“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I shouldn’t do that in front of him.”
“It’s okay. I want to kiss you all the time.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s just guilt again. I know I can’t parade a trail of men through his life.”
“You’re planning to kiss other men this week?”
That makes her giggle. “No, of course not.”
But I realize then what she’s thinking. She’s worried about this being a casual fling, because she doesn’t know if I’m staying. Maybe she’s concerned about Max forming an attachment to me if I’m going to leave.
As he comes up and sits next to me to show me an interesting piece of driftwood he’s found, I think it’s probably a little too late to worry about him getting attached. We’ve already formed a firm friendship, and he loves Ghost. It reminds me of the impact that my actions have on other people. If I leave, it will affect Max, and Isla, and Archer, and others at the Ark who I would now call friends. None of us is an island. We’re all like the Ark—connected to everyone there in ways we can’t imagine until we think about it coming to an end.
Hmm. That’s given me food for thought.
I put it to the back of my mind, though, and concentrate on enjoying my time with Isla and her son. We spend the rest of the afternoon playing and swimming, and it’s only when it gets to four p.m. that Max finally starts flagging and declares he’s starving.
Today, he wants mac and cheese for dinner, and I’m more than happy with that, so I help Isla make a big pot of it. We sprinkle it with grated cheese and grill it in the combi oven, and have it with a green salad and some tear-apart bread.
Afterward, we have mince pies and ice cream, and then once Max has had his shower to get rid of all the sand in his hair, we settle down on the sofa—Max in between us—to watch The Muppets Christmas Carol while we nibble on popcorn and Maltesers until we’re all stuffed full.
At eight, Isla tells Max it’s time for bed. He protests, but he’s shattered, and when she reminds him that Santa won’t come until he’s asleep, he finally submits.
We have to organize leaving out a mince pie and a small glass of milk for Santa, and a carrot for Rudolph. I haven’t done that since I was a kid, and I feel a flutter of nostalgia as I see Max’s excitement when Isla points up in the sky to see if they can spot Santa’s sleigh.
“I won’t be able to sleep,” Max insists, although his eyelids are drooping.
“You can have Ghost on your bed, if your mum doesn’t mind,” I suggest.
She tuts, but smiles, and Max is thrilled when the German Shepherd goes into his tiny bedroom and leaps up onto the bed. I leave Isla to read them both a story, and when I poke my head in afterward, the dog is lying next to him with his head on his pillow, and Max has his arm draped over Ghost’s body, and they’re both almost asleep.
I chuckle, and we go into the living room, Isla closing the door almost shut behind her.
“Phew!” She stretches and yawns. “What a busy day. I’m exhausted.”
I slide my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “I should probably head off and leave you in peace.”
“Aw…” She gives me an impish smile. “You can’t disturb Ghost now.”
“I can come back for him later.”
“Cullen, I want you to stay, if you’d like to. I was just saying that I’m a bit weary. But I’m not too tired for company.”
My stomach flutters with pleasure. “Okay. In that case, I’d love to stay.”
We had a glass of Marlborough sauvignon over dinner, and I also brought a bottle of whisky with me. I pour a splash of that over ice in two tumblers and take them out to where she’s sitting on the deck. I feel comfortably mellow and relaxed.
“I was worried that it wouldn’t feel very Christmassy for Max,” Isla admits as she comes out and sits next to me, “but it’s been an amazing day, and he’s had such a great time.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’ll put his presents into his sack a bit later. I’d already bought most of them, luckily, and my parents gave me a pile, too, so he’ll have plenty to open in the morning.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” I say hesitantly, “but I bought Max a few things.”
She gives a beautiful smile. “Of course not. Why would I mind?”
“I wasn’t sure whether you’d think it was a bit forward, a strange guy buying him stuff.”
“You’re his friend. It was very thoughtful.”
