted nutcrackers are put to dry.
I don’t need to sit and watch him work. He paints tiny ceramic figurines all the time, he doesn’t need anyone to teach him how to paint, but I like sitting next to him. It’s like I’m absorbing his enthusiasm and beginning to find joy in making nutcrackers again. And it, of course, hasnothingto do with the scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his body next to mine, the ridiculously sexy forearms, or the way his graceful fingers curl around a tiny brush and somehow still manage to look elegant even while covered in paint.
As this one is just a practice nutcracker, he can paint it any colours he wants, and he goes for traditional festive red with green accents, black faux fur hair, and picks out a tub of flat-backed pearls for the buttons.
‘I hate to think my granddad was responsible for that.’
‘For what?’ I ask and then realise he means my attitude towards love and relationships. ‘Oh, it’s not just that. I always feel insecure when I know people are close enough to hurt me. You make yourself vulnerable when you let someone in, and I’mnot good with being vulnerable and especially not with needing people.’
He nudges his knee gently against my left hand where it’s resting on my thigh. ‘Don’t I know it?’
When I narrow my eyes at him, he goes back to painting the nutcracker’s base green, then uses another brush to give him black boots with a confident light touch, clearly well-practised in avoiding streaks and brushstrokes. ‘Haveyouever been in love?’
‘I thought I was, once, but when a relationship ends horribly… it doesn’t change the happy years, but it changes the slant you see them through, does that make sense?’
‘Very much so.’ He’s painting the nutcracker’s hat a glossy black now too.
‘I thought I loved him and I thought he loved me. I’d broken the curse of condemned relationships in my family. Every relationship I’d ever been in had felt doomed, apart from that one, and it was afteryearsof friendship and mutual trust before I let him in, and we did have some happy years together, but then he did something that was so malicious and heartless, so how could it really have been love? I never could have imagined he’d do something so thoughtless, but he did, so… did I ever really know him at all? It made me question everything I thought I knew about love, and my own judgement, and made me realise that the only person I can rely on is myself and the one thing I will always be is better off alone.’
Raff knocks his thigh into mine gently. ‘I want to know what happened but you don’t have to tell me.’
I haven’t told many people, apart from Cleo and my mum, who used it as fuel for her ‘all men are rotten to the core and what do you expect from trusting one’ speech, but I can feel myself opening up to him. I’ve inadvertently shifted nearer. He’s got closer to me than I’ve let anyone get for years. We’ve been spending every day together. At the exact moment I reallyneeded someone to lean on, he’s been there, and he hasn’t made me feel belittled or inferior or laughed at me for being the furthest thing from ambidextrous. It would be so easy to tell him everything about how my career and relationship ended with a crash landing at the same awful moment. He’s stopped painting and is patiently watching me, his teeth worrying his lower lip, and he makes it too easy to spill everything out.
‘I was the Sugar Plum Fairy, he was the prince, and during the Sugar Plum pas de deux, he dropped me. My leg broke in three places, on stage in front of a theatre full of people. Hesaidit was an accident, but it turned out he was cheating on me with my understudy and he wanted her to have her moment in the spotlight. He didn’t intend the injury to be as bad as it was – he was hoping I’d just sprain an ankle and be out of action for a week or so. Notquitehow it turned out.’
‘God, that’sunthinkable. I’m so sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago. Five years now, and The Nutcracker Shop rose from the ashes.’ I don’t want to dig into it any deeper, and I’m sure he understands the abrupt way I try to change the subject. ‘Maybe we should talk about your love life instead. Or, more specifically, your shop’s.’
‘I didn’t know my shop had a love life,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Is it going on dates with the other shops? Is it secretly having an affair with Coming Gnome For Christmas? Because, between you and me, I’ve always thought it had a thing for pun shop names.’
I feel like he’s got an inkling of what I’m about to say and is trying to distract me with humour. ‘I’ve always thought Ali and Imogen would make a lovely couple.’
He pulls back and shifts on the bench to face me, narrowing his eyes.
I blush as I try to explain. ‘Ali from the 1001 Nights restaurant on Ever After Street and Imogen who runs SleepingBeauty’s Once Upon A Dream. I think there’s a little connection between them. His wife died a few years ago, and she’s been divorced for quite a while. He goes out of his way to talk to her at Ever After Street meetings and she’s always giving him bath bombs and telling him to have a soak after a long day on his feet in the restaurant. I’m just saying that if you were thinking of trying to match anyone up, those two could be a good place to start.’
‘Are you… helping me?’ His eyes turn from suspicious to confused.
