Page 29 of Not Just for Christmas

‘I’d better be off,’ said Nick, standing up. ‘I’m sure you’re busy.’

‘Thanks again for coming.’ I stood up too and fetched his jacket for him.

‘It was worth it.’ He grinned, brushing a few stray crumbs off his jumper.

‘For my baking?’

‘And to bottle feed the calf. That was an unexpected treat.’ He softened his voice, and stared down at the floor. ‘As was getting your call tonight.’

‘I’m not at all sure if I’ll do anything yet, but I feel better having spoken to a professional.’ I waited for him to put on his shoes and walked him to the door.

‘There’s no rush,’ he said, patting his jacket pockets for his car keys. ‘But after the holidays, once everything’s calmed down a bit for you, I’ll be in touch.’

‘Perfect,’ I said. And it was. It felt good to have a plan forming even if it was some way off.

‘And perhaps …’ He cleared his throat, looking nervous all of a sudden. ‘We could talk about next steps over … a drink?’

The house suddenly felt a little too warm. My heart gave an odd flutter. A drink? With a man? I opened the front door, glad of the icy blast of wind against my pink cheeks. Could I? Should I?

‘Oh,’ I said taken aback. ‘That would be …’

What would it be? I wasn’t sure, but the prospect wasn’t entirely horrific. Although I had a feeling Nick was expecting a rather more positive response than that.

He was standing in front of me, close enough for me to smell his aftershave, waiting patiently for me to finish my sentence, but before I could come up with anything suitable, headlights swept into the yard and a London taxi cab pulled up next to Nick’s car.

‘Expecting someone?’ Nick asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps someone’s lost.’

Nick very sweetly took a step closer to me as if to protect me from any unwanted visitors. We both stared as the rear door of the cab opened and a man stepped out. Tall, broad, in a dark coat and hat and holding the most enormous bouquet of flowers. My heart started to race. It couldn’t be. Not tonight. But even silhouetted by the glow of the taxi lights, he was instantly recognisable.

‘Hey Luce!’ came an American accent. He raised a hand in greeting as the driver hauled a suitcase from the boot.

‘Dylan?’ I gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’

Chapter 15

The taxi rumbled away, leaving Dylan with a pile of luggage at his feet.

He paused at the bottom of the farmhouse path, his breath misting in the frosty air. The place looked exactly as he remembered it, the lamplit windows glowing in stark contrast to the huge expanse of darkness around the farm, the old oak door swollen slightly from the damp; and who could forget the smell of the farmyard? But he wasn’t focused on any of that. It was the figure standing on the step with the riot of auburn curls, those vivid green eyes currently wide open with shock, that made his heart kick.

‘Surprise!’ Dylan managed to call back.

‘Who’s got their dates wrong? Me or you? I swear you were supposed to be arriving tomorrow!’ Lucy sounded squeaky and breathless.

Before he could answer, the guy standing way too close to Lucy for Dylan’s liking, a good-looking, broad man, in his mid-forties, squinted at him. ‘Hold on. Did you say Dylan? Are you Dylan Wilde? What on earth …?’

‘That’s me,’ Dylan said, shifting the bouquet of flowers he’d bought at the airport to his other arm, so he could pull up the handle of his suitcase. He felt a tug of sadness, wishing it was his old pal standing beside Lucy instead of whoever this guy was.

‘Dylan’s an old friend,’ Lucy said hurriedly.

‘Right,’ said the guy, shaking his head. ‘There was me thinking it would be nothing more exciting than carol singers at the door. Some curveball.’

‘Dylan, meet Nick,’ she cleared her throat. ‘Who is … a new friend; he was just leaving.’

‘Yep, that’s right, just leaving,’ Nick echoed and blinked hard, as if shaken out of a daze. ‘I’ll call you, Lucy.’

‘Thanks,’ gushed Lucy, grabbing new friend, Nick, by the arm and kissing his cheek. ‘Lovely to see you again – bye.’