Miracle Under The Mistletoe

‘The cafе changed hands last year and, apparently, the new owner is French and only uses French milled flour for his croissants and pastries,’ Molly informed him, wiping her buttery fingers on a paper napkin.

‘Really? Well, good for him. It’s obviously paying dividends.’

Sean grinned at her, thinking how pretty she looked that day. She was wearing a pale pink sweater and jeans and she looked so young and so fresh as she sat there, enjoying her breakfast, that it was little wonder that he had always loved being with her. And it was that thought which helped to unleash all sorts of memories he had thought he had buried.

‘Remember those croissants we used to buy from the supermarket?’ he said reminiscently. ‘We used to heat them in the microwave so they were always slightly soggy yet we still ate them.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Molly said quietly, wishing that he hadn’t brought up the subject. It had become a sort of ritual for them—if their days off had coincided then Sean would make coffee for them while she warmed up the croissants and then they would take everything back to bed. More often than not the coffee would grow cold because once they were under the covers the inevitable would happen …

‘We didn’t always get to eat them, though, did we, Molly?’

His tone was brooding and she knew that he was remembering what had happened, how their desire for each other had overruled everything else. Sean had wanted her just as much as she had wanted him, which made his subsequent actions all the more difficult to understand. All of a sudden, Molly realised that she needed to know what had gone wrong, why he had ended their affair so abruptly and with so little warning.