Page 18 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

And talking about the twins, they needed to get on with it. Sutton gestured to his visitor’s chair. ‘May I?’

‘Please.’ Gus pushed the chair out with the toe of his boot and Sutton sat down, crossing one leg over the other. She lifted her chin, and folded her arms across her chest, tucking her still cool hands under her arms. Gus noticed her gesture and frowned.

‘So, let’s talk about how this will work,’ Sutton began.

‘Sure.’ Gus stood up, walked around his desk and sat in his expensive, highly ergonomic desk chair. He rested his forearms on his desk, thoughtfulness creeping into his expression. ‘As I explained to you, I have a lot on my plate. In between running this place, spending most of my time in the Christmas shop next door and organising the Christmas market—’

‘When is the market?’ Sutton interjected.

‘On Saturday the sixteenth,’ he replied. ‘It’s a full-day affair, culminating in a tree-lighting ceremony that evening, and a dance at the village hall.’

Judging by his sour lemon face, the dance was not his idea.

‘How were you going to look after them and work if I didn’t come along?’

He lifted one big shoulder. ‘Moira and I would make it work, somehow fit it all in. Making childcare plans, juggling the balls of pickups and playdates don’t crack the list of the top twenty hardest things I’ve had to learn over the past three years, Sutton.’

His quiet statement hit her harder than she expected it to. She bit her bottom lip as she considered the implications of his words. He’d lost his wife in a car crash, and was left with year-old twins to raise, businesses to run and a life to lead without the woman he loved.

Judging by the frustration she witnessed last night, he knew what it meant to feel overwhelmed and resentful, hard done by and deeply, fundamentally sad. He understood how it was to hold up the sky, to be the barrier between the people he loved and complete chaos. How often did he wish he could be somewhere else? Someone else? Once a month, once a week, a couple of times a day? And, because he was a dad, he’d immediately be swamped with guilt because, apparently, parents of kids weren’t allowed to be human.

Did he have a Layla? A best friend he could talk to, someone who got him on a fundamental level, someone he could be completely honest with, a person who knew where his skeletons were buried. Sutton clenched her fists, and looked down, her throat tightening. Didshestill have Layla? And if she did, could they ever go back to what they were before? She’d left her without resources in a foreign country – could she ever forgive her? Why didn’t she move heaven and earth – take out a bank loan, borrow from someone else – to repay her? She would never put Layla in an untenable position; why did Layla think it was okay to do that to her and why wouldn’t she talk to her, and explain her reasoning? Maybe she had a good reason… Sutton wondered if she was clutching at straws, trying to find a way of justifying Layla’s behaviour. She didn’t want to lose her – she was her longest, albeit platonic, love affair.

Sutton rubbed the area above her heart and closed her eyes. Would this ever not hurt? Would the pain ever lessen? Probably, in time. Most hurts faded…

‘Are you okay?’ Gus asked.

She met his intelligent blue eyes and saw the questions in them, the curiosity. He opened his mouth to speak but a sharp rap on the door distracted him. He stood up and Sutton slumped in her chair, grateful for the interruption.

After talking to his employee – something about a tour group in the spring – he apologised and sat down again. Needing to move on, she jumped in with a question about the kids’ kindergarten and asked about their daily routines.

Gus handed her a printed copy of their schedule and contact numbers of all the relevant people in their lives, from their teachers to their grandmother. She read the list, and when she was done, she knew what time to drop them off at school, when to collect them, what they ate and when. She waved the piece of paper in the air. ‘You’ve been busy this morning,’ she commented.

He shook his head. ‘I wish I could tell you I have it all in my head, but I don’t. The only way I can keep track of everything is to make lists, lots and lots of lists.’ He nodded at the paper. ‘Their school term ends on the 15th, and they go back in the new year. That’s when your days will get busy.’

He frowned, looking thoughtful. ‘You’ll be spending a lot of time with the twins, and I need a way to explain you.’

A little lost, and a lot hungover, would work. Oh, he meant how to explain her presence in his house, in his life. Easy. ‘I’m the temporary nanny you hired.’

‘But from where?’ He shook his head. ‘And having said I wouldn’t hire help, I’ve done a U-turn, something I don’t often do.’

‘Aren’t you allowed U-turns? People do change their minds,’ she pointed out.

‘I was pretty vociferous on the point. Hiring you will raise eyebrows.’

‘So?’

‘So, I live in a small village that runs on gossip. People talk, far more than they should. Having been a constant topic of conversation too often and for too long, I prefer to avoid it if I can.’

Good-looking single dad, aristocratic wife killed in a car accident, two young children. Yep, she could see why people talked about him. Add in a new woman living with him? Okay, maybe it was better to head off the gossip before it started.

‘I suppose we could tell people we connected through doing one of those DNA genealogy tests,’ Sutton suggested. ‘I could be a second or third cousin on your mum’s side who’s looking for a place to stay while she’s in the country.’ They said the trick about lying was sticking to the truth as much as possible.

He tipped his head to the side. ‘You’re pretty sharp.’

‘You should see me when I’m not hungover,’ Sutton replied. ‘I guess my eight years at uni paid off.’

He waited for her to explain and when she didn’t, he tapped his finger on his desk. ‘C’mon, you can’t leave me hanging. Why did it take you eight years to get your degree?’

---