Page 70 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘I choose you,’ she said, between kisses. ‘It’s you, Dexter. I want to have you.’
He pulled back, his gaze so intense she thought they might both catch fire. ‘Good,’ he panted. ‘I choose you, too, and it already feels like the best – or at least the most honest – decision I have made in a long time.’
Imogen wanted to say something else, but then Dexter’slips were on hers again and it felt so good, so right, that she let herself give into it, pressing against him as he slid his hands over her hips, down to her thighs. He lifted her up, so she had no option but to wrap her legs around him.
Then Dexter Rivera, village baker, single dad, pigeonwrangler and the kindest, gentlest, most generous man Imogen had ever met, was carrying her through his living room, past his cheery Christmas tree and sleeping puppy, towards the stairs, barely breaking their kiss as he did it, one arm tight around her waist and his other hand possessively on the back of her head. Her limbs trembled in anticipation, and she realized there was a whole lot more to the mild-mannered man she was falling for, and that he was about to show her some of it. In that moment, Imogen felt like all her Christmases had come at once, and this time, they were exactly how she wanted them to be.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Imogen stepped outside Birdie’s house on Saturday morning, the sky was pink, although that might have been because her head had been full of love hearts since Wednesday night. She had tried to play it cool, to pretend she wasn’t feeling a whole lot more than perhaps she should be after spending the night with a man she’d only known for six weeks – and six weeks after she was supposed to bemarried– but Dexter hadn’t been having any of it.
She wound her scarf idly around her neck, replaying parts of that night and the following morning – when he’d returned after opening the bakery – and her grin widened. It hadn’t felt like they were getting each other out of their systems, or like a typical one-night stand; a matter of simple, physical attraction. To her it had meant a whole lot more, and that was the thing that made her smile falter, even as she walked to Dexter and Lucy’s house, because nothing was certain, and Mistingham was an escape. None of it wasreal, however real it seemed.
‘Imogen!’ Lucy opened the door and grabbed her hand, Artichoke bouncing and yipping at her feet, dressed in a cute polka-dot dog jacket. Behind her, their Christmas tree twinkled in the cosy living room.
Imogen blinked and tried to focus. ‘Lucy!’
‘Dad says it’s going tosnow, maybe while we’re foraging.’
‘I said there was a fifty per cent chance in the forecast,’ Dexter called, from deeper in the house, and even the sound of his voice twisted Imogen’s stomach in ways that were both pleasant and torturous. Then he appeared in the doorway, his smile wide and his dark eyes so clear, they were like a night sky full of stars. ‘Hello,’ he said, and if there was a slight bashfulness there, who could blame him? Not after everything they’d done only a couple of nights ago.
‘Hey,’ Imogen said.
‘Do you want to take off your hat and scarf?’ Lucy peered up at her.
‘We’re just about to go outside,’ Dexter said with a laugh. ‘Unless you want a drink first?’
‘Oh no, I’m fine—’
‘But she’s too hot,’ Lucy said indignantly. ‘Her cheeks are red.’
Imogen slapped her palms to them. ‘Oh Lord.’
‘Oh Lord what?’ Lucy asked. ‘Do you go to church?’
‘Let me get my boots on,’ Dexter said hurriedly, and Imogen felt as if she was being cherished. He’d noticed her embarrassment and was trying to distract his daughter. When had Edmund ever worried about anyone’s embarrassment but his own?
‘I’ve got purple boots,’ Lucy announced, and Imogen wasglad to be diverted by footwear, to be shown the orange laces that, she had to agree, went very well with the purple boots. When the four of them stepped outside, Artichoke so excited that she was jumping in circles like a broken jack-in-a-box, the sky was even more ominous. The clouds obliterated everything, hanging low over the village and the sea, the pink hue tinged with orange. There was the unmistakable scent of snow in the air.
‘Woah.’ Dexter craned his head back to look up.
‘Snow!’ Lucy clapped her mittened hands together. ‘Sure you want to go foraging on the beach?’ Dexter asked.
Imogen held up Birdie’s canvas tote bag. ‘I’m ready if you are.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
They walked down Perpendicular Street, past the cosy shops and food offerings. They waved at May, who was holding the fort in Sophie’s stationery emporium, and even though she was busy with a customer, she waved back. It reminded Imogen of the mornings she’d been spending in the community hub, helping villagers set up Facebook pages and navigate online shopping, and the very cathartic couple of hours she’d had when a woman called Maureen had turned up with two disastrously tangled balls of wool. Winnie had said that wasn’t what the hub was for, but it had been quiet and Maureen had said the wool was limited edition, all sold out, and she needed it for her grandson’s Christmas present. When she’d added that her kitten, Barney, was responsible, Imogen couldn’t say no. She hadn’t realized how soothing, or gratifying, it would be to untangle wool.
Maybe she could find a paid job like that in London?One where she was actually helping people who needed it, where she got to see the difference she made. She frowned, wondering what Maureen would do when Barney inevitably got hold of more wool and she wasn’t there to help, but then Dexter swept her gloved hand up in his, and she let her worries drift away.
‘All right Dex? Lucy? The Green Goddess?’ Jason was standing in the doorway of Two Scoops,his arms braced on the door jamb.
‘You do know the Green Goddess is a salad dressing, don’t you?’ Dexter said.
‘You didn’t say hello to Artichoke,’ Lucy added.
Jason crouched and Artichoke pranced up to him. ‘Hello Artichoke.’ He ruffled the dog’s fur while she yipped ecstatically. ‘Where are you all off to on such a freezing day?’
