Page 34 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself,’ Dexter said. ‘Our parents have a huge effect on our values, on how we live our lives. And you work for your dad, too. I can see how it would be hard to escape that. But you’re doing it right now. You’ve chosen this. Don’t forget that.’
She sighed. How was it that she could admit all these things, and end up feeling better? Usually when she shone a light on her failings, her insides curdled and she felt nothing but shame. Dexter wasn’t letting that happen. ‘Ithink you’re being overly generous to me, but I will take it. Thank you.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m calling it how I see it. And if your mum turns up at Birdie’s house, or Edmund does, or any combination of people you don’t want to see, and you need someone to stand between you and them, then …’ he looked away from her, ‘I could be that person for you.’
Imogen’s pulse skittered. ‘You could?’
His eyes slid back to hers. ‘Not that I think you need help, or an intervention, but if it makes you feel better, then I will have your back.’
Imogen swallowed. It felt significant, Dexter offering to do this for her. It felt like a lifeline she hadn’t known she needed. ‘OK. Thank you. I am going to take you up on it, I hope you realize that?’
Dexter grinned. ‘I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t going to stand by it.’
‘Good. We need to seal it somehow, make it binding.’
Dexter laughed. ‘We do?’
‘Of course.’ She looked around, searching for inspiration. Why was she being like this? Why was Dexter’s offer so important to her?
‘I don’t want to do that blood-swap thing, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Imogen stared at him. ‘What? God, no way.’
‘Handshake?’ He held his hand out.
Imogen chewed her lip. ‘I don’t know if that’s …’
‘Or, how about this?’ He strode over to one of the trees that had a big bunch of mistletoe tied around it. This sprig wasn’t spray-painted: its leaves were glossy green, its berries plump and white. Dexter undid the shimmering gold ribbon tying it to the trunk.
‘We’re going to seal our promise with mistletoe?’ she asked.
‘We could?’ He sounded less certain all of a sudden, maybe because he’d had the same thought as her: that mistletoe was for kissing under. ‘We could bend the rules, if a handshake doesn’t work for you.’
Imogen nodded. And, even though he’d said they were bending the rules, she still felt a little breathless when he lifted the sprig of mistletoe above his head, his eyes catching hold of hers, brown looking into blue. She imagined the colours swirling together, like they did in the depths of the sea.
‘Imogen,’ Dexter intoned, ‘I promise on this piece of mistletoe, that I will be your protector, and provide you with shelter, should anyone from London come here to find you.’ They stared at each other – she couldn’t look away from him – and she had no idea what to do next.
‘Thank you, Dexter,’ she said after a few charged moments,aiming for the same solemn tone. ‘AndIpromise, if anyone from London comes to find me, that I will seek you out for protection and shelter, as my one true saviour.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘That last bit was too much, wasn’t it?’
Dexter’s lips twitched. ‘It was perfect. And now, to seal the deal.’ He leaned in, still holding the mistletoe above their heads and, after a beat, where their gazes snagged again and Imogen felt as if all the air had been sucked right out of her, he brushed his lips over her cheek. His stubble was sharp against her skin, and her feet and fingers tingled, and she wanted to keep him right there, that close to her, because in that moment he felt like more than her saviour. ‘There.’ He lowered the mistletoe and cleared his throat.
‘It’s done.’
‘It’s done. Our secret mistletoe promise. You need to be on standby, OK? In case I have to call on you.’
‘No problem. If I make a promise, I stick to it. I’ll see you soon?’
‘Yes please.’ She said it without thinking.
Dexter smiled, turned away and then spun back around. ‘Here.’ He leaned towards her again, his gaze intense, and Imogen thought he was going to kiss her properly. But then he scooped Artichoke out of her arms, his fingers brushing the fabric of her coat, and replaced the dog with the piece of mistletoe. ‘To remind you that I’m here for you.’
‘Oh, I …’ Before she could say anything else, he was striding away from her, in the direction of the bakery, holding Artichoke like she was no heavier than a bread roll, his free hand rubbing at his jaw. Imogen clasped her piece of mistletoe and watched him until he was out of sight.
Without Artichoke to look after or a goat to wrangle, Imogen went back to Birdie’s. She had wanted today to be an escape from her thoughts, to enjoy being in Mistingham, but everything that had happened – the ice cream and the paddling, Sophie asking her to perform at their wedding, finding Felix and then Dexter’s promise – had set them running again, and that had brought her clarity.
She didn’t know where her future was, and she couldn’t imagine not going back to London at some point, but there was one part she couldn’t go back to, and she’d been stalling, which wasn’t fair on either of them.
It was Friday afternoon and Edmund was likely at his desk, working on paperwork after having had lunch with a client or colleagues. Imogen put soup in a mug and heated it in the microwave, then took it to her room. Her gran was either out visiting friends or working in one of the beds at the end of the garden, and Imogen was too nervous to talk to her now anyway.
