Page 122 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
The song was one they could jive to. Mike felt a small stab of pride in her, that she danced so well. Those pretty brown eyes were laughing as she twirled and spun so lightly on her dainty feet.
When the music changed, he slid his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Several people cast them curious glances, but he didn’t care. He was with Kate, and he wanted everyone to know it.
* * *
Kate let herself relax in Mike’s arms. She had been a little shy at first about people knowing that they were together, but why should she mind? She was proud to be with him.
After all the cheesy songs, the DJ was playing a beautiful Christmas ballad — Roy Orbison, one of her favourites. She murmured along to the wistful words — although there wasn’t really room to waltz she loved dancing with Mike.
“Debbie’s looking well,” he remarked, glancing across at Kate’s daughter who was dancing with Bill, smiling up into his homely face as if to her he was as handsome as any film star.
Kate smiled too — no need to worry about their happiness.
“Have they told Amy about the baby yet?” Mike asked.
“No. They wanted to wait until after the twelve-week scan, and Christmas. She’ll be over the moon. Anyway, how about you?” She tipped back her head to look up at him. “How’s the job hunting going?”
“Ah, well, yes. That.”
“What?”
There was a wry quirk to his mouth. “I haven’t really been looking for a new job.”
“You’ve changed your mind about leaving here?”
“No . . . But . . . What you were saying, about needing to employ someone in the café, with Debbie being pregnant?”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Yes . . . ?”
“Have you found anyone yet?”
“No.” Where was this going? “I thought I’d put up a notice in the window, ask around. There’s bound to be a youngster looking for a job.”
“Would you consider someone older?”
“Of course.”
“Or a man?”
“Well . . . yes, I suppose . . .” She hesitated, the cogs in her brain starting to fall into place. “Did you have anyone in mind?”
He just smiled.
“You?”
“Why not?”
“But . . .” She shook her head — in bewilderment rather than refusal.
“You said I need to do what’s right for me,” he reminded her.
“Well yes, but . . .”
“Look, if you don’t want me, that’s okay. I’ll understand. It won’t make any difference to . . . us.”
“Oh, no. I mean, yes, but . . . You’d really want to come and work in the café? After managing the hotel? Wouldn’t it be . . .”
“A step down? Yes, but that’s exactly what I want. I’m fifty-seven years old. Losing Sarah taught me that time isn’t endless. Why waste the time I have doing something that’s just a job, something that doesn’t make me happy to wake up in the morning? I’d be happy working in the café — with you. What do you say?”
