Page 70 of Not Just for Christmas

‘I want to be a great godfather, he deserves that. You both do,’ he added tenderly. ‘And strip away the stage and I’m just a regular guy. With exceptional hair skills. Got a hairband or something?’

I pulled an assortment of hair accessories out of my drawer and handed one over; his hand covered mine, his fingers warm and soft against my skin. He brushed my hair, and I closed my eyes, savouring the touch. This was heaven.

The brushing stopped and I opened my eyes.

Dylan grabbed his phone and began typing furiously. ‘Sorry. Lyric idea. Gotta write it down before it escapes.’

‘No worries.’ I rummaged through my jewellery box to find some earrings, glad of the chance to pull myself together. ‘What are the lyrics?’

He shook his head. ‘Probably rubbish.’

‘Try me.’ I poked silver hoops through my lobes.

He sighed. ‘When I feel your hand in mine, I wanna stay like this forever, until the end of time, or something like that.’

‘Wow. Romantic.’ I felt a pulse at my throat. Dylan had come up with those words in my bedroom, while stroking my hair. Should I have suggested we do this elsewhere, somewhere neutral?

‘It happens like that when I least expect it.’ He shrugged. ‘I could be taking out the trash, or washing the dishes.’

‘Or doing my hair. Right.’ Not so romantic after all, I mused.

‘Sorry, I’ll get back to work.’ He grinned and resumed brushing.

‘I normally leave it loose and try to pass it off as beachy waves,’ I said, as my hair began to look smooth and sleek.

‘Like when I first met you,’ Dylan said softly. ‘All wrapped up on your blanket, reading a book.’

‘A long time ago, pre-wrinkles and stray greys.’ I pulled a face.

‘And now even more beautiful.’

‘You need your eyes testing,’ I said, trying to ignore my racing pulse at the feel of his breath on the back of my neck.

He finished my hair, securing it with a flourish. ‘Cinderella shall go to the ball.’

I examined my reflection, turning my head left and right. ‘Consider yourself hired as my hairstylist for the remainder of your stay.’

‘I’d be honoured.’ He bowed. ‘Anything else I can do, ma’am?’

I held his gaze, wondering whether I should ask the favour I’d been wanting to ask ever since the Nativity show.

‘Go on,’ he prompted. ‘Just ask.’

‘OK, but it’s a big ask.’ I winced before continuing. ‘Don’t go to London tomorrow, stay here instead. Please. I’m dreading Jack’s anniversary, and I’ve got that lifeboat thing to go to. I don’t want to face it on my own. It would be much more bearable with you there beside me.’

‘Oh Lucy.’ He shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I’d much rather stay with you, but I’m not sure I could cancel the press day at such short notice. Will worked hard to secure these interviews.’

I stood up, smoothing out the creases in my trousers. ‘Understood; it was just a thought, and I got the impression you didn’t want to go to London anyway.’

His brow furrowed. ‘Believe me, I don’t. But in this business it’s bad form to let people down.’

‘Of course you should put your work first. It was unreasonable of me to ask. I’m being pathetic.’ I waved a hand dismissively.

He placed his hands gently on my shoulders. ‘You’re one of the strongest people I know, and certainly not pathetic.’

I managed a smile. ‘In that case, I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow by myself. Forget I asked.’

‘You never ask me for anything, so I can’t forget it now that you have.’ He drew in a breath. ‘OK, I’m going to cancel. I’ll speak to Will, get him to reschedule.’