Kitabı oku: «Making Christmas Special Again / Their One-Night Christmas Gift», sayfa 2
Esme Ross-Wylde didn’t strike him as a steamroller socialite. The type of do-gooder who blithely floated round the city flinging gold coins for the ‘have nots’ to do her bidding. Sour memories teased at his throat. Money brought power and no one had made that clearer to him than Gavin. ‘You earn your keep? You’re in. You don’t? You’ll have to learn how to make a real man of yourself.’
‘What’s your role in all of this?’ Max had already been hit by one bombshell today. This one—the Henshall H-bomb—was making it harder to harness any charm. If he was going to tell everyone who cared about Plants to Paws it was going to survive, he needed to trust it was a genuine offer. Trusting a woman who could clearly cut and run from any scenario that didn’t suit her was a tall order.
‘Apart from being Mrs Claus, you mean?’ She pursed her lips in a way that suggested he’d definitely hit a sore spot then said, ‘As well as running the foundation, I’m a vet and an animal behaviour specialist. I also pick up poo, in case that’s what you’re really asking.’
It was all he could do not to laugh. Brilliant. Esme Double-Barrelled-Fancy-Boots picked up poo. It was a skilful way to tell him there was a vital, active brain behind the porcelain doll good looks. A woman who wanted to be mistress of her own destiny as much as he’d worked to be master of his.
‘That it?’ He knew he was winding her up, but…his flirting skills were rusty. Rusted and covered in a thick layer of dust if he was being honest.
Her smile came naturally, clearly more relaxed when talking about her work. ‘The vet clinic is the only one in our area and the therapy centre’s busy pretty much round the clock. The service dogs are trained to aid patients with specific tasks they are unable to do themselves. Like press an alert button for someone having an epileptic seizure, for example. Much like a dog who works on a bomb squad or for drug detection, they are not for the general public to cuddle and coo over.’
‘That’s the therapy dog’s job?’ Max liked hearing the pride in her voice as she explained.
‘A therapy dog’s main role is to relieve stress and, hopefully, bring joy—but often on a bigger scale. Retirement homes, hospital wards, disaster areas. An emotional support dog tends to provide companionship and stress relief for an individual. People with autism, anyone suffering from PTSD. Social anxiety. That sort of thing.’
Max nodded. The smiles on the faces of patients when they were reunited with their pets out here in the garden spoke volumes. Pets brought joy. Too bad people couldn’t be counted on to do the same.
She continued, ‘We’re obviously highly selective, but find that dogs who come from animal rescue centres are particularly good for emotional support, learning and PTSD. The bigger dogs are wonderful with ex-soldiers who might need a service and emotional support dog all in one big furry package.’
He gave a brisk nod at that one. A few guys from his platoon could probably do with a four-legged friend. He still didn’t know how he’d managed four tours in the Middle East without as much as a scratch. Physically, anyway. Emotionally? That was a whole mess he’d probably never untangle. ‘And your brother? The one with the medical clinic?’ Max crossed his arms again. ‘How much of a say does he have in who I choose?’
A flicker of amusement lit up her blue eyes. One that said, You think I let my big brother push me around?
‘My brother’s a neurologist, but his clinic is predominantly for rehabilitation. The foundation has pretty much always been my baby, so…’ There was a flicker of something he couldn’t identify as she paused for breath. Something she was leaving out. When she noticed him watching her she quickly continued, ‘You’ll see for yourself when you come up to Heatherglen—’ She stopped herself short.
‘I was under the impression I wasn’t invited.’ He wasn’t hurt by it. Had been relieved, in fact, but…he had to admit he was curious. And he wasn’t thinking about the castle.
Her cheeks were shot through with streaks of red. ‘Normally the head of the charity comes up, but I just assumed with the dates I have available being so close to Christmas… I just—I didn’t think it would be feasible for you to come along and observe, so…’ The rest of the sentence, if there had been any, died on her lips.
Max pulled up the zip on his fleece and glanced across at the hospital where an ambulance was pulling in. His break was coming to an end and this was already getting more complicated than it should be. No point in watching the poor woman squirm. She obviously had a big heart and he shouldn’t play hard to get. The future of Plants to Paws was on the line. ‘Don’t worry about it. My dance card’s been full for a while.’
‘I see.’ She tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
Max’s thumb involuntarily skidded across his fingertips wondering if her hair felt as soft as it looked. He forced his voice into fact-finding mode. ‘So where would the patients stay? If we go ahead with this.’
