Santa Baby: 5 Sexy Reads For Cold Winter Nights. Charlotte Phillips
– freedom, unpredictability, no ties to hold her back, no guilt. Her life was well and truly her own.
‘What happened to you?’ he said suddenly. ‘Why did you just leave without saying goodbye back then?’
She shrugged.
‘I just thought it was fitting. Why prolong it? It was no big deal really, was it? You were off to catch your damn flight out of the country. I had a train to catch.’ She paused. ‘Also, I hate goodbyes.’
‘We could have kept in touch.’
Not that he had intended that at the time. It had only occurred to him afterward, when the decision had been taken out of his hands.
She laughed.
‘And how exactly do you think that would have worked? Where exactly do you think we would have gone from there, Tom? You were off to your huge family in Barbados and then back to Oxford, big career all mapped out. Lifelong family commitments. Just where exactly were you thinking you could slot me into all that? I was going to wait tables over Christmas and borrow a friend’s sofa for a while.’
He didn’t answer. She had a point.
Ella cut her eyes away from his and looked down at her cup.
‘I didn’t really think I needed to say goodbye,’ she said. ‘We’d be going our separate ways the next morning anyway. I thought you’d be glad I made it so easy, I spared you that awkward who-uses-the-bathroom-first thing. And I look like Shrek first thing in the morning; trust me, I did us both a favour.’
A surge of surprise coursed through her that he was actually bothered. She hadn’t imagined for a moment he would give her leaving a second’s thought all that time ago, when she’d shrugged her way into her jacket and crept out of the hotel and into the dim light of the early morning, freezing rain stinging her cheeks, mist clinging to the sea. Except possibly to be thankful that she’d made it so easy for him.
They’d both known what it was. Each knew they didn’t fit the other’s life. She was hardly about to tell him that walking away without saying goodbye had been her safety net. It hadn’t been the sex, unbelievable though it had been, it had been the talking, the way he’d stroked her hair and held her. That night back in 2008, Ella had felt special. She’d felt safe. And weren’t those also the exact reasons she’d backed away, taking control of the situation at the last moment? They were also the reason that her stomach was now fluttering softly and her heart rate was set to speedy.
Ella watched him closely. He didn’t disagree, he simply took a sip of his cider, and she could tell from his you’ve-got-me expression that she was spot on. His life had been mapped out back then and it was even more so now – he was just a few years further down his plotted path. Just the thought of it made her feel claustrophobic.
‘Five years later and we’re still polar opposites,’ she said. ‘Our lives are totally different. I did you a favour by leaving, it would only have turned into some goodbye love-in, and who needs that kind of schmaltz?’
Not that it had really been the fear of schmaltz that had put her off staying; a chance would have been a fine thing. It was more the thought of him backtracking, trying to undo the night they’d spent. She hadn’t wanted it to end up as that, some inconsequential embarrassed morning after. It would have belittled it. It had been a funny, crazy, happy night and she’d wanted it to stay that way. Perfect in her mind.
But he had regrets. It was absolutely clear. The twist of excitement that this knowledge caused in her stomach was full of danger and she took a big swig of her mulled cider, hoping its warmth would spread there and take it away. She forced a breezy smile.
‘Is that what this is really about?’ she said. ‘Closure? Did I deprive you of that by not staying put to say goodbye? Trust me, Tom, I did us both a big favour. It would have just been awkward. What do you think we would have said to each other before we disappeared back to our own lives? Thanks for a night of great sex?’ She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t see the point.’
She couldn’t face the rejection, more like. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. Not after the years she spent since her teens, steeling her heart and telling herself there was no room for looking back in her life. She had bigger fish to fry in terms of regret, and not swapping addresses with Tom Henley came way down the list.
His smile melted away.
‘That’s all it was to you?’
She made herself hold his gaze.
‘That’s all it was, period.’
****
Well that put him straight and he really should be pleased. A true one-night stand with no complications was just the way he liked it. And based on what she’d just said a repeat performance right now would have all the same qualities and the same lack of drawbacks. No bombarding with texts when he cut contact, no phone calls, no angst.
He ignored the twist deep in his stomach that felt a lot like disappointment. He had no room in his life for that. He stood up, held out his hands and when she took them he tugged her to her feet.
‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he said.
The refined Michelin quality dining had, in her company, morphed into chips and hotdogs with a side of curry sauce as they walked between tiny log-cabin stalls selling everything from pretzels and sweets to gifts. He watched as she stopped near a jewellery stall, taking in the display of silver pendants, beads and bangles.
‘I’d like to take a stall here,’ she said, excitement lighting her face. ‘I do quite a lot of craft fairs but this is something else. The fairground rides, the market stalls, the ice rinks, imagine the footfall you must get.’
‘So are you still drifting up and down the south coast, job to job like you were before?’ he said. I thought after you finished college you might settle down.’
She watched him suspiciously. Was this some attempt to angle for an address, some way of pinning her down? Good luck with that. She shook her head.
‘I do travel quite a lot for craft fairs and markets,’ she said. They began walking again. ‘The odd thing is that I kind of thought I had put down roots. The few years before I met you I was living with my Gran. She had a cottage in Looe, in Cornwall. Tiny little two up two down thing, but it was lovely being there. I was having a nightmare at home with my mum and Gran stepped in and offered me her spare room for a bit.’ A wistful smile rose on her lips. ‘It turned into more than just a bit. I found work at some of the local hotels and restaurants and I started saving up to go to college.’
The familiar, dull ache when she thought of her grandmother and the cottage on the Cornish coast that had been home for a time, just after her mother finally moved in with one of her squeezes instead of moving on to the next one the way she usually did. A loathsome car salesman called Gordy who had wandering hands and who made Ella’s skin crawl. No way was she living there. If that was what was going to pass for normal family life, she’d much preferred her mother’s unplanned absences, thanks very much. The cottage had been the one place where, for those interim few years, she’d felt grounded and secure.
She’d felt able to commit to a college course with her Gran behind her and a sense of steadiness at last, a place to stay during the holidays. She’d long loved the sea, right from her sporadic visits as a small child and her love of the coast had never left her. She’d even begun to think she might stay there herself when her course finished, perhaps do some waitressing to support herself while she tried to get her dreamed-of jewellery business off the ground. Her Gran had been full of encouragement.
He was watching her, sharp interest on his face.
‘What about when your course finished? Are you still based there now? How come you aren’t still living with your Gran? I don’t remember you mentioning her last time we met.’
She shook her head.
‘I never mentioned a lot of things last time we met,’ she said. She took a