Chapter 25
Day Eight
I don’t hear from Haley at all. No phone call, not even a text. Once the fairy lights are back in place, I head for the kitchen and begin on dinner. I figure she’ll appreciate something warming. She seems to like Italian, so I grab my phone and pull up a recipe for meatballs I’ve made before. The smell of tomato and herbs simmering on the cooktop fills the house.
I throw more wood on the fire, pick up my guitar case, and settle with my instrument. My fingers automatically begin to play around with the little tune that’s been in the back of my head lately. For the first time today, something besides Haley occupies my mind. Losing myself in music is always a place to find certain pleasure when the rest of the world seems so unsure, like now.
It’s not until around four when I hear her stomping her boots on the mat at the front steps and I know she’s home. The dogs and I arrive at the door, flinging it open in welcome. Her cheeks are pink, her dark hair dusted with a few white flakes. Framed against the backdrop of the grey world outside, where snow swirls in delicate feather-soft flurries, her deep green coat intensifying the colour of her eyes, I take a mental snapshot. I want to remember her like this. Just in case things don’t go to plan. In case this moment is as rare as the snow settling on the ground behind her. Snow in London in December isn’t unusual, but snow with the absence of rain and sleet that usually rob us of this perfect Christmas picture is almost unheard of. It’s like even the weather knows there’s something special happening here between us.
I step back and usher her past the dogs with their tapping feet and lashing tails. She strips off a pair of woollen gloves, unbuttons the coat and shrugs it from her shoulders into my waiting hands. I hang it on a peg on the big old-fashioned coat stand and then turn back to her. I spread my arms wide in invitation, unsure whether last night’s closeness and this morning’s comforting hug entitle me to have her step inside them now.
She relaxes into my embrace like an exhausted marionette, as if she’s danced one too many times across the stage, and is relieved when the puppet master releases the strings, allowing her to collapse in a heap. I’d like to slump against her with relief at her choice. She crossed a line with me last night, and thank god she hasn’t leapt back over it in regret. But I’m careful. If I pressed myself against her as I’d like to, she’d be confronted with the instant hard-on stiffening in my jeans .
“How did it go?” I try to sound nonchalant, as if not so much depended on the outcome of this day.
“Pretty good, I think.” The tickle of her words across my neck makes me shiver. She steps back, taking my hand. “Pour me a wine, and I’ll tell you about it.”
I let her lead me to the kitchen, where she settles on a stool. While I open another bottle of the merlot, she scrabbles for dog treats in a big jar on the counter. The dogs circling at her feet snatch them from her hands, disappearing to the lounge to gnaw on their antler chews.
“Is that what happens to Santa’s reindeer when they retire?” I raise a brow, my mouth sliding into a teasing grin. “Dogs chewing on bits of old Rudolph in there, are they?”
She snort-laughs. “I know you’re from a dairy farm, but surely a country boy like you should know a little about deer farming.”
“They’re a by-product of the venison industry, right? When they kill them for meat, they process the antler too?”
“No,” she shakes her head, her eyes incredulous. “No deer were harmed in the making of these dog chews. They shed their antlers every year.”
“Oh,” I say, stupidly. “I knew that.” It’s true. I did know that, but in Haley’s presence, my brain is scrambled. Her rippling laughter is like the tinkling of the bells on those crazy Christmas socks she loves to wear. I’d be happy to play dumb any time to provoke that sound.
Those first few days here, there was a sadness in Haley. I thought it was me. My fuck up with the show. My disastrous failure of the dog rescue. And, yes, some of it may well have been those things. Although I’m thinking it was more this fucking Jack and Paige who made her that way. She’s doing well tonight, holding it together after seeing those terrible photos, and then the stress of all this legal stuff today. I’m going to work damn hard to make sure she stays that way.
Her giggle trails away and her eyes are serious now, a dark mossy green, as she sips at the wine. I take a nervous slug of my own and wait.
“Well,” she says, a slow swallow travelling down that pale neck. The one my lips dotted kisses on last night. The one I felt a shiver of need ripple through under my touch. I drag my eyes away from it and focus on Haley’s face.
“Rachel and Jeremy—that’s Tommy’s lawyer—insisted they meet with the production company lawyers on their own this afternoon. Tommy and I hung out in a coffee shop. I think it was a good move. Tommy’s like a stroppy little Jack Russell dying to get his teeth into the rats in the barn. I don’t think it would have gone well with him there.”
“But…did it go well?”
“Apparently, they pretty much just listened. Didn’t reject our argument out of hand. Said they need time to consider our ‘request’.” Her fingers make air quotes around the word. “Suggested it’s more like blackmail. I suppose from their point of view it is. Rachel told them either they put out a press release and film an explanation of what really went down in Scotland to go out with Monday night’s new episode, or Loreena contacts the media.”
I smile, imagining the delight on Rachel’s face delivering that ultimatum.
“They’ll get back to us tomorrow. Jeremy was all smiles and talking it up to Tommy; like it’s going to be just fine. Although Rachel said to me on the way home, we shouldn’t get our hopes up. She doesn’t trust them. Says it almost went too well. ”
“She thinks they’re stringing us along?”
“Possibly. Not much we can do but wait it out. The ball’s in their court now.”
“OK.” I’m not happy about that. But it was unrealistic of me to expect an instant solution to this mess. Those lawyers were always going to make it difficult, even if we win in the end. I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.
“Thank you. For everything.”
She slides off the stool and comes around the counter to stand behind me where I’m stirring the sauce.
“You’re welcome.” Her firm breasts nudge against my back as she leans around to press a kiss on my cheek.
I suck in a breath, overwhelmed by the nearness of her, and lapping up this casual ease which has sprung up between us. I’m not sure how we’ve come this far in one day, but I’m not going to question it. Simply accept it, gratefully.
“I’m going to get changed. Into something more comfortable.” She pulls away and I feel the loss immediately.
“Christmas pyjamas?” I tease.
“Of course,” she says, tossing me a grin as she heads out of the room, like the Pied Piper with the two dogs trailing behind her. I’d happily abandon dinner prep and join the parade. I’d love nothing better than to help her strip off that stuffy shirt and pants, but after I put the brakes on last night, I have to live with the repercussions. Haley’s room is off limits for now. Removing Haley’s clothes is also off limits for now.
I down the glass of wine and pour another large one, hoping it will dull the aching need and my apprehension over the uncertain outcome of Rachel’s work today while I wait for Haley’s return.