‘True love conquers all, congratulations!’ The random shouting and sound of clapping interrupted the moment and broke us apart. We looked over to the building next to Stephen’s and saw a middle-aged woman, swathed in a massive fur coat, was out on her balcony watching us. She raised a glass of what looked like champagne and gave a hiccup. ‘Aw, that was better than theatre, thank you, darlings.’ She waved and wobbled off back inside.
I laughed and untangled my fingers from Nick’s hair. His cheeks were tinged pink.
‘What now?’ He linked his fingers through mine.
‘How d’you fancy going to that New Year’s Eve party I told you about?’
He took my guitar from me and we started walking. We didn’t even debate trying to find a bus or a taxi. It would be a long walk but it was a beautiful night.
We headed down to the river, passing through the streets full of shops, lit up brightly by Christmas trees and flashing snowflake decorations. We talked about the plans my mum and I had made for the hotel and my music tutoring, about the friends he was going to meet at the party, how his nan was doing and about going to his childhood home the following day. He was anxious but wanted to do it now. Before we knew it, midnight had arrived and the fireworks started.
We stopped by the side of the river and watched the bright bursts of colour crackling and fizzing through the black sky and leaving trails of purple-grey smoke drifting through the air. The displays went on and on, getting more intense and noisier as the New Year introduced itself, lighting up Albert Bridge, the boats bobbing on the dark water and the buildings along the banks. I shivered and Nick wrapped me up inside his long coat, so my back was nestled against his chest. I twisted my head and looked up at his face, the corner of his jaw and the blooms of light reflecting in his glasses. It was a view I could get very used to.
‘You did get this coat dry-cleaned, didn’t you?’ I teased when he caught me staring.
‘No. I thought the scent of raw meat would be alluring to you, what with your vampire fetish.’
‘Urgh.’ I wrinkled my nose and then laughed as he swooped the sides of his coat up dramatically to shroud me in it, nibbling at my neck. The explosions and cheers for the New Year were nothing compared to what was going on inside my heart. His hands slipped into my pockets and a pleasant tingle ignited in my belly.
Suddenly he withdrew his hand, and I leaned my head back against his shoulder to see what he’d found. A rather battered sprig of mistletoe dangled between his thumb and index finger at eye level. He laughed. ‘What was this? A back-up plan if the serenade hadn’t worked?’
‘Yes, I was planning to poison Stephen.’
He laughed again. ‘Seriously though, between us we do keep the strangest things in our pockets.’
‘Pockets are the best clothing invention. Lydia gave it to me on Christmas Eve when I took her jeep back. Little did she know, I’d already seduced you the night before.’ I turned in his arms and linked my hands behind his neck. His eyelids lowered as he looked at me. ‘You know when we were standing in that doorway at the Christmas fayre – when I was putting on those daft reindeer antlers – there was mistletoe right over your head. I was too chicken to point it out.’
‘I knew it was there.’
‘No way.’
‘I did – I saw it when we were getting out of the way of those women.’ He lifted his arm a little higher and twirled the mistletoe over our heads, glancing up at it and then down at me. He smiled his radiant, soul-ensnaring smile, brighter than any firework in the sky. ‘It was a miracle I didn’t kiss you right then and there. I wanted to, so much.’
I tugged his head down until our cold noses touched and whispered, ‘That wasn’t the miracle.’
And when we kissed, a shower of sparkling fireworks lit up the sky around us and, despite all the chaos, I wished that every Christmas would be this magical.
Epilogue
Six Weeks Later
‘Beth,’ my mum called out to me as I was walking through the lobby, zipping up my fleece, ready to head outside. I detoured over to her at the reception desk, watching as she flicked through a folder. ‘Have you seen that quote from the builder about the floor for the music studio?’
‘Yes, but I’ve not agreed to it yet so it’s still in the filing tray in the office,’ I explained.
‘Oh, okay. Do you want me to do that?’ She glanced over her shoulder towards the office door.
‘No.’ I leaned over the desk and closed the folder in front of her. ‘I can handle it.’
‘It’s no trouble—’
‘Mum.’ I gave her a look I was getting very used to pointing in her direction at the moment. The look translated as:you’re meant to be stepping back remember?
‘Okay, fine.’ She raised her hands and smiled. ‘I’ll do something else while it’s quiet in here.’ It was mid-afternoon, and the usual gentle lull before dinner. As far as we could tell, the hotel reviewers – Jane and June – hadn’t caused irreparable damage to the reputation of the hotel with their reports of dismal dining experiences or the bar being closed, because we were as busy as usual at this time of the year. If Mum had looked up the full review, she never told me, and I didn’t check either. I’d done my absolute best and made my peace with that.
‘Maybe head into the kitchen for a cup of tea?’ I suggested innocently and Mum’s cheeks flushed. Our new chef, Marco, was working today. He’d run his own Italian restaurant for years in the next town but since becoming a widower, decided he’d had enough of being the boss and wanted to be able to spend more time with his young grandchildren. Despite being completely overqualified, it was surprising just how much ‘supervising’ my mum found it necessary to do while he was learning the ropes. I don’t think the fact his ravioli could put you in a food coma for days and he looked like George Clooney, hurt.
Mum waved me off, not quite meeting my eye, and I couldn’t suppress a grin.
