Page 71 of All I Want for Christmas

‘Where to?’

‘The Christmas market. I need to pick something up for Sara.’

She swallowed at his audacity.Really?

‘She’s my PA, Darcy,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘She’s sixty-three, married for thirty-eight years and she has seven grandchildren.’

‘It makes no difference to me what she is to you,’ she said quickly, even though the rapid clatter of her heart told a different story. Was her dismay really so obvious? ‘Stop if you like. If you’re sure there’s time.’

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at her dismissal. ‘...To Højbro Plads, please, Christoff.’

‘Of course, Mr Lorensen.’

The silence in the car seemed to thicken but Darcy didn’t feel compelled to speak. There was no neutral ground between them, it seemed; saying nothing was the only safe option.

The car pulled up at the square several minutes later and Max looked across at her. ‘Coming?’

She looked out across the Christmas market. Dusk was already falling – she would never get used to the short days here – and the red wooden huts and trees were all picked outin glittering fairy lights so that the entire square glowed with a golden light. It made for a beautiful scene. The place was filled with shoppers and tourists, music was playing through speakers...

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll just stay here.’

He blinked but gave no reply, although a tiny sigh escaped him, barely audible. She winced as his door slammed shut.

She swallowed, squeezing her hands into fists, knowing she was being petty and face-spiting again, but—

Her door suddenly opened and he peered in. ‘Just come with me...What else are you going to do?’

She wanted to reply that she would check her emails, but something in his look told her not to toy. He held his hand out for her and silently she took it, giving a small shiver as she adjusted to the biting chill.

‘I see you forgot your scarf again.’

Had she? In all the drama and haste...‘Oh.’

He tutted, shaking his head at the trail of mild chaos that surrounded her. ‘...This way.’

He turned left, heading towards the upper end of the square. The crowd was slow-moving as people ambled, in no rush – certainly they didn’t appear to have meetings to go to – but from his leisured pace, seemingly neither did Max. He walked alongside her, not striding ahead, his hand hovering lightly on the small of her back, and she felt exactly as she had the night of the drinks reception at the National Gallery. She glanced across at him, just as he looked at her too. Was he thinking the same thing? She had no idea. He was almost impossible to read, his emotions never breaking past a certain pitch. Even when he would contradict himself – say one thing, do another – his surface still never cracked.

Perhaps he was just being gentlemanly, she told herself ashe guided the way – protecting her in the crowd. He’d do it for anyone...Kristina. Angelina. Natalia. Sara.

They passed by stalls selling knitwear, wooden toys,flødebollercookies, colourful glazed ceramics, even artisan chocolate moulded as tools: cogs, padlocks, scissors and wrenches...

‘So random,’ she said with a puzzled smile.

Max seemed to know exactly what he was heading for and came to a stop a few minutes later at a stall selling felted Christmas tree decorations. There were terriers on skis, polar bears in Santa hats, gingerbread men holding Christmas stockings. Darcy looked at him, surprised. She wouldn’t have thought this was his bag.

‘It’s a tradition,’ he said, as if sensing her stare while he viewed the assorted goods. ‘I get Sara a new one every year for her tree.’ His eyes roamed for several moments before he picked up a teddy bear dressed as a Nutcracker and looked at her questioningly.

Darcy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You wantmyopinion?’

‘Of course. Do you think she’ll have a desperate need for a teddy bear dressed as a Nutcracker hanging on her tree this year?’

She grinned at his tone. ‘Well, I’ve never met Sara, so it’s hard for me to say, but...who wouldn’t?’

He broke into an open smile. ‘So then we’re in agreement – for once.’ He handed it across to the stallholder, who began wrapping it in tissue as he reached into his suit for his wallet.

‘Aren’t you going to get one for your own tree?’ Darcy asked wryly as he handed over his card.

‘I don’t have a tree,’ he murmured.

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