‘At Heatherglen.’ Esme reluctantly met his eye. ‘The castle has been partly remodelled as a residential clinic and we’ve refurbished the old stables as a training centre and kennels.’
‘No more hunts, then?’
Her brows dived together as her eyes finally met his frankly. ‘You’ve been to Heatherglen?’
‘Not for a long time.’ He felt her eyes stay on him as he knelt down to give Skye another cuddle. The last thing he was going to tell her was that that long-ago day at Heatherglen was one of his handful of good memories from his childhood. Guilting her into an invitation she didn’t want to give wasn’t his style. Especially if it meant the ultimate outcome was helping patients with the added bonus of sticking one to Gavin Henshall. The money he’d give to see the look on Gavin’s face when he found out he wouldn’t get his precious car park.
‘So…’ Esme’s voice trickled down his spine again. ‘Does this mean you’re considering my offer?
He stood up and looked her square in the eye. ‘If it means saving this place, let’s do it. How do I get in touch with you?’
Esme shook her head. She might need her ears checked. Did Max Kirkpatrick just say he wanted to touch her?
An image pinged into her mind. Ice skating by moonlight. Her mittened hand in his bigger, stronger hand. The two of them skating away beneath the starlit sky until he pulled her to him and… She screwed her eyes shut and forced the image back where it had come from.
‘Email? Phone?’ he prompted.
Oh. Right. That kind of contact. She handed him a card. ‘From here it’s pretty easy. We’ll do two video calls with you and the patients once you’ve picked them.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘It’s how we introduce the dogs to the patients before training at Heatherglen gets under way. It gives me a good feel for who they are before they arrive. If you could take part in the calls, that would be greatly appreciated.’
‘Why do you need me?’
Esme bridled. If he was going to persist in questioning every single thing she said and did, she was right to keep him away from Heatherglen. ‘If a couple of video conferences and formal wear is too much of a sacrifice to secure two free, incredibly talented service dogs for patients who would normally have to wait years to receive one… I completely understand.’ She gave him her most nonchalant smile, hoping it disguised just how intense she was finding all of this. The penetrating looks. The pointed questions. The downright yumminess of him. The last time someone had had this visceral effect on her… Oof… She shuddered as she felt Max’s dark eyes continue to bore into her.
‘Why do I need formal wear for a conference call?’
‘It’s for the Christmas ball. You’re req—’ She stopped herself from saying required. She didn’t like being bossed around and had the very clear impression he didn’t either. ‘It’s really useful if the founder of the charity comes along and speaks with the donors.’
‘Schmooze, you mean.’ A flash of a smile appeared. ‘You might want to reconsider that. It’s not really my forte.’
‘So I noticed,’ she said dryly.
He laughed and once again that strangely comfortable feeling she got from banter with him made the day seem a bit less cold.
‘I can pick any patients I want?’ He asked.
‘Doctor’s choice.’ She nodded. ‘The harder the better.’
Her eyes dropped to just below his waist.
Oh, good grief.
Work. She should think of work. Work was not sexy. Complicated patients to match to hard-working service dogs. Also not sexy. Big brothers. They definitely weren’t sexy. Work, complicated patients and big brothers. Okay. Her heart rate began to decelerate. She liked bringing in clients Charles knew nothing about. He was far too serious for his own good and this was her annual chance to pop a little spontaneity into his life. And her own.
She followed his gaze as it drifted across to the hospital, his mind obviously spinning with options.
She got the feeling he was going to test her. Good. Maybe this would be the year that signing over the proceeds from the charity ball gave her back that magical feeling she’d lost all those years ago when her brother had been killed in action, she’d married a hustler and just about everything else in her life had imploded.
‘You’re not going to bend on the Christmas ball thing, are you?’ A smile teased at the corners of his mouth.
‘Nope!’ She grinned. ‘And let me know if you don’t have a tuxedo. You’ll need one for the ball.’ She gave him what she hoped was a neutral top-to-toe scan. ‘You’d probably fit into one of my brother’s if you don’t have one. I’m sure we could stuff socks in the shoulders if you don’t fill it out.’
What was she on? He’d make a fig leaf look good. Which was an image she really shouldn’t let float around her head quite as gaily as it was.
‘If I go formal, I wear a kilt, thank you very much.’
A kilt! Yum. She had a weakness for a Scotsman in formal kilted attire. Her brain instantly started undressing and redressing him. What she saw she liked very much. Too much. Was it too late to uninvite him to the ball as well?
