Midwives On Call At Christmas: Midwife's Christmas Proposal. Abigail Gordon
be wanting the descent to last for ever.
At the last minute he pulled his phone from his pocket and videoed her landing. She waved as she sailed past, and he chuckled out loud. This had been fun and he’d been dreading it.
She landed smoothly on her bottom with her feet out in front of her, strapped like a little limpet to her chute buddy, and with a couple of snaps of the buckles she was free to stand and twirl around with excitement. He grinned as he watched her.
Later when he took her to the little restaurant on the river for a late breakfast she couldn’t stop talking, reliving the experience, and he watched her shining eyes blink and frown and widen as she told the tale of her tumble from the aircraft, the whoosh of the parachute opening and the moment when she’d seen him watching her land.
Then he watched her eyes widen wistfully when a birthday cake was carried across the room and she glanced behind them to see where it was going. But his breath caught in his throat when he saw her eyes fill with tears when she realised it was hers. What was wrong? Had he done wrong?
He’d upset her and he didn’t know why. ‘It’s yours. For you. Happy birthday, Tara.’
She just sat there staring at the lit candles as they burnt merrily. The candles started melting and began to dribble wax down onto the cake. Spluttered and dripped. Still she didn’t blow them out.
‘Blow them out.’
She looked at him. Her eyes still looked haunted. Then she whispered, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Quick.’
The waitress and chef who had followed the cake out were looking at each other, not sure what was going on, as they waited to sing like they did every time a cake was ordered.
Then she blinked, shook her head and blew them out. Almost defiantly. Certainly with ample power. To her horror, she even blew wax onto the tablecloth. Blushed and glanced at the waitress and her ‘Sorry’ was drowned out by the lusty singing of ‘Happy Birthday’. Then she did cry.
The waitress and the chef bolted back to the kitchen and Simon handed her a napkin. Tara hid her face in it.
‘Don’t ever do that to me again.’
With startling clarity he suspected what was wrong. ‘Have you ever blown candles out on a cake before, Tara?’
She glared at him. ‘Not since I was six. As if you couldn’t tell.’
‘No cakes at the orphanage?’
‘A hundred children would be a cake every three days. I didn’t even know it was my birthday half the time. You couldn’t know—I understand that—but it’s never been a big day for me.’
He didn’t want to think about a hundred kids without birthdays because it hurt all the way down to his toes. ‘So why the parachute jump this year?’
She shrugged. ‘Coincidence and maybe Lyrebird Lake warmth. They had a birthday party for Louisa and it was very cool. Started me thinking about a new life and a celebration that I had control of and wasn’t using.’
‘So a present?’
‘Yep. That’s my present to myself. I can’t really afford it but …’ she shook off the melancholy and gave him a watery smile ‘… it was so worth it.’ She straightened her shoulders. Smiled at him again, though still a little misty-eyed. ‘Thanks for the cake, Simon, and sorry for the drama. It just took me by surprise. I blew some candles out once and they weren’t mine. Got in all sorts of trouble so just had a bit of a time slip there.’
‘Well that cake was a hundred per cent yours and even the singing was good.’
She glanced towards the kitchen with a little embarrassment still on her face. ‘Very good. They must think I’m mad.’
‘I’m sure they’re thinking you must have a very good reason for acting as you did. Or they think I upset you.’
Her first cake with candles? Damn it, he wished he could turn up on her birthday and buy her a cake every year until she was so blasé about it she didn’t notice. Then he listened to the wild thoughts in his head. How had he got to this point?
Because seeing Tara every year for the rest of his life didn’t seem an unreasonable thing. But that was crazy.
After breakfast they went back to check out the beach. Simon kept saying she’d eaten and she wasn’t allowed to swim for an hour but, seriously, she only wanted to splash in the waves anyway.
They stripped down to swimsuits and she kicked a skid of water his way.
After some serious splashing in his direction Simon stopped watching her with a smile on his face and started to chase her. She was pretty fast.
But he was faster. When he caught her and lifted her, spun her, held against his strong broad chest like a prize, it was as exciting as falling through the air this morning.
She’d always watched others do this, dreamt of doing it herself one day with some hero, and now here she was, with this gorgeous guy tossing her around like she was a lightweight as he shuffled on the sand and pretended to throw her into the water. She squeaked in mock terror, feeling like she was in a movie, a fabulous romantic movie, and while she knew it was just that, a fantasy that would stop when the hour or two was up, she was darned well going to enjoy every fabulous second of it.
Plus it was her birthday. She was the birthday girl and Simon would not let her forget it. That was very cool.
Then Simon walked purposefully forward through the knee-high waves until he sank into the surf with her still in his arms and the cold salt water foamed around them. She could feel the core of warmth where their skins still connected and she couldn’t do anything except turn her face to him and lean in for a kiss. A salty, exuberant kiss that was her way of saying thank you.
He must have been waiting because his arms tightened even more firmly around her and the kiss spiralled into a hot, hungry, searing feast of strength and softness and sliding tongues that were as hot as the water was cold around them. She grabbed on tighter and jammed her breasts harder against his chest and they didn’t come up for air until a bigger than normal wave smacked them in the head and they broke apart coughing and spluttering and finally laughing.
Phew. She’d needed that bucket of reality because she’d been getting swept away in the fantasy of it all.
She swam away from him, bobbed with the waves, their feet still touching the golden sand below their toes but rising up and down with the cool green waves as her heart rate slowly began to settle.
This had to be the best birthday ever.
BACK AT THE manse life carried on as usual. Maeve slowed down even more as her baby grew and weighed her down, but her nausea had eased, although her mood remained sombre. Tara suspected she held unrequited affection for the baby’s father and wondered if maybe someone should try again to contact him by phone. But that was for Maeve and she had enough happening.
Last night another of Tara’s caseload women had had her baby and Tara had been up most of the night, but when she’d woken after lunch she’d felt strangely unsettled so she’d come out to the manger on the front lawn to find her peace.
Everything was so … Christmassy. She felt like a minor character who’d forgotten her lines. Presents were appearing under the tree inside and she’d started to buy little gifts for everyone but lacked the experience to know how much to spend so had gone for quirky.
With combined family enthusiasm Louisa had managed to assemble her Christmas nativity scene on the front lawn. Tara had been surprised that the little straw-filled crib was empty despite the adoring looks and nods from the mechanical Mary, Joseph and the three wise men, until Simon had whispered that baby Jesus