Page 37 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
And then I’m distracted by the kitchen door opening.Turning, I come face to face with Noah.
He smiles. ‘Hi, Jenny. I was…erm…hoping to grab a drink?’
‘Oh. Yes. Right.’What have we got in here of a festivenature?‘Well, there’s sherry and port. And mulled wine, of course.’
He grins. ‘Um…bit early for me.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Iwas thinking of maybe a coffee?’
Mentally, I groan and bash my head on the nearby fridge.Whatan idiot!
Mortified, I quickly cross to the kettle, wishing I couldwaft my armpits to cool off. ‘Yes, of course. No problem.’ I grit my teeth as Ifill it.
What is it about Noah Jackson?
I always seem to behave like a clown whenever he’s around.Like offering him a sherry at nine-thirty in the morning…
‘Where are you sitting? In the morning room? I can bring itin for you, if you like?’ I say in an awkward rush. Then I turn and he’s rightthere, beside me, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest when he takes holdof the kettle handle.
‘You don’t have to make it for me,’ he murmurs, with thatlazy, sexy smile that sends my entire body into uproar. ‘I’m sure you’ve gotquite enough to do, feeding us hungry hoards later.’
‘Well, I am busy, but I could still make you a coffee,’ Isay, my voice tight with tension. I hardly know where to look, he’s so close.
‘No need. In fact, can I make you one?’ He turns. ‘And you,Flo?’
‘Great. Thank you,’ says Flo at once. ‘Milk and one sugar,please.’
He nods. ‘And you?’ He looks at me with a little amusedtwist to his lips. ‘How do you take your coffee, Jenny?’
The question, spoken in his dark, velvety voice, makes everynerve in me squeak. He’s standing so close, I can feel the heat from his body,and the citrus hint of the bodywash or shampoo he’s used, combined with his ownmale scent, is sending my head reeling.
‘Er, just milk.’
He nods. ‘Great. There’s just one problem.’
‘What’s that?’ I ask, chancing a look into his eyes.
‘You need to let go of the kettle?’
His eyes lock onto mine and the smile fades from his face.I’m gazing up at him and his mouth is just inches from mine. If he were to bendhis head just a little and I were to stand on tip-toe…
His words finally filter through the cottonwool in my head.Youneed to let go of the kettle?
‘Oh.’ Suddenly realising the reason Noah is standing soclose is because I’m still gripping the handle for dear life, I spring away,and somehow the kettle slips into the sink, landing with a sickening crash.
Noah blinks a few times, as if he’s not quite sure what justhappened. Then he clears his throat and rescues the kettle. He turns on the tapbut misjudges the flow completely, so that water sprays everywhere.
A burst of laughter – ours and Flo’s – breaks the tension.And I somehow get back to what I was doing, while Noah makes the drinks.
‘Colonel Mustard with the lead piping in the dining room,’he says solemnly, handing over my mug. ‘Smashing Santa’s sleigh tosmithereens.’
I laugh. ‘Appropriately festive. I like it.’
He grins, and at the door, he turns and says, ‘You haven’tseen Melanie, have you?’
‘She went out earlier with Constance,’ says Flo.
‘Looked like they were going for a walk,’ I add, as a littleair leaks out of my happiness balloon.
‘Right. No problem. I’ll find her.’ And he disappears,leaving me imagining scenarios that really shouldn’t bother me at all…