Yes. Yes, it was. Besides, as much as seeing Max Kirkpatrick in a kilt could very well tip her into the danger zone of dating outside her brother’s ‘pre-approved’ choices…she needed him. The donors loved hearing about the charities from the founder.
‘A kilt will do very nicely,’ she said primly.
He gave her a sharp sidelong glance as if he’d been following her complicated train of thought, then took a step back and said, rather formally for someone who’d just been flinging about witty banter, ‘In which case, Ms Ross-Wylde, I’d be delighted to accept your offer to participate in two phone calls and the ball.’
It was a pointed comment. One that made it clear he’d understood loud and clear she hadn’t asked him up to Heatherglen. A wash of disappointment swept through Esme so hard and fast she barely managed to keep her smile pinned in place as she rejigged her vision of what the next few weeks held in store. Training patients. Absolutely normal. The hectic build-up to Christmas. Ditto. The Christmas carnival being set up out at the front of the castle that would, once again, be a good opportunity to practise with the dogs and their handlers.
It was ridiculous of her to have imagined for as much as a second that she might finally make good on that fantasy to skate by moonlight, hand in hand, with someone who genuinely liked her for herself. Let alone share a starlit kiss.
‘Delightful.’ Brisk efficiency was the only way she’d get out of this garden with a modicum of her dignity intact. She called Skye to her side. ‘We’ll expect them on the fifteenth and you on the twenty-third in Glasgow.’
She turned and gave a wave over her shoulder so he wouldn’t see the smile drop from her lips.
Stupid, stupid girl. The last time she’d let her heart rule her actions she’d ended up humiliated and alone. She’d been a fool for letting herself think that Max Kirkpatrick could be the one who would bring that sparkle of joy back into Christmas.
CHAPTER TWO
MAX WASN’T SURE who was more nervous. Him or the twelve-year-old kid squirming like a wriggly octopus on the wheelchair beside him. His eyes flicked to the chair behind them. Euan’s mum was there. Carly. Timid as ever. Gnawing on a non-existent fingernail, her eyes darting around the office he’d managed to commandeer for the video call.
The poor woman. She didn’t look as though she’d had a good night’s sleep in years. The same as his mum back in the pre-dictator days. Getting Carly here today had been a feat and a half. How on earth she was going to get two weeks off work was beyond him.
‘You ready for this?’ Max asked. He wasn’t. He was no stranger to sleepless nights, but he definitely wasn’t used to erotic dreams. Or a guilty conscience. There was a hell of a lot more information he should’ve told Esme that would’ve explained his spiky behaviour when she’d appeared at Plants to Paws last week, but having jammed himself into an emotion-proof vest quite a few years back, sharing didn’t come easily. Sharing meant being closer to someone. Opening up his heart. There was no point in doing that because he’d learnt more than most that opening up your heart and trusting a person meant someone else got to kick the door shut.
It had happened with Gavin. And with his fiancée. Now very much an ex-fiancée. And out on the battlefields of Afghanistan where lives had been lost because he’d trusted his commanding officer and not his gut.
He gave Euan and Carly as reassuring a smile as he could. They were living breathing reminders that if everything Max had been through hadn’t come to pass, Plants to Paws wouldn’t exist and Euan wouldn’t be getting this once-in-a-lifetime chance to get his life back on track. Not the world’s best silver lining, but… ‘Start small, aim high.’ One of his mum’s better sayings. ‘Forgive him, Max…’ being one of the worst. There was no chance Gavin Henshall deserved his forgiveness. Not after everything he’d done.
Euan’s mum fretted at the hem of her supermarket uniform. ‘Could you run us through what the call’s going to involve again, please?’
‘Absolutely. It’ll be similar to the one Fenella’s going to have tomorrow.’
‘She’s the poor woman with epilepsy?’
Max nodded. Fenella had first came into A and E on a stretcher after a horrific car accident. Since then the forty-one-year-old had come in with cuts and bumps after experiencing severe epileptic seizures resulting from the head trauma she’d suffered. The poor woman was nearly housebound with fear. A service dog could change her life.
‘She’ll be getting a dog specifically trained for her requirements.’
‘And Euan’s dog will be trained to help with his…situation?’ Carly asked.
Bless her. She never could bring herself to say PTSD.
‘My crazy brain, Mum. My crazy brain!’ Euan pulled a wild face and waggled his hands.
The poor woman looked away. She blamed herself for what her son was going through, as parents so often did, when, in reality, the attack on Euan had simply been very, very bad luck. The kind of bad luck that could change his life for ever.
