Under the Mistletoe by Sue Moorcroft

Author:Sue Moorcroft [Moorcroft, Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-10-27T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Grady enjoyed the feel of Laurel’s gloved hand on his arm, even through the ski jacket he wore against the winter wonderland temperatures. They chatted about the painting of the Christmas scene as the snow veered through the illumination around each streetlight in the night-quiet village, but what he thought about was Laurel. The evening they’d spent together. Her laughter and dancing eyes. Her tears and wobbling lip. The way she’d squared her shoulders before telling him what Pippa had said.

He’d have to deal with Pippa.

The only lights showing at the pub as they passed were in the upstairs living quarters. They turned into Great End and the wind flew to meet them down the close. ‘Whoo!’ Laurel laughed as sleety snow drove into her eyes, hanging on to her hood with one hand and Grady with the other. In the comparative calm afforded by the dark bulk of The Nookery, only one light shone through the curtains of an upstairs window. She took out her phone and did a bit of tapping and swiping. Lo and behold, a low light began to burn in the hall, outlining the curtain at the window beside the door.

He grinned. ‘Smart home technology. Handy.’

‘It really is.’ The wind flipped her fringe around above her eyes, the fur around her hood framing her face. She went on, explaining the features of the app that controlled the lights. She was smaller than him by several inches. He found himself watching the movement of her mouth in the light from the streetlamps.

She paused uncertainly. ‘What?’

He dragged his gaze up to her eyes. Softly, he said, ‘I’ve enjoyed tonight. What do you think about doing it again?’ Although they’d had a good evening he wasn’t sure of her feelings towards him. She wasn’t obvious, like Pippa, who, on their first date, had touched him a hundred times, her hand on his arm or her leg brushing his.

Laurel’s lips curved into a smile. ‘Sounds good. We could go after painting on Saturday. The pub won’t mind our painting gear, will they?’

He tilted his head, smiling at the idea of the village pub having a picky dress code. ‘Probably not. But I was thinking about a wine bar in Bettsbrough or a restaurant in Peterborough. And non-painting clothes.’

Her gaze became solemn. ‘A date?’

‘That would be great.’ He smiled again, willing her to smile back.

She didn’t. ‘Was tonight a date?’

Not knowing the answer, he stroked her arm, the sleeve of her coat cold and damp. ‘In the last couple of weeks I’ve discovered I haven’t stopped liking you, Laurel.’ Giving her plenty of time to step away, he lowered his head to kiss her. His lips brushed hers, then again. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple, sliding his other arm around her and shifting closer.

After the slightest hesitation her hands came up to his shoulders and she angled her head so that her lips found his, softly, hesitantly. He let her set the pace and was rewarded when she relaxed against him, though the contact was light through her thick coat.

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