Page 4 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘But my dad has a van. Here.’ She thrust the ball of fuzzy brown fur at Imogen, and she took it automatically: a pair of wide eyes looked up at her, framed by tiny ears and possibly the cutest nose Imogen had ever seen. ‘It’s really hard carrying Artichoke on the bike.Stay there,’ Lucy added firmly, and Imogen wasn’t sure if she was talking to the dog, or to her. ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes, with my dad.’
‘I can walk—’
‘Don’t kidnap my dog,’ Lucy called as she raced to the red bike, pulled it away from the hedge and secured her helmet – a matching cherry red – then climbed onto it and pedalled away, out of sight in moments.
Imogen wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she was glad to have instructions to follow, even if they had come from a twelve-year-old. ‘I’m not going to kidnap you,’ she told the dog, and Artichoke snuggled closer, her nose inside Aunt Marjorie’s red jacket, clearly happy with the assurance. ‘You’re very cute.’
So many people had told her that dogs were great companions, a source of comfort, but Imogen had been wary of them ever since she’d been chased by a Dalmatianat the park when she was small. It hadn’t done anything other than lick her, but it had stayed with her as a disconcerting experience.
Edmund was very much a dog person. He had talked about them getting one – something large and stately, not small and fuzzy – when they were married. He worked long hours at her dad’s law firm, but had said that Imogen, who was her dad’s PA, could cut her days or give her job up completely, and look after their dog, and then – eventually – their children.
‘I never wanted to be a PA at a stuffy law firm,’ she told Artichoke while she waited for Lucy to return. ‘Why didn’t I run away fromthat?’ But she knew the answer. Her dad had generously offered her the job, told her it would be the perfect start to her career and help him out at the same time. She had been expected to join the family firm, so of course she had just gone along with it.
She shivered. The sun was dropping quickly, and she was standing on a deserted country track in a muddy wedding dress with someone else’s puppy. She heard honking and looked up, watching as a V of geese, their silhouettes black against the soft, pre-dusk sky flew overhead, and then, as their calls faded and they disappeared over the horizon, another sound took over in the quiet: the low growl of an engine.
The van was grey with a purple decal on the side, showing a wicker basket with various loaves in it, below the arched wordsMistingham Bakery. Lucy was in the passenger seat, a dark-haired man driving. Imogen stepped back against the hedge as it came to a stop. The doors opened and the man walked around the front, and then Imogen could see him properly.
‘Hello.’ She was quite pleased she’d even managed that.
‘Hi.’ He sounded friendly, and a little bit curious.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with messy dark curls, stubble covering his jaw and dark eyes that matched his warm tone. His sea-green jumper had seen better days, and both that and his jeans were dusted with flour. He flicked his gaze over her, but it didn’t feel judgemental or salacious. ‘When Lucy told me she’d found a bride who needed rescuing on the side of the road, I thought I was going to have to confiscate her latest fantasy book.’
‘Itoldyou.’ Lucy folded her arms, the picture of smugness.
Her dad took a step closer, and Imogen realized she was holding her breath. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he held his hand out. ‘I’m Dexter Rivera. You’ve met Lucy, my daughter, and she seems to have left you holding Artichoke. I’m so sorry.’ His voice was deep, slightly rough, and Imogen couldn’t help comparing him to Edmund, who was slim and fair-haired, and always perfectly put together. Dexter was stubbly and rugged and, when she grasped his hand, the shake was firm but nottoofirm. And afterwards, she saw that he’d left a faint dusting of flour on her palm. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. Artichoke was so small she could hold her comfortably against her chest with one hand. ‘And it’s very kind of you, but you didn’t need to come and get me. Lucy said the path is muddy, but my dress is beyond saving anyway.’
‘Tough day?’ The kindness in Dexter’s voice had tears pricking her eyes. She willed them firmly away.
‘You could say that,’ she admitted with a weak laugh. ‘I’m Imogen Rowsell. I’m Birdie’s granddaughter – you know Birdie?’
‘Oh yes,’ Dexter said, ‘we love Birdie.’
‘She’s the best,’ Lucy added, ‘so I’ve decided you must be too.’ She held out her hands, and Imogen passed Artichoke back to her, using it as an excuse to look down and hide the way the girl’s words had affected her. This father-and-daughter duo seemed intent on crumbling the last of her admittedly already weak defences.
‘Don’t be too hasty to make a judgement,’ she said, once she’d got control of herself, and swept her hands down her body to remind Lucy of the situation. She was, after all, a bride who had left her groom at the altar.
Lucy held the van door open. ‘You’d better get in the front because you have abouteight milesof dress.’
‘Very gracious of you, Luce,’ Dexter said wryly. ‘Need a hand getting up?’ he asked Imogen.
She nodded. Right now she would take all the help she could get. She let Dexter put her suitcase in the van, then he took her hand again and helped her climb into the cab, lifting the skirts of her dress out of the way so she could see to put her feet on the steps. The inside of the van was warm and smelled of baked bread, and Imogen’s stomach rumbled. ‘Strapped in, Lucy?’ Dexter asked, once he was in the driver’s seat.
‘Yeah Dad,’ she called from the back, as if this was a familiar, boring routine.
He gave Imogen a grin that took her breath away. He was objectively very good-looking but, more than that, it was as if warmth radiated off him. He was a handsome, non-judgemental human radiator. Imogen closed her eyes, wondering if everything that had happened had left her holding onto her sanity by a thread.
‘OK?’ Dexter asked softly.
She opened her eyes and gave him what she hoped was a rallying smile. ‘Ish.’
‘Ishis a good start. We’ll have you with Birdie in ten minutes, tops.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘This is so kind of you both. All three of you,’ she amended, glancing at Lucy, who was strapped into a chair in the main part of the van, Artichoke on her lap.
‘You’re very welcome,’ Lucy said, with the confidence of a girl who knew she’d done her good deed for the month. ‘You are,’ Dexter added, almost too quietly for her to hear.
She watched his profile as he focused on the road, driving them towards the little village of Mistingham. Imogen hadn’t been here for years but, amidst all her anxiety and guilt, and the panic that was still thrumming through her like a low-level current, she knew this was exactly what she had needed to do. In amongst all this mess, coming here was the one right decision she had made.
