Page 82 of One More Day
‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ I say, and we both burst out laughing. ‘We’re like a poor man’s Torvill and Dean. Come on, I think that’s a sign. Hold on to me properly and we’ll make our way back to the cottage. I don’t think we should risk even five minutes more. Max, you better show your face very soon to make this worthwhile!’
‘I have to give in and agree,’ she says, sounding defeated, but I know she’s as cold as I am, not to mention injury prone in the ice and snow.
We stand up and brush ourselves off once Rose has found George’s lead again and I’ve found the torch, and this time she links her arm into mine a little bit closer, her head just skimming my shoulder.
I feel my heart race. I sense my breath quicken. I’m aware of every movement of every limb in my body as the warmth of hers presses into mine.
We don’t say another word but as we trudge along, I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing as I am.
And when we get back to the cottage gate and she lets go, then makes her way across the garden in long, careful strides as if she is on stepping stones, my arms feel empty without her.
‘Careful now,’ I call out to her from behind as I watch her tread so carefully. ‘It would be an awful shame to fall when we’re so nearly there. Imagine having made it all this way back and then—’
She freezes on the spot, one leg spread out ahead of the other.
‘You’re making me laugh, Charlie, and that’s not helping my balance,’ she says, wobbling a little, before she keeps going again until she reaches the back doorstep safely as I follow a few seconds behind. ‘Oh, I’m gutted we didn’t find poor Max. Are you worried? I hope he’s OK out there, wherever he is.’
She stands under the sensor light at the cottage door which illuminates her face, so full of worry and regret that we’ve come back empty-handed.
‘Get inside before you freeze to death,’ I say, pushing past her to open the door so she can make her way into the warmth of the kitchen. ‘Max will come home when he’s fed up chasing rabbits down snowy ditches, don’t worry. He always does. Now, I don’t know about you, but I fancy that hot drink we talked about to thaw out. Hot chocolate?’
‘Sounds amazing,’ she says, kicking the snow off her boots and then stepping inside. ‘Tell you what, let’s get changed outof these wet clothes and then I’ll make us the hot chocolate.Youlight the fire.’
‘I’lllight the fire,’ I say at the same time, and at that moment, I know we are already in danger of lighting fires in more ways than one.
And so does Rose.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rose
Oh no, please don’t let this be happening.
I can’t let this happen.
My breath quickens as I heat up milk in a saucepan and stir in cocoa powder, watching the fine brown dust melt and turn the liquid from off-white to chocolatey in no time. I lean on the counter and close my eyes for just a second, wondering why everything I find in life that feels good is always so wrong for me.
Charlie feels the same way, I know he does.
I could tell when we were out walking how our bodies moved closer and closer on the way home. I was so glad to get to the gate so I could be forced to let go, but by the time I reached the doorstep I was missing his warmth already.
But I can’t do this. Rusty warned me not to. I had no intention of feeling like this and I’m sure Charlie didn’t either. I mean, of course he didn’t! What about Helena, who he said he loves? And his child that I still know nothing about?
‘Rose? Is something burning?’
Shit! The milk sticks to the sides of the pan and I scrape it just in time, filling two mugs and making sure I scrub out the saucepan quickly before it makes a mess that’s impossible to clean.
I notice how I move so swiftly round this tiny kitchen where everything is at arm’s length. I get a sudden wave of homesickness when I think of leaving here when the time comes. I don’t want to go back to Dublin. I don’t want to leave this bubble of loveliness. I don’t want to leave Charlie and this wintry cocoon we are slowly falling into, but I should. I really should.
‘All good, coming now,’ I call back, popping some spongy pink and white marshmallows on top of the steaming milk, then I sprinkle over some flaked chocolate, thinking how I’d give the Snow Queen Special at the Christmas Fayre a run for its money when it comes to presentation.
I’m making an extra effort for him and it feels good to do so after all he has done for me. I pop a long-stemmed teaspoon into each mug, take a quick second to admire my work of art and then I make my way into the living room where Charlie kneels on the floor by the hearth in front of the dancing flames.
Oh, help me someone. I stop.
Then my jaw drops at the sight of him in his fresh, clean T-shirt and casual shorts watching every move I make with a welcoming smile.
Our eyes lock and I take a deep breath before making my way towards him, a mug in each hand, like I’m walking atightrope. If I make my way across this room without spilling a drop, it will be an absolute miracle.
