Page 84 of All We Want for Christmas
‘Somemistletoe,’ she qualified, as her heart pitter-pattered. ‘There’s mistletoe all over the castle.’
With him so temptingly close on a day when people were meant to come together, she was struggling. It would be so easy to imagine his hands cradling her face and those warm lips pressed against hers.
She instinctively stepped back. ‘And it wouldn’t be a good idea to use it.’
He closed his eyes and subsided into a silent sigh. ‘I’m sure you’re right. It would be a very bad idea. And I really must go.’ He glanced up at the mistletoe again, then back at Lara before leaning in to press his lips against her cheek. ‘Happy Christmas, Lara.’
‘Happy Christmas, Flynn,’ she said, as her heart hollowed out. ‘Wish the family a good one, from me.’
‘I will.’
He walked away and, the moment he was out of sight, Lara lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling – imagining – that the skin was still warm from his kiss.
It had been the innocent kiss of a friend, yet Flynn could never be her friend. In that moment she realised she could not stay and work and live with him here as her friend.
She closed the door, readjusted her tinsel headband, and went back inside to join the party.
CHAPTER FORTY
Flynn unloaded the presents from the bike’s top box and stood on the pathway outside Molly and Brenda’s house. He’d found it so hard to ride away from Lara; he’d felt he’d abandoned her on a special day and now he was so nervous that he’d almost ridden straight back.
Darkness had all but fallen by the time he reached the house. The cul-de-sac was crowded with cars and vans, and there were lights in almost every window. Everyone was home for Christmas and probably passed out in a post-turkey haze.
The curtains were drawn at Molly’s but he could imagine the scene inside. Brenda flopped on the sofa with her feet up, a glass of port in her hand. Molly on the floor, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper, boxes, furry toys and upturned crates of Duplo. Esme bashing Penguin with a hammer or trying to crawl off. He still couldn’t imagine himself in that scene and yet he had to insert himself into it.
He took a deep breath, walked up the path, and rang the bell. There was the usual kerfuffle when guests arrived at doors: voices, the TV, squeals from Esme, and the door opened.
Yet it was neither Molly nor Brenda who answered thedoor but a tall, tanned woman his own age. Flynn froze on the threshold.
The woman’s jaw fell open in shock. ‘Flynn?’
‘Imogen.’
Even now, after twenty years, even without the benefit of having seen her profile picture on Facebook, he’d have recognised her instantly. The pretty girl by the lake; the mother of his child.
‘What the hell?’ Imogen murmured.
Flynn was spared from speaking by Molly appearing behind her mother. ‘Oh my God! I meant to answer the door. Don’t be angry. I didn’t know she was coming. I tried to warn you both. Oh, shit.’
Flynn was still paralysed with shock, his arms full of presents. ‘Imogen, I’d n-no idea you’d be here.’
‘Same here,’ Imogen said, staring at him. ‘No bloody idea at all.’
‘For the love of God, will someone let the man in?’ Brenda materialised behind Molly with Esme in her arms. ‘I knew this would happen! I’m taking Esme upstairs to put her pyjamas on. She doesn’t need to hear this. Molly, love, don’t get upset. It can’t be helped now.’
Imogen opened the door as Molly shrunk back into the hallway. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’
‘Are you sure? This doesn’t seem the best time …’
‘You were obviously expected.’
While Flynn hadn’t quite known what kind of welcome to expect, he had hoped that the afternoon could be a chance to build more bonds with Molly and some bridges withBrenda. That had gone out of the window, because never in a million years had he expected Imogen to be there. She looked as shocked – and dismayed – as he was.
‘Come in,’ Molly said, not adding ‘Dad’, which Flynn thought was wise considering the thunderous expression on her mother’s face.
Imogen walked into the sitting room and sat down heavily on a chair with Molly standing in front of her.
‘Mum, if we’d known you were going to rock up out of the blue, we’d have told Flynn not to come.’
