Chapter Sixteen #2
Eloise acquiesced, knowing he was right.
It was just that she’d quite liked having a fire in this room—it made everything that much cosier.
When she was in the village tomorrow, she wouldn’t go out of her way to buy one, but if she happened to spot one she’d get it, and Bart would just have to lump it.
“I think we need to make a list,” Eloise said.
She loved lists. At the end of every day, before she left the office, she used to make a list of the things that needed to be done the following day.
There was nothing she liked better than ticking off the tasks she’d accomplished, then adding anything left to a brand-new list ready for the next morning.
“Good idea. I’ll get a pen and some paper,” Bart agreed, and hurried off to fetch them. When he sat back down, he’d clearly been thinking, because he began with, “We’re going to need a turkey and a Christmas tree, and—”
“Hold it there, buster.” Eloise held up a hand to stop him. “That’s two lists.”
“It is?”
“A food list and a non-food list. You don’t want to confuse the two, otherwise you’ll have crossings out all over the place and then you won’t be able to see the food for the tree, if you get my drift. You write the food list; I’ll write the other.”
He tore off a piece of paper and passed the notepad and pen to her, and she balanced it on her knee, wishing she had something nicer than a Biro to write with, as he found a second pen for himself.
Bart said, “I see what you mean, although I daresay I’ll be able to get a Christmas tree in the supermarket. It won’t be a real one though, I doubt.”
“Hmm…If we’re going to do this, let’s do it properly and have a real tree.” What was it with this “we” thing, she wondered, quite liking it. It was as though they were a team, in this together, which in a way she supposed they were. It had been a long time since she felt part of something.
“It might be a bit late,” Bart said doubtfully, “but we used to get ours from a little farm up the way. They’ve been growing Christmas trees there for years. I could give them a ring in the morning and ask whether they’ve got any left.”
“What about decorations?”
“I’ve got boxes full in the attic. I could send Mitch up for them. He was asking today what he could do to help.” Bart leant back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking.
“What’s his story, do you think?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” He inhaled sharply and clapped a hand to his mouth. “Oh dear!” he hurried to say. “What must you think of me, gossiping about a guest?”
Eloise couldn’t hide her amusement at his mortified expression. “I think it’s more a case of gentle concern on our part, because there’s definitely a story there. Why would a guy like him want to spend Christmas in a place like this?” She twinkled at him. “No offence.”
Bart twinkled back, much to her delight. “None taken.” He became thoughtful. “I’m surprised he’s stayed on though. I would have thought he’d have hightailed it out of Dodge by now.”
“Like you assumed I was going to?”
“Well, yes; but you’ve said yourself you’re not keen on Christmas, and here’s me planning on going all-out festive. It was a reasonable assumption.”
Eloise lifted her chin. “This is different. Sarah and her little boy need our help. Just because I dislike Christmas doesn’t mean they should suffer.
” There was also a part of her that was looking forward to it, but after kicking up such a fuss about Christmas, she didn’t want to say it out loud.
Anyway, their aversion to the festive season was something she and Bart had in common; it had brought them together.
“I wonder if Mitch feels the same way?” Bart mused.
“I think he feels something,” Eloise shot back, “but I don’t believe it’s anything to do with Christmas. Have you seen the way he looks at her?”
“No…?”
Typical of a bloke, she thought, going around with his eyes half shut most of the time. Then she immediately felt guilty about making the generalisation, because she had a feeling Bart hadn’t noticed a great deal since his wife had passed away.
“It’s probably my imagination,” she recanted.
“I’ll look out for it.” His expression brightened. “They’d make a lovely couple.”
Eloise chortled. “You old matchmaker!”
“Just because I’m a miserable sod doesn’t mean I don’t believe in love,” he said, echoing her earlier sentiment.
He looked so sad that Eloise’s heart went out to him. Of course he believed in love—if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be hurting as much as he so obviously was.
Hoping to lighten what had swiftly become a somewhat sombre atmosphere, Eloise said, “Back to the subject of Christmas. Since we don’t need to buy any decorations if you already have some in the attic, that’s one less thing to worry about, so just the presents then, and I’ll sort those out.”
“Let me pay half.”
“Stop right there. You’re doing more than enough, so let me buy the presents. You can buy the food.”
The food wasn’t going to be cheap either, she thought, which gave her carte blanche to splurge a little, and she didn’t just mean on toys for Toby.
She had every intention of picking up a few nice things to eat and drink over Christmas.
In fact, she was quite looking forward to her shopping session, although she wasn’t looking forward to the crowds.
Hopefully if she went out early enough, the village wouldn’t be too busy.
She could be there and back before the hurdy-gurdy music started and the crowds descended.
Besides, she would need some considerable help in the toy shop, choosing suitable gifts for a small boy.
She would be entirely dependent on their advice.
“Could you add wrapping paper to your list?” she asked.
“Okay…” Bart nibbled on the end of his pen as he thought; then he began to write.
Eloise sat back, her cake finished, and she washed the gooey sweetness down with a sip of Irish whiskey cream as she watched him.
It struck her that Bart had come to life now that he had something else to focus on other than his grief and missing his wife. Was that what he needed in his life? To feel needed? To be useful?
It also struck her that Bart was a man who’d be all too easy to fall in love with—and if she didn’t guard her heart, there was a very real possibility that might happen.
Eloise got to her feet. “I think it’s time I went to bed,” she announced shortly, taking Bart by surprise as he blinked owlishly at her.
“Oh, right. Okay. Good night then, and thank you again for today and for the days to come. I know you didn’t sign up for this, and I understand it’s not going to be easy for you.”
It’s not going to be easy for you, either, she thought, but all she said was, “Good night, Bart.”
Right now, she needed to be on her own to bury her head in her book, and do something other than reflect on what she’d missed and what might have been.
Wishful thinking never did anyone any good.