Chapter Nineteen #2
‘Are you all right?’ Dexter’s fingers closed around her shoulder.
She was wearing one of her new jumpers, red with silver snowflakes, but she’d gone for style over substance and it wasn’t that thick.
Now one side of her was blazing from the fire, the other was chilly, she could not get the scene right and Dexter’s touch was adding to her distractions.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘except that what we’re rehearsing right now is in comedy territory, and although Northanger Abbey is really funny and tongue in cheek, I don’t think Jane Austen meant it to be slapstick.’
‘Probably not.’ Dexter ran a hand through his hair. ‘But I’m sure we can get the hang of it. It’s not like it’s the West End or anything.’
‘But Frank and Valerie are performing, too—’
‘A music hall number, Jazz said.’
‘Then we’re going to get critiqued like The Times theatre reviews,’ Imogen finished. ‘Valerie told me that my Ghost of Christmas Present was too wishy-washy, that there was no way a ghost would be soft and coaxing when they’d come to give Scrooge a proper seeing-to.’
‘A seeing-to?’ Dexter coughed.
‘I didn’t think it was worth my sanity to explain why that expression wasn’t appropriate, or that I was basically basing my ghosts on the Muppets film.
I took her criticism on board and amended my approach, but what I’m saying is that we might not be treading any London boards, but I’ve only been here a few weeks and I can already tell that this is going to matter. To a whole lot of people, and …’
Dexter was suddenly closer, having navigated the chest without hitting his shins.
When she stopped rambling, all she could focus on was the way he was looking at her; down, because he was taller than her, and frowning, because obviously she was perplexing him.
‘It matters to you, doesn’t it?’ His voice was quiet but firm.
‘Getting the scene right?’
‘Yes.’
‘It does. Everyone here is so nice, they’ve been so accepting.
You made a promise, on a piece of mistletoe, to look after me, and you don’t know me.
Not really.’ She realized she had come to care about the people in Mistingham, the ones she’d spent time with, and – besides Birdie – him most of all.
In the quiet that followed, the flames crackled in the hearth and branches tap-tapped against the window.
‘I think,’ Dexter said gently, ‘that anyone who met you would realize that you wouldn’t intentionally be callous, or cruel.
’ He was even closer, their chests not that far apart, the cheerful bakery logo somehow encouraging her.
He reached a hand up slowly, took hold of her chin, his touch both gentle and insistent.
‘I was happy to make that promise, Imogen. To offer to protect you. It felt a bit Marvel Superhero,’ he gave her a ghost of a smile, ‘but I was flattered that you accepted it.’
‘It felt … because of the mistletoe, it …’
‘It gave it extra meaning,’ he finished. ‘You think the mistletoe has magical powers?’
‘Probably.’ She shrugged, but that shrug ended up with her on tiptoe, leaning ever so slightly forward, so their chests were closer and their noses were almost touching. ‘It probably makes people want to get closer, want to kiss each other. It scrambles their brains.’
‘My brain isn’t scrambled.’ Dexter let go of her chin, but then tightened his hand around her waist. There was something so sure about his touch.
Even when he was being gentle, he was never tentative, and she wondered how that would translate into a kiss; what it would feel like.
‘Or if it has, it’s been scrambled since the moment you arrived in Mistingham. ’
‘It has?’ She tipped closer, felt his breath against her lips, and looked up, into his brown eyes.
‘Completely. Is this OK, Imogen?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, because she would actually go mad if she couldn’t kiss him. She closed her eyes, felt the softest, butterfly-wing touch of his lips against hers, and then— BANG!
Her eyes shot open as Dexter gripped her waist.
‘What was that?’ She sounded breathless, just like she’d been trying to make Catherine Morland sound, but this was all her.
Dexter looked more confused than scared. ‘I don’t know.’ He held her gaze for a moment, then looked past her, out to the corridor.
‘We’re going to have to find out, aren’t we?’
‘I am.’ Dexter gave her a gentle smile. ‘You can stay here with Artichoke.’ He paused, as if he was weighing things up, then leaned in and kissed her on the nose.
He dropped his hand from her waist and turned away.
‘I won’t be long,’ he added, but he was already striding out of the room, as if he regretted the moment of affection.
‘I’m coming!’ Imogen couldn’t let him go off alone to investigate a rogue sound, especially not if he was feeling bad about them getting close.
What if it was an intruder or a wild animal or a ghost?
He had offered to protect her, and the least she could do was return the favour.
She scooped up a still snoozing Artichoke and went to join him.
‘You sure about this?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely. Lead the way.’
Together, they left the cosy lounge behind and headed into the cold, dark corridor.