Page 95 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
Instead, he stared at her, a slight frown on his face, and Imogen wondered if he’d glitched, if there was a break in the space–time continuum. Or was there something elseshewas supposed to say and she’d forgotten it, or … She glanced at the audience. Everyone was watching them, waiting for what came next.
‘Imogen.’ Dexter’s voice was deep and slightly rough.
‘Catherine,’ she prompted, with a smile.
‘Imogen,’ Dexter said again, and cleared his throat.
She sucked in a breath. What had she done? ‘Dexter, I—’
‘The first time I met you, on a road at the edge of Mistingham, you were wearing a wedding dress and carrying a suitcase. All I knew was that you were Birdie’s granddaughter, that you had arrived in our village and my daughter wanted to help you, and you seemed lost.’
‘OK.’ Her voice was tiny, because this was … she had no idea what this was.
‘Then I spent time with you,’ Dexter went on, ‘and I discovered that you wanted to help people – even people you didn’t know. You tried to find solutions to problems, you weren’t afraid to get involved, and you took every new thing that Mistingham had to offer, and you saw it as a gift.’
‘A Christmas gift?’ someone shouted, and Dexter grinned at the audience.
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘It is the time for giving, after all. And I …’ He turned back to Imogen, who was starting to sense that something was happening here, something she had not been prepared for. ‘Whenever you spoke to me, when you confided in me and asked for my help, it was like I was being given something precious, too.’
‘The mistletoe promise.’ She thought she’d said it quietly, but there were a few ‘Ooooohs’ from the crowd.
‘Our mistletoe promise,’ Dexter confirmed. ‘And spending time with you, decorating the mistletoe, ice-skating, hunting down rogue goats and freeing trapped pigeons, rehearsing this scene – that I have now royally fucked up—’
‘Language!’ someone admonished, and there were more, shocked, ‘Ooooohs’.
‘Shit. Sorry! Shit.’ Dexter shook his head, his cheeks flushing, and it broke some of the tension that had been gathering like a snow cloud on the stage.
‘Dex.’ Imogen took a step towards him.
‘Rehearsing with you, the fact that you evenaskedme to do a scene with you – I’ve been happier these last couple of months than I’ve been in a long time. It’s made me think about what I want. And mostly that’s whatever Lucy wants, whatever is best for her, but also—’
‘I love Imogen!’ Lucy shouted. ‘Artichoke does too!’
‘Thanks, Luce.’ Dexter acknowledged her declaration with a wave, then turned to Imogen again. ‘But I also thought, long and hard, about whatIwant. And that’s never been easier, but also, it’s never been harder than since I met you.’ He closed the gap between them and held out his hand. Imogen took it without hesitation. ‘Imogen, I know none of this is straightforward. You came here whenyou were at a low point, and your life is still in London. I know this isn’t your home. But if …’ He swallowed. ‘If you feel anything like I do, if you’ve enjoyed being with me as much as I have with you, then London is only a couple of hours away. I think we could make it work, if you – if you wanted to?’
She opened her mouth, but Dexter wasn’t finished.
‘Because actually, I’m in love with you, Imogen Rowsell.’
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, and Imogen’s heart thudded, but he wasn’t done yet.
‘I want to have a lot more time with you, decorating twigs and cooking pizza together, skating and walking, foraging for whatever you want to forage for, hunting down one specific rogue goat. If you think I’m worth the hard bits, and the complicated bits, and you can accept that I come with Lucy and Artichoke, and that train journey doesn’t give you terrible flashbacks, then—’
‘I’m not going back,’ Imogen rushed.
Her words were met with a stunned silence. Dexter stared at her, his eyes wide, and she looked at the audience, because surelysomeonehad understood that? Everyone was rapt, watching and waiting. Birdie had a look of quiet triumph on her face, but she was the only one.
‘You’re not going back?’ Dexter repeated. ‘You’re notcomingback? Here? You’re going home to London, and—’
‘No.’ She shook her head, her hair swishing against her shoulders. ‘No, I mean I’m not going back to London. I’m staying in Mistingham, in Birdie’s house, in the room in the eaves, and—’
‘I told her we’d get her a double bed!’ Birdie shouted, her hands cupped around her mouth.
Imogen blushed instantly. ‘No heckling, Gran!’ She looked at Dexter, and his hopeful expression took her breath away. ‘I am going to keep volunteering for the community hub,’ she said, ‘and if there’s a job there, I’ll apply. I’m going to do Story Time with Jazz, and I won’t have any money because I’ll have spent it all on posh notebooks and your sandwiches, but who needs money when you have Mistingham beach and the coast path and walks everywhere, and big skies and secret books that help you figure things out? And if people in this village don’t want me to spray paint plants any more, then—’
‘You’re staying?’ Dexter asked.
‘I’m staying. And I would like all those things you said, but without the train journeys, unless we wanted to go to London? We can go and see my friend, Nikki, in her new play, and we could take Lucy to the Natural History Museum and maybe, eventually, if I ever speak to them again, to meet my mum and dad, but—’