Max looked Euan square in the eye. ‘Esme knows what happened and will find a dog that can be there for you. It’ll make being at home on your own more relaxing.’ He glanced at Esme’s email again, trying not to picture her lips pushing out into a perfect moue as she concentrated. He cleared his throat and continued. ‘She mentions having a chat with the headmaster at your school. Some therapy dogs are permitted, so…if you need it, he might be coming along to school with you.’
Euan’s antsy behaviour suddenly stilled. The poor kid. The past couple of times he’d shown up in A and E had been for black eyes and cuts from fights at school. Despite the best efforts of the headmaster, it definitely wasn’t Euan’s safe place.
His story set the bar for cruel cases of mistaken identity. He’d been walking home from school about eighteen months ago when a local gang had mistaken him for someone else and had near enough pulverised the life out of the poor blighter.
Even in the war zones he’d been in, Max struggled to remember a kid who’d met the wrong end of a fist to such ill effect. He was a poster boy for PTSD. He bunked off school regularly. He had frequent panic attacks. His nightmares woke everyone in the flats around them, the screams were so piercing.
Carly was a single mum and worked shift hours so couldn’t be there for him when he needed it most. He was a scared kid with no one to back him up and the only way he knew how to deal with all that fear was rage. With waiting lists longer than Max’s arm, Euan needed someone beyond the psychiatric profession on his side. Someone to give him a bit of confidence. A reason to see the bright side of life. Someone with the unerring loyalty of a dog.
Max glanced up at the clock. ‘Right. It’ll be a short call. Enough time to meet the dog, find out his or her name.’
‘I hope it’s a boy. A huge bulldog!’ Euan’s eyes gleamed with possibility.
‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Max pressed the button and waited for Esme to answer.
Seeing Max Kirkpatrick’s face appear on her screen brought back a whole raft of emotions Esme thought she had dismissed a week ago. So she’d thought he was hot. So what? Lots of people were hot. Like…um…movie stars. And models. And ex-soldiers with dangerously sexy hair working in inner-city A and Es who were doing their damnedest to keep their hearts off their sleeves.
But now that she was seeing him again?
Heart hammering. An entire swarm of butterflies careering round her tummy. A flock of birds might as well have been circling her head. She tore her eyes away and did her best to focus on the young lad sitting next to Mr Extra-Gorgeous with a cherry on top.
The boy he’d selected, Euan Thurrock, really pulled at her heartstrings. Skinny. Buzz cut. Looked ready for a fight, but it was so easy to tell there was a scared little boy hiding beneath all of that bravura. She couldn’t imagine having to live in the same neighbourhood where he’d nearly lost his life. When the proverbial rubbish had hit the fan when she’d lived in Glasgow, she’d had a five-thousand-acre estate to hide in. Euan had to confront his biggest fears on a daily basis. She wasn’t entirely sure she ever had.
She glanced at Max then looked back at Euan. ‘So, are you ready to meet Ajax?’
Euan punched the air. ‘Ajax sounds awesome. Like an attack dog. Is he a Rottweiler? A Doberman Pincer?’
Esme smiled. ‘None of the above, I’m afraid.’ She whistled the dog over and watched Euan’s face melt with affection when the golden Lab popped his furry face up to the screen. ‘Euan, meet Ajax.’
Despite having done ‘the big reveal’ hundreds of times, Esme felt the familiar sheen of tears glaze her eyes. It wasn’t just the dog’s adorable face as it tried to make sense of what it was seeing on the screen, and this dog was particularly adorable. Dark brown eyes, black nose, fluffy golden fur and ears that quirked inquisitively at any unfamiliar sounds. It was Euan’s face that caught her heart and squeezed a few extra beats out of it.
Seeing this tough kid’s eyes light up to see something that represented hope would’ve turned anyone into a puddle. It was an expression that said he believed someone was finally, unequivocally on his side.
She gave Ajax a treat then asked him to sit beside her. ‘So, Euan, d’you mind introducing me to your mum? She’s the adult coming to stay with you, right?’
Euan’s mum gave a nervous wave as Max and Euan pulled their chairs apart to make room for her to scoot forward. ‘This is Carly,’ Max said, his voice a bit thick with emotion if she wasn’t mistaken. ‘She’s all booked up to join Euan next week.’
‘Actually…’ Carly put her hand to her mouth then dropped it ‘… I’ve got a wee problem on that front.’
