Chapter 2
Mia
Muttering all kinds of grumpy threats towards James, the snow, the English railway system and humanity in general, Mia fumbles with the door handle.
This one always sticks, and no matter how many times Mia’s mum has nagged him about it, her dad’s never quite got around to addressing it.
In fairness, her mum’s to-do lists for her dad while they’re at the manor are always a mile long, and the back door is rarely used.
Its location allows for a quick route to the gardener’s cottage, but that’s the only outbuilding on this side.
Everything else is off to the south, and more readily accessed from the side patio.
This little entrance is sheltered and protected, but mostly forgotten about. Which is exactly why Mia has chosen it.
She thumps her weight against the door, but it still doesn’t budge. Fiddling with the latch, she tries again. It’s not locked, but the weather has probably made it stick again. Pounding on the door with a mittened fist, Mia slams her weight into it once more, yelling out a disgruntled, ‘Come on!’
Mercifully, the door swings open, but between the sudden give of the door and the weight of the suitcase pushing her off balance, Mia half stumbles, half falls into the house.
She’s not yet able to find her bearings before someone has caught her by the upper arms, steadying her so she doesn’t wipe out on the slate floor.
‘Easy there!’
Her hair has fallen forward, filling her mouth, which keeps her from vocalizing the plethora of swear words that have rushed to the forefront of her mind.
She’s immensely grateful to whoever has kept her from sprawling across the hall floor, and she fumbles to push her hair back to thank her rescuer.
While her vision clears, she is momentarily distracted by the fact that the house smells incredible, a combination of gingerbread, cinnamon and citrus that’s utterly mouthwatering.
There’s also a shocking amount of noisy conversation resounding throughout the house.
Mum must have upped the guest list this year.
But after a few moments taking in the sounds and smells, Mia finally realizes who her rescuer is.
Samuel Williams.
The last person she ever expected to see here.
‘Mia?’
She’s too stunned to answer. What is he doing here?
Why is he here? Mia has the almost uncontrollable urge to look around for hidden cameras.
This has to be a prank. In fact, this whole day has to have been a setup.
‘Charlie said we were expecting you hours ago. Frankly, I was getting a little worried, but you know how your brother is. He said you probably just took a later train or something, and not to stress about it. But the storm looked so bad and—’
‘Trains were all cancelled,’ Mia mumbles, still trying to orient herself. She pulls her suitcase all the way into the house, and Sam closes the door, shutting out the howling wind.
‘Cancelled? So, what did you do? Rent a car?’ Sam’s peering down at her as she shrugs out of her soaked coat and sheds her mittens. Mia lets them all fall to the ground in a heap. She’ll deal with them later.
Squaring her shoulders, she looks up at Sam.
His face is just like she remembers, only, he’s grown even more attractive.
How disgusting. He’s maybe an inch or two taller than the last time she saw him, and she resents the fact that she has to look up to see his face, even in her heeled boots.
His haircut is more stylish now, showing off the shining head of thick brown hair she used to fawn over.
Brown eyes accentuated by clear-framed glasses, giving him a vibe that can only be described as ‘hot academic’.
Not that Mia is into that look. But Sam’s eyes have always been so expressive, and right now they’re brimming with concern.
For … her? This does not affect her in any way, whatsoever.
‘Here, let me grab that for you.’ Sam’s words come out all in a jumble, and he reaches for the handle of her rolling suitcase. ‘I imagine you’re in the usual room upstairs?’
He turns away, presumably headed for the back staircase.
Mia toes off her soaked boots and follows him numbly, noting how broad his back is and how his waist tapers so perfectly – probably all taut muscle under that shirt.
Ugh. Her mind is spinning, careening between noting every attractive detail of the man walking in front of her, and cataloguing the unfairness of the situation.
Why is Sam here? Why hasn’t he become even a little bit ugly over the last six years? Like not even a misplaced mole or a crooked tooth or anything. Did Charlie bring him? He knows how she feels about Sam. He was there, for crying out loud.
