Page 17 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘That looks sore.’ Harry gestured to her wrist.
Sophie resisted the urge to hide it again. ‘I’ll be OK.’
‘How?’
‘What do you mean,how?’
‘How will you be OK, if you don’t get it looked at?’
‘I’m sure it’s just a sprain. I really need to go—’
‘Hang on.’ He stilled her with a touch on her arm, then gently lifted her injured hand, Sophie’s fingers tingling at the contact. ‘May I?’ he asked, and she realized she was holding her breath. She nodded, transfixed by the way he was touching her, carefully pressing the pads of his fingers into the purpling flesh around her wrist.
‘Does that hurt?’ he asked.
‘A little. It’s not too bad.’
‘Can you move it? Rotate the joint?’
Sophie did, closing her eyes briefly as pain jolted through her. But she could move it, and that meant it couldn’t be too serious. ‘I think it’s OK,’ she whispered.
‘Did you fall on it?’
‘I put my hand down to break my fall.’
He nodded. ‘It probablyisa sprain. You could do with getting it checked out by the doctor, but I could wrap it up for you in the meantime?’
‘Do you have a first-aid kit in your car?’ She peered past him to the dark hulk of a Land Rover Defender parked at the kerb.
He shook his head quickly. ‘At home.’
‘Mistingham Manor?’
‘My home,’ Harry repeated. ‘We could be done in twenty minutes, then I’ll drive you to your place.’
Sophie sighed. It seemed like days, rather than hours, since she’d been in the village hall, foolhardily raising her hand to offer her assistance with a project she had no expertise in. ‘I need to get home and check Clifton’s OK,’ she said again.
‘You don’t like accepting help, do you?’
Sophie laughed. ‘I just don’t think I need it on this occasion, but thank you for offering.’
She moved to go past him, and he put his hand on her arm again, the touch warm but fleeting. ‘We should get together,’ he said. Then, after a pause, added, ‘To talk about the festival.’
‘Sure.’ Sophie swallowed. It felt intimate, the two of them standing in the dark, just beyond the gentle glow of Fiona’s outdoor light; the quiet, misty village in shadow. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
She took a step back, and Harry dropped his hand.
‘Fine,’ he called after her as she walked away. ‘Just don’t leave it too long, OK?’
As Sophie strode home, her wrist throbbing in time with her footsteps, she decided she’d imagined his concern when he was looking at her bruised skin. He was Harry Anderly, the Dark Demon Lord of Mistingham, and any gestures of kindness or affection were an aberration she would do well to ignore. They could plan this festival together, as efficiently as possible, then get on with their own lives. It didn’t have to get complicated, and if there was anyone who was an expert at keeping control of her feelings, then it was her.
Chapter Eight
Norfolk had a reputation for being a flat county, with expanses of farmed fields and heathland, the marshes bleeding into the sea, green turning to gold turning to blue, and the famed big Norfolk sky above. But, along the coast, there were enough hills and dips to make Sophie’s runs challenging, and she relished the head space they gave her.
The day after the village hall meeting and finding Jazz, she got up early and went to the local pharmacist, who confirmed her wrist was sprained and expertly bandaged it for her. Then she decided that the best way to work out the tension of the last few days was to go for a long run.
It was a cold but bright day, the blue sky peppered with white clouds, and Sophie took her usual route, running down to the promenade, keeping the deep, entrancing blue of the sea on her right, dodging dog walkers with shoulders hunched against the cold, their scarves flying out behind them. She’d left Clifton at home, wanting to pound her legs and run her lungs ragged.