Max’s eyes went wide with concern. ‘Is everything all right?’
She shook her head. ‘My bosses have pretty much said if I leave at this time of year, I can expect not to have a job when I get back.’
Esme was shocked. She always covered costs and rarely had problems with employers. ‘Would you like me to make a call?’
Carly shook her head again. She looked as timorous as she was sure Euan felt. ‘I don’t want to make a fuss. I’m afraid the job’s a bit more important than the dog.’
Esme bit down on the inside of her cheek. If only she’d had the training centre in Glasgow, as she’d planned all those years ago.
If only the world was populated by nice, honest men who didn’t spend their new bride’s trust fund on nightclubs instead of training centres.
Before she had a chance to say anything, Max jumped in. ‘I’ll go.’
The look of sheer gratitude Euan threw him near enough tore Esme’s heart out of her chest. When Euan got himself together enough to give Max a fist bump, neither of them managed to meet the other’s eye.
Esme’s chin began to wobble. She cupped her hands over her mouth.
Max straightened up, looked back at the video screen and what felt like straight into Esme’s soul. ‘If that’s all right? Wouldn’t want to mess around your well-laid plans.’
There was an edge to his voice, but it was a protective one. An edge that spoke of a fierce protectiveness that wasn’t going to let Euan experience one more disappointment.
If Esme hadn’t fancied Max before, she…well, she was really going to have to command her heartstrings into place. No fawning, or drooling, or looking with dopey-eyed fondness at a man who so clearly wanted to be warm, kind and open but, for whatever reason, couldn’t.
One week ago, her instinct had been to keep him as far away as possible.
In the last five seconds her entire nervous system had done a one eighty. Take away the rugged good looks, the hands she would’ve paid money to see hold a puppy and that chestnut hair just begging her fingers to play with it—and underneath it all was a solid, reliable and trustworthy man.
Which was perfect. So long as he stayed at the end of a video call. Which was no longer happening.
Right! So. She started a mental to-do list with just one very important item: do not fall head over heels in love with Max Kirkpatrick.
This was her most vulnerable time of year and, as such, she had to be on her guard.
‘So!’ She scribbled some nonsense onto a pad no one could see then gave Max a bright smile. ‘Just a few little rules and regs to cover.’
‘I would expect nothing less,’ he said with a…oh, my…rather sexy smile. The type that said he could see right through her and back again.
Rule number one was going to be tough.
Esme gave what she hoped was a briskly efficient nod and ran through a few things, including what clothes to bring, what sort of weather to expect and asking about any dietary requirements.
Max looked at Euan. ‘I think just about anything beyond a sausage roll will be a new one on this lad.’
Euan jabbed him in the ribs. ‘I’m not that bad. I’ve heard of…um…sushi.’ He abruptly leant in and whispered something to Max.
Max answered quietly then gave the lad’s head a slightly awkward scrub. ‘Maybe we can scratch the sushi.’ The two of them threw each other a shy grin.
If there was any time to wish for some Christmas magic, now was it. Esme had a feeling it wasn’t just Euan who needed a bit of TLC from a service dog. Max looked as though he had a wound or two himself that could do with being salved.
Esme glanced down at the stray pup one of their physios had found who was curled up at her feet. Dougal. Maybe she could convince Max to give him a forever home? Dougal was cuddly and responsive enough that he’d easily be a therapy dog, but…
When she looked back up at the screen Max was all business. Times. Schedules. Anything else they needed to bring. She answered his questions as efficiently as possible, all the while telling her hammering heart that she could do this. She could survive a week with Max Kirkpatrick. Besides, the second her brother Charles laid eyes on him she knew he wouldn’t pass the big brother approval check list. Not that Charles was officially in charge of who she dated but having a second opinion after her disastrous elopement had seemed pretty wise, all things considered.
She followed Max’s hand as it stuffed a few of his wayward curls back into submission.
What Charles didn’t know…
As they signed off, Esme looked out the window towards the castle, merrily twinkling away in the early evening gloaming. It looked like something out of a fairy-tale. It was far too easy to imagine that long dreamed-of kiss under the starlight with all of the glittery warmth still swirling round her chest. Glittery warmth brought to life by one dark-haired, reluctant hero.
Good grief.
What had she just agreed to?
‘How long’s it going to take, Doc?’
Max gave his back-seat passenger a quick glance. ‘As long as it takes, Euan.’
