Page 69 of A Christmas Celebration
‘Oh.’ I swallowed. ‘It’s you.’
‘Hey,’ said Brodie, his face screwed up against the onslaught. ‘Yep, it’s me.’
‘Hi,’ I said, taking in that he was wet through. ‘What are you doing out in this?’
‘Nothing.’ He sniffed, shaking off the worst of the rain. ‘At least not now. I’ve got a flat tyre.’
‘I can see that,’ I said sardonically.
‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ he told me, pushing his soaked hair out of his face.
‘Oh, have you?’ I said lightly, as if it was completely fresh news.
He gave me a look. It was one of his brooding best and I was instantly transported back to the day we met. My heart skittered and I reminded it of the other version of the man in front of me. Not the charming one in a chunky knit, but the slick city one with the designer suit and six-figure salary who worked for the company which had played fast and loose with my charity’s much-needed cash as if it was Monopoly money.
He was the reality, not the man I was watching getting buffeted by the wind with a crappy bike that looked like it had been lifted straight from the scene inButch Cassidy and the Sundance Kidat his feet.
‘Do you want a lift then?’ I begrudgingly offered again, because I could hardly leave him there. ‘I can take you back to Brambles, but I have an errand to run first.’
‘If it’s not too much bother,’ he said, ‘that would be great.’
‘No.’ I shrugged. ‘No bother.’
He manhandled the bike into the back and then squelched on to the passenger seat.
‘So,’ he asked, ‘where are you headed?’
I pulled back on to the road, the vast puddles spraying muddy water into the deep dykes which ran along either side.
‘To see a friend,’ I told him, as the wipers struggled to dislodge the deluge. ‘I just need to drop something off, so I won’t be long.’
‘Take as long as you like,’ he said. ‘I’m just grateful to be out of the storm.’
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. Had I not been so focused on the road, I might have asked some leadingquestions, but the conditions were pretty treacherous and I needed to concentrate.
‘I should have asked before,’ he said, when I didn’t comment. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘Better?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘When you left the pub Saturday night you weren’t feeling well.’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, remembering that he didn’t have a clue about where my head was at as a result of his upsetting revelation. ‘I’m fine now.’
‘That’s good then,’ he said, shivering. ‘And I know now’s hardly the time, but I’d really like to carry on with our conversation. That’s why I was calling you, to ask if I could take you on a date.’
‘A date?’ I squeaked, swerving a little. ‘What, as in adatedate?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ducking his head. ‘Adatedate.’
Just a couple of days ago, his words would have been music to my ears and I would have eagerly accepted, even though I would have been going against everything I’d told Jack. But a lot had happened since then and even though I did want, need even, to talk to Brodie, the last thing I wanted was to have that conversation labelled as part of a date.
‘I really like you, Paige,’ Brodie carried on before I had the chance to say that I didn’t want to date him, ‘and, having thought more about our dance and got my head around what you said about preferring me over Jack, I was beginning to think that you might like me too.’
‘Here we are,’ I blurted out as Albert’s cottage came into view. ‘I’ll be five minutes. Ten at the most.’
I turned off the engine and jumped out. I’d got jelly legs again. My thighs often seemed to be in a state of collapse when Brodie was in the vicinity and they were at their worst having heard what he’d just said. I pulled up the hood on my coat and wobbled up the path to the cottage door.
‘Albert!’ I shouted, when there was no response to my knocking and I was in danger of becoming as soaked as Brodie.
