I glanced out of my sitting room window and saw Marcus trudging across the bridge. I jumped to my feet and raced to the front door, flinging it open in such a hurry and with more force than I realised. It hit the rubber door stop on the hall wall, bounced back, and knocked me forward. I almost lost all the cookies on the plate I was holding.
Thankfully, I didn’t. But Marcus gave me an odd sort of look as he strode up his path, having clearly quickened his pace, no doubt in an attempt to avoid me.
‘Hi Marcus!’
I smiled my sweetest smile as I stepped out onto my lawn and walked towards the fence, the red noses of my reindeer slipper boots, lighting up and flashing with each step I took.
A tight smile tugged at his mouth as his eyes travelled to my feet. ‘Hello, Noelle.’
‘I thought you might like a cinnamon cookie. I’ve got loads and they’re so scrummy.’
Did his gaze dart towards Adele’s cottage? Or did I imagine that?
‘Homemade?’ he asked, eyeing them with longing as he walked towards me.
‘Uh-huh.’
That wasn’t a lie. They were homemade. Just not homemade by me.
‘Then, yes please. I haven’t had a cinnamon cookie since … for a long time.’
He reached out and took one.
‘Take the plate,’ I said, and then grinned. ‘Just the plate. Not the cookies. Only joking. Take the plate and the cookies. I have more.’
He laughed and for the first time since I’d met him I noticed how lovely his eyes were. They were a greenish-brown withsprinkles of gold. And his mouth was the perfect shape and size. I could see why Adele had fallen for him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking a bite of the cookie in his hand. His eyes lit up even more and his entire face brightened, and then it was gone and a frown formed between his brows.
‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?’ How could anyone not like it?
‘It’s … it’s perfect,’ he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Did you make them?’
‘Here. Take the rest.’
I held the plate out to him and he eyed it with suspicion.
‘Noelle? Did you make them or not?’ The softness in his voice was gone and there was a hard edge to it, and to his eyes now, as he stared at me.
‘Does it matter who made them? It’s Christmas, Marcus. It’s the season of goodwill. Of forgiveness and love. Of friendship and good deeds.’
‘Of betrayal and divorce papers. Of lies, and deceit, and of moving on and leaving people heartbroken. Thanks, Noelle. But I think I’ll pass.’
He tossed the rest of the biscuit back onto the plate and turned and marched away.
‘Marcus? Marcus!’
My appeals fell on deaf ears and he slammed his front door to make his message clear.
I hadn’t thought it would be easy, but I hadn’t expected that.
I turned and went back inside, peeking towards Adele’s and hoping she was in her kitchen and hadn’t seen what had just transpired.
Ten
‘I think I might’ve blown it,’ I told Madi after I’d drunk all the hot chocolate, and eaten four of the cinnamon biscuits, having thrown the half-eaten one in the bin.
‘What are we talking about?’ Madi asked, giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘I need to get some context.’