About eight days with any luck. Then he wouldn’t have to go through the hoop-jumping Esme had no doubt set up for him. Attending Euan’s training classes. Ensuring Fenella, his other ‘volunteer’, was all right as her elderly mother couldn’t come along either, owing to previous commitments. Day in. Day out. Dining together. Training together. ‘Fun time.’ Whatever the hell that was. Together.
Bonding.
He didn’t bond. He assessed, treated, then moved on. Precisely why he’d opted to work in A and E after hanging up his camos. Move ’em in, move ’em out. Zero time to bond.
Bonding made you start Plants to Paws, mate. You’re going to have to own it one day.
Unbidden, an image of Esme introducing the dogs via the video call to Euan and Fenella popped into his head. He was pretty sure he was the only one who’d caught the little surreptitious swipes she’d made at her cheeks when the patients’ eyes had first lit on the pooches. He was positive he was the only one in the room who’d itched to reach out and wipe them away.
‘D’you think Ajax is going to be allowed in the castle?’
‘How would I know? Do I look like I was raised in a castle?’
Euan snorted then asked, ‘Hey, Doc, I was supposed to do a maths quiz today. Epic thanks for getting me out of school, mate!’
Max glanced into the rear-view mirror of his clunky old four-by-four and meet the lad’s eyes. ‘I’m not your mate and this isn’t a jolly, pal. There will be homework tonight. Of that you can be sure.’
‘Why’re you so tetchy?’ Euan countered in a tone that suggested he was well used to cranky adults.
‘I’m not tetchy.’ Max’s knuckles whitened against the steering wheel.
‘Actually,’ Fenella gently cut in, ‘you are a bit tetchy.’
Max harrumphed. Whatever. So he was a bit out of sorts. Spending a week with a fairy dogmother who, via numerous phone and video calls, had managed to do all sorts of things to the steel walls he’d built round his psyche wasn’t exactly something he’d been looking forward to.
Not to mention the annoyingly inviting visions that kept popping into his head of Esme in a ski suit. Esme in a onesie sprawled in front of a roaring fire. Esme in nothing at all.
He pulled off the multi-lane motorway that led north from Glasgow. The fastest option. ‘We’ll go the scenic route,’ he growled.
Esme checked her watch. Again.
‘The more you look, the longer he’ll be,’ her colleague Margaret teased, then gave Esme’s shoulder a little pat. ‘Don’t worry. Lover boy will be here soon.’
Esme gave a dismissive click of her tongue. Good thing they were friends as well as co-workers.
‘He’s not lover boy! And I’m definitely not worried.’ Esme flounced away from the window. Worry wasn’t her problem. Lust was. And the last person she was going to tell was Margaret—a woman on a single-track mission to get Esme to date someone ‘interesting’. Just because Margaret was now madly in love, it didn’t mean Esme had to be as well.
‘What’s he like? Your sexy doc? And don’t trot out the line about how you can’t say until Charles meets him because we both know what the men he approves of are like.’ She feigned an enormous yawn to show just how interesting she thought his choices were.
Esme laughed. Her brother did have a tendency towards introducing her to men who…well…lacked lustre, but she’d told him she wanted a man who didn’t have a single surprising thing about him. He’d taken her at her word. Not that he played cupid all that often, but when he did? Suffice it to say there had yet to be a love match.
‘Ez? C’mon. Details, please.’
‘I told you. He’s a Glaswegian A and E doctor.’ With gorgeously curly brown hair and the darkest, most fathomless brown eyes she’d ever seen. He’d been a bit stubbly when they’d had their last video call. She could just imagine his cheek rasping against hers when he—No! No, she could not.
Margaret grabbed a gingerbread man from the tray Mrs Renwick, Heatherglen’s long-term cook, had given the therapy centre staff and held it in front of her face. ‘Won’t you tell your dear friend Mags something more interesting about the big handsome doctor?’
‘Who said anything about him being handsome?’
Margaret just about killed herself laughing. ‘You didn’t have to. The way your cheeks go bright pink each time you come off a video call with him tells me everything I need to know.’ She began to chant in a sing-song voice, ‘Esme needs some mistletoe!’
Esme picked up another gingerbread man and stuffed it into her friend’s open mouth.
‘Do not.’
Margaret tugged on her staff hoodie. When her head reappeared she grinned. ‘Suit yourself.’ She pulled on a gilet over her hoodie. ‘I’ll see for myself in a few seconds.’ She flicked her thumb towards the window. ‘Lover boy’s here!’ Before Esme could protest—again—Margaret was on her way out the door, saying she’d get the dogs ready.
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
