A Yorkshire Christmas by Kate Hewitt

Author:Kate Hewitt [Hewitt, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, christmas
ISBN: 9781942240143
Google: QjbeBgAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 23367740
Publisher: Tule Publishing
Published: 2013-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

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While Molly drank her hot chocolate, Claire tidied the kitchen and then investigated the contents of the ancient fridge, hoping she’d find something to give the girl for lunch.

There were the makings for sandwiches, and she’d just put it all out on the counter and opened a can of tomato soup, when Noah reappeared in the kitchen, a battered cardboard box in his arms.

“Here we are,” he said, and his voice came out sounding strange, a little croaky.

Molly looked up from her hot chocolate, a cocoa mustache coating her top lip.

“Decorations,” Noah explained, and then cleared his throat. “Ornaments.” He put the box on the counter and then took a step back, almost as if it were a ticking bomb that might go off at any second.

Oblivious of her father’s discomfort, Molly abandoned her hot chocolate and reached for the lid of the box. “Where did you get these?” she asked and Noah gave a little shrug.

“In the storage loft. They haven’t been used in a long time.”

“Be careful, Molly,” Claire said quickly, for she could see that some of the ornaments looked fragile. All of them looked old and well-loved, once upon a time, and they made her wonder about the boy who had once hung them on the tree… and the man who, it seemed, never had.

“Look at this!” Molly exclaimed, and lifted up a pinecone dusted with silver glitter, a red yarn ribbon tied around one end. “Did you make this?”

Noah’s mouth quirked in a tiny half-smile. “I think that was me. I was generous with the glitter. David was much more careful.”

“David?” Claire asked before she could help herself.

“My brother.”

“And what about this one?” Molly held up a hand-knit Santa, complete with white yarn beard and a red hat with a white pompom.

“My mum knit that,” Noah said. “Your grandmother.”

Molly’s eyes brightened with curiosity as she turned to Noah, the Santa still held aloft in her hand. “Where is she?”

“She died a long time ago, Molly.” Noah gave her an apologetic smile. “I was only about your age.”

“And what about your father?” Molly asked slowly. “My grandfather.” Claire could see the girl was making connections, pieces clicking into place as her father became more of a real person, someone with family himself, with a history.

“He died too, five years ago,” Noah said quietly.

“Did I ever meet him?”

Pain flashed across his face like lightning and he shook his head. “No.”

Molly looked as if she wanted to ask more questions, and some deep-rooted instinct made Claire swoop in.

“These ornaments look great. How about we finish our hot chocolate and then hang them on the tree?”

Molly picked up her cup, thankfully distracted, and Noah’s gaze met Claire’s over the top of the little girl’s head, his mouth curving in a smile of gratitude.

And even though it wasn’t anything much, just a smile, Claire felt a shivery rush of sensation through her insides. Noah Bradford’s smile did things to her.

They finished their hot chocolate and ate the sandwiches and

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