The Mills & Boon Ultimate Christmas Collection. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
on a whim… but everything else you’ve told me about has been well thought out. I don’t think it’s necessarily a barrier, more a process of yours, and that’s OK. We all deal with things differently.”
I closed my eyes and listened to the thrum of his heart. “I know you’re right, about Mom I mean. Being back, it’s made such a difference. I can see it now and I hope together we can move past it.”
He stroked my arm softly as we both stared off into the darkness, contemplating it all. “What about you, Kai? Have things got any clearer for you?”
Turning to face him I realized how close we were, almost coiled together like lovers, but somehow it felt like more than that. It felt deeper, as if Kai was someone I could trust and lean on, someone who’d listen and understand when I talked.
“Things are better for me,” he said, sighing softly. “There’s a lot to be said for having space to think. Up the mountain, where it’s just me and the birds, I realize I’m just a tiny speck in this huge, wide world. You know? So yeah, my parents could have been honest with me from the get-go, but I can’t hate them for hiding it. I get it. They would have said something like, ‘We’ll tell him when he’s old enough to understand, when he’s ten,’ and then I’m suddenly ten and it’s not the right time, and then twelve and that’s not either, and before long it’s too late, and they sleep with that knowledge every night and it eats away at them, but they don’t know how to say it, how I’ll react. And so they try and forget.”
“But then they did tell you.”
“And look how I reacted. Which is exactly why they didn’t tell me before.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “I’ve come to terms with it, more than I thought I would a few days ago anyway. Like when I hike, and I’m surrounded by the fog, the low-slung clouds, I think if the worst thing that ever happens to me is knowing this secret, then I’m doing OK.”
“We humans do like to complicate things.” In Kai’s arms the world started to make sense. Big things, past hurts, loss and loneliness dimmed, and all I could feel was his particular kind of calm washing over me. I didn’t want to say anything to ruin the moment. I was happy just being, euphoric even, and grateful to the universe for showing me the kind of person I wanted to love. And that was Kai. I’d tell him, before he left, but not right now. Right now I wanted to enjoy the moment, this realization that I was ready to take a risk on love. Just the knowledge of that made me smile.
Stars twinkled through the snow-dusted window as we lay there and I fell asleep in his arms.
Friday rolled around bright and clear with the snow glistening across the ground. After a long day at the lodge, I’d showered and changed and hotfooted it to Mom’s house. We worked quietly together assembling dinner and Aunt Bessie was joining us as a last-minute surprise. It was the perfect way to finish off a long week of planning, ordering, decorating and overall panicking that we could pull off the Gatsby party. As I chopped potatoes into rough cubes, certain even I couldn’t mess up mashing them, Mom was baking some chicken concoction of hers. I wasn’t sure chicken needed so long in the oven, but I kept my lips zipped. She was the one who had been taking lessons from Aunt Bessie, so what did I know?
Aunt Bessie sashayed in, kissing our cheeks and unwinding her scarf as she went. “How are my two favorite people?” she said, her voice high with happiness.
“Good, good,” we said. Mom and I had been working beside each other in perfect synchronization. There’d been no tension over Isla’s discovery of the maze, and no real mention of her phone call to me about it, and I was hoping this was a good omen for the evening. Maybe she would show me the maze herself, of her own free will.
Aunt Bessie put some groceries in Mom’s fridge, including the obligatory box of donuts. She gave me an encouraging smile and double-checked the cubes I’d cut. Then she opened the oven and lifted the foil off Mom’s chicken dish. “Annabelle, what’s this?” she asked. “I thought you were doing the basil lemon chicken recipe I sent over?”
Mom stared at her. “I am.”
Aunt Bessie’s mouth opened and closed like a guppy. “Did you read the recipe?”
Mom folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not completely hopeless, you know. Of course I read the recipe. What are you like?”
With a dramatic sigh Aunt Bessie took the tray from the oven and ripped off the foil. “That recipe called for a whole chicken. Not teeny tiny pieces like this. You’ve gone and made cardboard out of it.”
It was Mom’s turn to do the guppy impression. “Chicken is chicken.”
Aunt Bessie hooted. “No, chicken isn’t chicken, Annabelle. Right, well, there’s nothing we can do with this, so let’s see what we can salvage out of the fridge.” She rummaged around, mumbling to herself before closing the fridge door.
“OK, we’re going out. Get your coats. We’ll have burgers and beers at Shakin’ Shack and I don’t want to hear any excuses.”
I waited a beat. Waited for Mom to refuse point-blank. We’d made it through Christmas, but even that had been a huge step for Mom. Going out to a restaurant… Instead, Mom took the tray from the bench and tipped the cardboard chicken into the bin. “Well, sure, but I can’t leave the kitchen like this,” Mom said.
I suppressed a victorious smile. “We’ll clean up now, Mom, all of us, and then we’ll go.”
There was no way Mom could leave the cottage if her kitchen was untidy – she’d never be able to relax, and this was a big step for her – so we all bustled around, tidying as quickly as we could in case she changed her mind. When Mom put the trash bag in the outdoor bin, Aunt Bessie whispered, “I didn’t think she’d say yes!”
“When was the last time she went out to town for dinner?” I whispered, still surprised.
“Ages ago.”
I nodded, “OK, let’s make it a really fun night.”
This was one gigantic Neil Armstrong kind of leap forward. We were getting closer to that sitcom mother and daughter vision I’d always had. I knew it could all crumble when she visited Cedarwood and set eyes on the maze again, but for tonight so far so good.
Turning back to Aunt Bessie I wound my scarf around my neck. “How’s your Instagram account going?”
Aunt Bessie’s eyes shone, and she grabbed her cell from her bag. “Oh, Clio, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done. I borrowed one of those Social Media for Dummies books and worked out how to ramp up my followers. I’ve been getting orders from all over the country, but are you ready for the kicker?”
“Yes.”
“Helena from America Today re-Insta’d my death-by-chocolate donut tower. You know the one – thirty-six chocolate ganache-filled donuts stuck together with dark chocolate icing, and topped with shards of toffee and spun sugar.”
“Yes, I know the one!” I exclaimed, amazed at how far Aunt Bessie had come in a matter of days.
“Well, anyway, she got thousands of comments from her followers and I mean thousands, Clio.” Aunt Bessie’s cheeks pinked with happiness. “So she asked me to come on the show and do a baking demonstration. I was waiting until dinner to tell you and Annabelle all about it.”
With a shaky hand Aunt Bessie held up her phone and showed me Helena’s re-Insta of the spectacular donut tower, and, sure enough, there were thousands of comments underneath the picture. “Oh my God, Aunt Bessie, that is incredible!”
“I know, I know! I couldn’t believe it. Now, what do you think I should wear on the show? My tastes might be a little outlandish for primetime morning TV.” Her eyebrows pulled together.
“I