Never Kiss a Man in a Christmas Sweater. Debbie Johnson
in the way only the English can at bare-faced rudeness – even when it is deserved.
Maggie frowned at him, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the typed-up contact list a little too tightly.
“Don’t be so rude,” she said, “or there’ll be no beer before bed time for you, Mr Cavelli.”
She turned back to the nurse, who had started recommending yet again that the patient be given no access to alcohol in his current condition, and started guiding him towards the door. Marco was sure she’d had enough too, but she was just dealing with it a whole lot better than him. He let out a little sigh as they both disappeared off into the corridor.
He had been rude. It wasn’t called for. He was just…frustrated. Pissed off. Feeling helpless and tired and in more than a little pain. He was used to calling the shots, to being in charge. To the cut and thrust of his work as an attorney. To a full and active life full of sports and friends and women and drinking a beer whenever the hell he wanted to. Being passive really didn’t suit him, and now he felt embarrassed at the way he’d reacted. Embarrassed that Maggie had seen him turn into a jackass within minutes of entering her home.
God, he thought, it was going to be a long few weeks. Physical torment, forced inactivity, and some strange compunction to be on his best behaviour around this woman. He felt like crying – but there was no way he could. He was sure Maggie was stressed enough having to console a wailing wuss as well.
He heard the front door close, and watched as the nurse walked carefully down the snow-coated path. He was on his phone – probably reporting him to the Bad Patient Police – then through the gate and away. The lucky bastard was undoubtedly going to head to the nearest pub to drown his sorrows.
He listened as Maggie closed the door, then to her footsteps coming back down the hallway. There was a pause, then she walked into the room and looked at him with a small frown, hands on her hips.
“How are you feeling?” she finally asked, after a moment of silence.
“In all honesty, like complete shit,” he replied.
“Good. Because you’re acting like one as well. I know this is difficult – for both of us. I know we’re both probably wondering why we went along with this ridiculous plan at all. And I know you’re probably feeling frustrated, and in pain. But we’ve got to find a way to make the best of it. It won’t be for long – you’ll get better, and we can both go back to our real lives just in time for Christmas. Until then, let’s at least try and pretend this isn’t completely weird. Deal?”
It was pretty much the longest speech he’d heard from her. Her body language, her eyes, her expression – they were all different than before. The little mouse had gone – all because he’d made her angry. Good to know, he thought, realising that he was kind of enjoying being told off by her. Pervert.
“It’s a deal,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was being a jerk. I’m not used to sitting around feeling weak, you know?”
“I can imagine,” she replied, her green eyes skimming over his not-usually-weak body in a way that definitely suggested more than a care-giving interest. She seemed to realise what she was doing, and reined herself in with an almost physical jolt.
“Right. You sit tight, Marco. I’ll go and get you a beer. I think I need one too.”
Two hours later, Marco was in his bed, propped upright, and Maggie was on the recliner, legs tucked beneath her.
They’d navigated a few potential problems – like him getting into the loo on his own after Maggie wheeled him to the door; him refusing to take his meds until she threatened to kick him in the shin, and arguing over who was paying for the take-away pizza. And somehow, she’d felt a whole lot more settled once he’d agreed to clamber up into bed – he was a big presence, and it felt a lot more acceptable to have this large man in her territory once he was tucked away under a blanket.
Now, after a couple of beers, they’d relaxed enough in each other’s company to simply talk. Maggie had forgotten to switch the lights on or draw the curtains, and the room was bathed in the glow of the moonlight, the glittering Christmas tree and the flickering images of the muted TV.
He’d told her about his job and his life in the States; about losing his own father to a heart attack; about the death of Rob’s first wife and the turmoil that followed. The way the whole family had suffered until Leah came on the scene and saved the bunch of them. She’d told him about Ellen, and her dad, and about her shop. She’d been so comfortable – and mildly tipsy – that she’d almost told him about other things too. Things she never ever felt happy discussing with anyone, because it simply hurt too much.
Still, the whole evening was turning out to be a lot nicer than she’d possibly imagined – it was a rare novelty to have adult company in the evening. It made her realise how lonely she’d been getting; the way her changing circumstances had been creeping up on her, almost without her noticing. Ellen was studying at Godwin College – medicine, which was a horrifying thought for any future patients – and although she lived at home to save money, spent most of her nights with her friends or with Jacob.
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