Page 48 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
Birdie narrowed her eyes. ‘You really like him, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? But it’s too soon, and too complicated—’
‘Too soon because you still love Edmund?’
The way she said it, Imogen could tell her gran had sussed her out. Probably the moment she turned up on her doorstep. ‘Shall I make us a roast today?’ She focused hard on the table. ‘You’ve been looking after me since I arrived unannounced. The least I can do is make myself more useful than I have been.’
‘There are some veggies in the garden you can use. We’ll go and harvest them after this, and I can remind you that your feelings are legitimate,whateverthey are. If you don’t follow your heart, if you’re conforming for the comfort or satisfaction of someone else, then you’ll never be truly happy.’
Imogen nodded, but didn’t answer.
‘Do you want to ask Dexter and Lucy to lunch?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her chest tightened at the thought.
People were already talking, and maybe it hadn’t been the wisest thing to skip out of Mistingham Manor holding hands, but they hadn’tactuallybeen skipping – Dexter had been upset – and after they’d come back, they had avoided dancing to any of the slower tracks together. Imogen and Lucy had danced to ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’’ by the Scissor Sisters, and when ‘Chasing Cars’ came on she’d crooned it to Artichoke, while dad and daughter engaged in a very ropey waltz. It had been a lot of fun, and she and Dexter were just friends.Friends who hadalmost kissed and were planning to do a scene together at the Christmas event.
‘I think Lucy has football this morning,’ Imogen said, relieved to have remembered that. ‘They’ll probably be doing football things after – and Dexter’s at the bakery, isn’t he? At least for a bit, so …’
Birdie put her hand over Imogen’s. ‘I didn’t mean to fluster you. You’ve had such a tumultuous time recently, and now you’ve stepped away, given yourself a chance for some perspective. I don’t want you to miss out on any opportunities, to go racing back to London before you’re ready because you think other people won’t approve.’
‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘I’m …’ but she didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
‘Let’s go and harvest those sprouts and carrots,’ Birdie said soothingly.
‘Excellent. Choosing what to put in my roast is the only decision I’m capable of making right now.’
Chapter Eighteen
Imogen woke on Tuesday morning to the sound of rain battering against the window. It was December now, the month of excess food and sparkles, heightened love and heartache, everything upped to the max, drawing out family resentments, credit cards from purses and long agonized-over declarations. And, in the case of Mistingham, wintry weather. She stood at the window, unable to see the rooftops through the blur of rain, and thought about all the things she had to be excited about. She was going to pay Birdie back for her kindness, and do a scene with Dexter for the Christmas event, while also making sure her crush on him didn’t turn into proper feelings.
‘Imogen!’ Birdie called up the stairs.
‘I’m coming!’ she shouted down. ‘Let me make breakfast.’ She pulled on jeans and a jumper, grabbed Birdie’s green coat. ‘I’ll go and get a fresh loaf.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Birdie said, but with a knowing smirk that Imogen chose to ignore.
‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’
She pulled up her hood and stepped outside, grateful when the rain slowed to a drizzle once she started walking. Mistingham was under low-hanging cloud, but the Christmas lights twinkled and she could hear the waves in the distance, and there were still people bustling about. In fact, there was a whole group of them on the village green. She spotted May, Harry and Sophie, then Fiona, Jazz and – she sucked in a breath – Dexter.
‘Hello,’ she said, unable to hide her curiosity. ‘What’s happening?’
They all looked up, and Harry grimaced.
‘What is it?’ Imogen came to a stop next to Fiona, and saw what they were looking at: a large pile of mistletoe, dumped in the middle of the grass. Her water-based spray paint had been no match for the coastal squall, and it all looked sad and bedraggled. ‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Someone’s gone round the village and collected most of what we gifted and put up for the wedding,’ Harry said, his arms folded.
‘Why, though?’ Sophie asked.
Imogen noticed Sophie’s jacket was on inside-out, and remembered that they were due to go on their honeymoon today – a week in Italy. They clearly didn’t have time for this.
‘Not everyone was happy I’d sprayed it,’ she said.
‘Wesprayed it,’ Dexter corrected. ‘You didn’t do it on your own.’
‘I came up with the plan, though.’ She had thought that giving the mistletoe a glow-up and gifting it to people was a fairly harmless thing to do.