Rage bubbles up in Mia’s chest. On top of all the other shit she’s had to put up with today, is she supposed to just roll with the fact that Sam Williams is here, in her family home, for their Christmas party? Will everything she was looking forward to be ruined?
‘You know what? No.’ Mia reaches out and grabs Sam by the elbow, yanking him into the kitchen.
Surprised, Sam releases the suitcase and lets her drag him along.
He’s wearing some fantastic cologne that tickles her nose.
It’s woodsy with a bit of spice, and is frankly swoonworthy, but Mia is determined not to swoon.
She pulls Sam over to the expansive island, also ignoring the feel of his muscled arm beneath her grip.
Does he still play tennis? Can you even be this in shape from playing tennis?
Leaving Sam standing on one side of the island, she crosses over to the other, and immediately feels better with the space between them.
This distance is safer. She will remain in control of all her faculties this way.
‘So, this is clearly a prank, correct?’
Sam’s face fills with confusion. ‘Sorry?’
Mia didn’t remember him being hard of hearing, but a lot can happen to a person in six years. She speaks slower this time, enunciating every word. ‘Why-are-you-at-my-house. At. Christmas?’
‘Ah. Charlie invited me.’
Mia folds her arms, giving him her best glare. ‘And he did this at gunpoint? While you were tied up in a chair? Tilted over boiling lava? So, you had no choice but to say yes?’
Sam grins. ‘I’ve always loved your sense of humour.’
‘No.’ Mia shakes her head. ‘Don’t do that.’
Sam leans on the counter, shoulders bunching attractively beneath his thin cardigan. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by her barrage of questions. ‘You look amazing, Mia. The last few years have been good to you.’
She nearly lets the smile produced by his compliment sneak out, but snatches it back at the last second. Schooling her expression, she stabs the counter with her finger. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
The corner of Sam’s mouth hitches up in that little smirk that she had swooned over for years.
‘I needed to get out of the city for a bit. Work’s been terribly stressful lately.
I was talking to Charlie, and he invited me to join in for your mum’s party.
You know, change of pace, get into the festive spirit, shed some stress.
So … I did.’ He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck.
‘And you didn’t think for a second that I might not want you here?’
‘I, erm …’ He gives a foolish little smile. ‘I mean, so much time has gone by, Mia, I … I figured it was time to let bygones be bygones?’
‘Bygones?’ She lets out an exasperated breath. ‘Who talks like that? This isn’t a Regency novel, Sam. This is my life. I thought I was pretty clear the last time we spoke.’
Sorrow clouds Sam’s expression. ‘It was an honest mistake, Mia.’
She shakes her head again. ‘An honest mistake is when you accidentally let yourself into someone else’s car, because it’s the same make and model. What happened between you and me? That was life-altering.’
Sam opens his mouth, and then closes it. He takes a step, as if he’s going to move around the island, and Mia scrambles backwards, not bothering to look over her shoulder.
‘Ow! Darling, you simply have to watch where you’re going.’
‘Mum!’ Mia spins around to see her mum walking through the kitchen door and pulls her into a hug, heaving a sigh of relief. ‘So, so sorry. I’m all clumsy from being so absolutely exhausted. Getting here was a complete nightmare!’
‘Yes, what took you so long? We expected you hours ago. Aunt Gertie had to make the shepherd’s pie, and her palate isn’t what it used to be. And then poor Sam has been so worried about you, even though Charlie kept assuring him you were fine. Why didn’t you take the earlier train like I told you?’
Poor Sam?
‘Lucy did a hot yoga class …’ Mia begins, as Sam straightens up and runs a hand through his hair.
He glances towards the doorway, like he’s not sure whether to stay or to leave.
Mia is very tempted to make that decision for him – he can leave now, in fact, with his cardigan and his hot muscled academic nonsense—
‘And I needed your help with the cutout biscuits – something about them didn’t turn out quite right. You know you have the magic touch, dear.’
‘Mum, I’m here now. And I can help with whatever you need.’
‘Well, now’s not the time to be stuck in the kitchen. I just came in myself to refill the mulled wine. Sam, be a dear and refill this, would you?’