The first thing she thought was how cool and yet warm his lips were; the second was how scratchy his fake beard felt. Laughing a little, Juliet pulled back. Peter frowned.
“Juliet . . .”
“Your beard,” she said, and pulling it down, she leaned forward and kissed him again.
After a few minutes Andrew Lofton cleared his throat. “Areet?” he called, and Peter pulled back, grinning.
“Areet,” he answered, and still smiling, he climbed back onto the trailer. Juliet got back in the car, not meeting Andrew’s unreadable gaze.
“So.” She cleared her throat, just as he had. “Are we on time for the carol service?”
“I think we’ll make it,” Andrew said, and started driving.
A few minutes later he pulled the car up in front of the Royal National Lifeboat Institute, or RNLI, station, now festoonedwith Christmas lights, the strains of the brass band that was crammed into the narrow shed audible even from inside the car.
“Ho ho ho,” Peter called as he waved from the trailer, and Juliet felt herself start to grin again. Peter was a far jollier Santa now than he had been fifteen minutes ago.
He made his appearance, waving and handing out sweets, before the carol service started. Then he changed clothes in the public toilets, bundling up the red Santa suit into a bag, which he left in Andrew’s car. Juliet had been waiting for him outside, unsure what to say or even what to think, but knowing she wanted to be with him.
In the end she didn’t say anything, and neither did he. He simply took her hand and walked with her into the carol service. They sat in the back and held hands during the entire service; her hand rested on his thigh, feeling small and fragile clasped in his much larger one.
The service was over by nine thirty, and replete with several mince pies and paper cups of mulled wine, they declined Andrew’s offer of a lift back into the village and decided to walk instead.
Juliet almost regretted the decision as they started down the beach road; although the air was still, it was also freezing. But then Peter took her hand again and she knew she was glad they’d decided to walk.
She had no desire for some awkward conversation about the status of their relationship, and Peter didn’t seem to, either, for they walked in silence the whole way down the road.
Juliet’s steps slowed as they turned off the beach road and crossed the railway; she could see Tarn House in the distance, looking warm and snug and yet also empty. Should she invite Peter in? Ask him to stay? The thought made her hands clammy and her stomach leap with anticipation.
Then she saw the lone figure standing by the door, and her steps halted altogether.
“That looks like . . . ,” she began, and Peter finished it for her.
“Lucy,” he said.
Chapter twenty-nine
Lucy
Lucy saw Peter and Juliet coming down the high street at the same time that they saw her, and for a few seconds everyone just stared at one another. Finally Lucy waved.
“Surprise!” she called, and heard how nervous she sounded. She and Juliet hadn’t parted on good terms, and she had no idea if her sister would welcome her back.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Hence the surprise.”
She braced herself for one of Juliet’s acerbic retorts, but to her relief, her sister dropped Peter’s hand and catapulted into Lucy’s arms.
“Welcome home,” she said.
Lucy hugged her back tightly. Thiswashome, and she was glad Juliet knew it. Then she registered that Juliet had been holding Peter’s hand, and she jerked back.
“What happ—”
“Later,” Juliet muttered, and Lucy wondered how her sister knew what she was talking about. Sibling telepathy, perhaps.
Peter said good night, and Juliet unlocked the front door to Tarn House. “No guests tonight?” Lucy asked, and Juliet shook her head.
