Page 97 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
He kissed her again, holding onto her waist as she slid her hands around his neck. He was warm and firm, and he tasted of mince pies and mulled wine. Imogen let her thoughts dissolve and her senses take over – apart for one, brief realization that her future looked bright, and that it would be terrifying to have responsibility for Lucy – except that with Dexter by her side, she felt as if she could do pretty much anything. That settled, she let sensation swim back in, putting all her energy into the kiss until someone shouted, ‘Get a room!’ and the two of them broke apart, laughing, knowing they’d got carried away.
A moment later Lucy had joined them on the stage, cuddling Artichoke against her and dragging Birdie behind her. She orchestrated them into a group hug, one so tight and warm that Imogen’s tears finally fell. The audience cheered again, and she didn’t even mind when Felix stuck his head into the middle of their legs and nibbled her silver sash. He’d done his bit, after all. He should be proud of himself.
‘Did you like the mistletoe?’ Lucy grinned up at her.
‘You did all that? In here and along the driveway?’
‘We did. Me and Dad and Harry and Sophie. Dad said it was important to you, that it symbolized things, so we gathered it and put it up. I was a bit sad that we went foraging without you, and Dad refused to go up the ladder and made Sophie do all the high bits, but he said we had all the time in the world to go foraging, now. Is that true?’
‘That’s true,’ Imogen said around the lump in her throat.
She looked at Dexter.
‘Though we might have to wait until after Christmas,’ Birdie said.
‘And after the snow melts, unless we want to make it extra hard for ourselves,’ Dexter added.
‘But then we’ll go together, all of us?’
Imogen nodded, smiling down at Lucy, wondering how she’d been lucky enough to find these people – and at Christmas, too, like some kind of miracle. ‘All of us,’ she said, and Felix bleated his agreement.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Imogen woke up on Christmas morning to the gentle patter of snow landing on her bedroom skylight, and the warm, delicious press of Dexter’s body against hers.
‘Morning,’ he mumbled, when she opened her eyes.
‘Hey.’ She smiled at him. ‘I didn’t realize you were awake.’
‘Who said we should have a sleepover here, while Birdie, Lucy and Artichoke had one downstairs?’ he asked into her neck.
Imogen bit her lip. ‘That was your daughter. Which bits of you ache?’
‘All of me. The next sleepover should be at my place.’
‘I agree. But wearegoing to get a double bed in here.’
‘Can I watch the delivery people try and get it up Birdie’s staircase?’
‘Very funny.’ She poked him in the chest. ‘Hey, it’s Christmas Day. We’re together. It’ssnowing.’
Dexter’s sleepiness evaporated, his grin sending a happyshiver through her. ‘I know. It still feels like Christmas magic, and I don’t mind having magic sprinkled over me, but …’
‘But?’
‘It’s hard to get my head around it.’
Imogen swallowed. ‘I obviously have no idea what the future holds, because I’m not psychic, and I don’t even think being psychic is an actual thing, but Idoknow that – despite the way I turned up here, and everything that’s happened over the last few days …’ She frowned, and Dexter smoothed out the wrinkle with his thumb, ‘I can tell you, with complete certainty, that I’m not going anywhere, apart from back to London, very briefly, to collect some of my things. I love Mistingham, and I love you, and I want to be with you; you, Lucy and Artichoke.’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ Dexter whispered, and Imogen didn’t miss the sheen in his eyes as he kissed her, the determination in his touch, as if he was proving to himself that she –this– was real. Imogen kissed him back enthusiastically, idly wondering whether Lucy would be up, except – ofcourseshe would be, because it was Christmas Day – when the door creaked open and they broke apart, turning towards the sound.
‘A ghost?’ Imogen asked.
‘You believe in ghosts, but not psychics?’
‘There isn’t anyone there.’
‘There is,’ Dexter said. ‘You just can’t see her.’
