Fairytale With The Single Dad. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
inside? Should they just say goodbye and walk away? Or should there be some sort of kiss on the cheek?
But if I kissed him and liked it…
‘Well…maybe I’ll see you later, then?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Right. Bye.’
‘Goodbye, Sydney.’
And then, with some hesitation, he leaned in and kissed the side of her face.
She sucked in a breath. His lips had only brushed her cheek, and were gone again before she could truly appreciate it, but for the millisecond he’d made contact her body had almost imploded. Her heart had threatened to jump out of her chest. Her face must have looked as red as a stop sign.
She watched him turn and walk across the road to his place of work and she stood there, breathing heavily, her fingers pressed to her face where his lips had been, and wondered what the hell she was doing.
With this friendship with Dr Nathan Jones.
Technically, they hadn’t done anything. Just shared a pot of tea. A plate of shortbread. A quick chat and a walk to work.
But all she could think of was how he’d looked when he’d smiled at her. His beautiful blue eyes. The way he’d listened, the way he’d filled the space of the cafeteria chair, all relaxed and male and virile. How attracted she was to him physically. How his lips had felt…and how frightened that made her feel.
Sydney turned and went into her own place of work.
She needed to cool down.
In more ways than one.
And she needed to stay away from Dr Nathan Jones. He was going to be trouble.
The kiss had been an impulse. To fill an awkward pause. It was just what he did when he left female friends or relatives. He kissed them goodbye.
It didn’t mean anything. The fact that he’d breathed in her scent as he’d leaned in…the fact that his lips had felt scorched the second they’d touched her soft cheek…the fact that he’d got a shot of adrenaline powerful enough to launch an armada meant nothing.
Did it?
It was just that it was something new. A new friendship. The fact that she was the most stunningly beautiful woman he’d met in a long time had nothing to do with it. He felt for her. She’d been through a trauma. The loss of a daughter was something he simply couldn’t imagine. The fact that she was still standing, smiling and talking to people was a miracle, quite frankly. He couldn’t picture going through that and having the power or strength to carry on afterwards. And she was so nice! Easy to talk to. Friendly once you got past that prickly exterior she’d erected. But he could understand why that was there.
What he felt for her was protective. That was all. And didn’t friends look out for one another?
Crossing the road, he called in to the surgery and picked up his pager for the evening, along with a list of house calls that needed to be completed before he had to pick up Anna at three-thirty. He had a good few hours’ worth of work ahead of him, but he was distracted.
A simple coffee had been something else.
And he was afraid to admit to himself just what it had been.
Sydney sat hunched up on her couch, clutching a mug of cold tea and worrying at a loose bit of skin on her lip. Behind her head lay Magic the cat, asleep on the back of the couch, her long black tail twitching with dreams. The house was silent except for the ticking of the clock in the hallway, and Sydney’s gaze was upon the picture of her daughter in the centre of the mantelpiece.
In the picture Olivia was laughing, smiling, her little hands reaching up to catch all the bubbles that her mum was blowing through a bubble wand.
She could remember that day perfectly. It had been during the summer holiday before Olivia was due to start school and it had been a Sunday. Alastair—Sydney’s husband and Olivia’s father—had gone to the supermarket to do a food-shop and Sydney and Olivia had been playing in the back garden. Her daughter had been so happy. Chasing bubbles, giggling. Gasping when Sydney made a particularly large one that had floated up higher and higher until it had popped, spraying them with wetness. She’d been chasing down and splatting the smaller ones that she could reach.
‘Mummy, look!’ she’d said when she’d found a bubble or two resting on her clothes.
Sydney remembered the awe and excitement in her daughter’s eyes. They’d been happy times. When they’d all believed that life for them was perfect. That nothing could spoil it. Olivia had been about to start infant school; Sydney had been going back to work full-time. It had been their last summer together. The last summer they’d enjoyed.
Before it had all changed. Before it had all gone dreadfully wrong.
Why did I not listen when she told me she had a headache?
She tried to keep on remembering that summer day. The sound of her daughter’s deep-throated chuckles, the smile on her face. But she couldn’t.
Every time she allowed herself to think of Olivia her thoughts kept dragging her back to that morning when she’d found her unconscious in her bed. To the deadly silence of the room except for her daughter’s soft, yet ragged breaths. To the dread and the sickness in her stomach as she’d realised that something was desperately, deeply wrong. That her daughter wouldn’t wake up no matter how much Sydney called her name. To the moment when she’d unzipped her onesie to see that rash.
If Olivia had lived—if meningitis had not got its sneaky grasp on her beautiful, precious child—then she would have been nine years old now. In junior school. There’d be school pictures on the mantel. Pictures that showed progress. Life. But her pictures had been frozen in time. There would be no more pictures of Olivia appearing on the walls. No more videos on her phone. No paintings on her fridge.
And I could have prevented it all if only I’d paid more attention. Alastair was right. It was all my fault.
Sydney put down her mug and hugged her knees. The anniversary of Olivia’s death was getting closer. It was a day she dreaded, that relentlessly came round every year, torturing her with thoughts of what she might have done differently. Tonight she would not be able to sleep. At all.
I can’t just sit here and go through that insomnia again!
She got up off the couch and looked about her for something to do. Maybe declutter a cupboard or something? Deep-clean the kitchen? Go through her books and choose some for the bookstall at the Christmas market? Something… Anything but sit there and dwell on what ifs!
The doorbell rang, interrupting her agonising.
She froze, then felt a rush of relief.
Thank goodness! I don’t care who you are, but I’m going to talk to you. Anything to get my mind off where it’s going!
She opened the door.
Nathan!
‘Oh. Hi.’ She’d never expected him to turn up at her door. How did he know where she lived?
Nathan looked a little uncomfortable. Uncertain. ‘I…er…apologise for just turning up at your house like this.’
‘Is it Lottie?’
He shook his head and scratched at his chin, looking up and down the road. ‘No. I’ve…er…got a call-out. Nothing urgent, but…’
She’d thought that what he’d said previously about calling in on her had been a joke. Had he actually meant it?
Spending more time with the delicious Nathan since that kiss on her