A New Year Marriage Proposal

‘The opening of the Wylde Ward and the virtual Santa,’ he echoed, and smiled at her. ‘It’s nice that it’s named after your dad.’

‘And my mum,’ she pointed out.

‘That’s nice,’ he said again, feeling horrendously awkward and not quite sure how to deal with this. Things had suddenly become a lot more complicated.

‘Help yourself before it gets cold.’ She indicated the food.

What he’d thought would be plain vegetables had clearly been cooked with a spice mix. A gorgeous one. And the polenta fries were to die for. ‘If you ever get bored with being a lawyer,’ he said, ‘I think you’d make a good chef.’

‘Cook,’ she corrected. ‘Maybe.’

‘Didn’t you ever think about being a musician? I mean, given what your dad did?’

She shook her head. ‘I can play the piano a bit, but I don’t have that extra spark that Dad had. And life as a musician isn’t an easy one. In the early days, he and Mum lived pretty much hand to mouth. He was so lucky that the right break came at the right time.’ She paused. ‘What about you? Do you come from a long line of inventors?’

Quinn didn’t have a clue who his father was. And the family he’d been dumped on...well. He’d just been a burden to them. The unwanted nephew. One who definitely hadn’t planned to spend his career working in their corner shop, which in turn had made him even more unwanted. ‘No.’

He’d sounded shorter than he’d meant to, because it killed the conversation dead. She just ate her tuna steak and looked faintly awkward.

In the end, he sighed. ‘Why is it I constantly feel the need to apologise around you?’

‘Because you’re being a grumpy idiot?’ she suggested.

‘You don’t pull your punches, do you?’ he asked wryly. ‘I hope I never end up in court in front of you.’

‘I’m a solicitor, not a barrister,’ she said. ‘Gramps’s chambers would’ve taken me on as a pupil but...’ she pulled a face ‘...I didn’t really want to do all the performance stuff. Wearing the robes and the wig, doing all the flashy rhetoric and showing off in front of a jury. I prefer the backroom stuff—working with the law, with words and people.’

‘So it’s in the family? Being a lawyer?’

‘On my mum’s side, yes. I think Gramps was a bit disappointed that she never became a lawyer, but she met Dad at a gig when she was a student, fell in love with him, and then I came along.’ She smiled. ‘Though I think Gramps was quite pleased when he realised I was more likely to follow in his footsteps than in Dad’s.’

Quinn had had nobody’s footsteps to follow in. He’d made his own way. ‘I guess that made it easier for you.’

‘More like it meant I had something to live up to,’ she corrected.

He’d never thought of it that way before—that privilege could also be a burden. Tabitha’s friends and family had all been privileged, and they’d taken their easy life for granted; they’d also looked down on those who’d had to work for what they had, like him. Clearly Clarissa saw things very differently.

‘I had to be the best, because I couldn’t let Gramps down,’ she continued. ‘If I fell flat on my face, it wouldn’t just be me that looked an idiot. No way would I do that to him. I wanted him to be proud of me, not embarrassed by my incompetence.’

Quinn hadn’t known Carissa for very long, but incompetence was a word he’d never associate with her. And he’d just bet that her grandparents adored her as much as her parents obviously had, because her voice was full of affection rather than fear or faint dislike. ‘Do your grandparents know what you’re doing about the ward?’

‘The ward itself, yes, of course—Gramps was really good at helping me cut through the red tape and pushing the building work through endless committees. Plus, obviously he’s one of the trustees. But I haven’t told them anything about the virtual Santa. I wanted to make sure it could work first.’

‘If you hadn’t met me, what would you have done about it?’ he asked, suddenly curious.

‘Found a programmer. Talked to his clients. Offered him a large bonus to get the job done in my timescale.’ She shrugged. ‘Standard stuff. But it’s irrelevant now, because I’ve met you.’

‘How do you know I could...?’ he began, and then stopped. ‘You talked to some of my clients, didn’t you?’

‘I couldn’t possibly answer that,’ she said, making her face impassive and clearing away their empty plates.

He sighed.

‘OK. I won’t say who I spoke to, but they said that if you run a project then it’ll work the way it’s supposed to work. No compromises and no mistakes.’

He prided himself on that. ‘Yes.’

‘And that you call a spade a spade rather than a digging implement,’ she added with a grin.

‘What would you call a spade?’ he asked.

‘That rather depends on the context.’

He smiled. ‘A very lawyerly response.’

‘It’s who I am,’ she said.

‘No. You’re more than your job,’ he said. ‘You could’ve just got the rest of your dad’s band to come and play some of his most famous songs at the opening. That would’ve been enough to wow everyone. But you went the extra mile. You’re arranging a very special Santa for the kids. It’s personal—and I don’t mean just for them, I mean for you.’

‘That hospital saved my life when I was a baby. I owe them,’ she said. ‘The virus meant that I was more prone to chest infections when I was really small, and I can remember spending my fourth birthday in hospital with pneumonia, being too ill for a birthday party and balloons and cake. The staff were really kind, but I knew what I was missing. And being in hospital at Christmas is especially hard on kids. They miss out on Santa and all the parties. It’s hard on their families, too. I just want to put a bit of sparkle into their day and make a difficult Christmas that little bit better for them.’

‘Christmas isn’t always good outside hospital,’ he said, and then he could have kicked himself for letting the words slip out.

Carissa, just as he’d half expected, homed straight in to the crux of the matter. Even though she’d just brought the box of macarons over to the table and looked thrilled when she opened it, she didn’t let the pudding distract her. ‘Is that why you don’t like Christmas?’

No way was he going to discuss that subject with her. ‘I don’t like the greed and commercialism surrounding Christmas,’ he said. Which was true. Just not the whole truth.

‘So you don’t believe that the spirit of Christmas exists any more?’ she asked, putting the macarons on a plate.

‘Do you?’ he asked, throwing the question back at her because he didn’t want to admit that the spirit of Christmas had never really existed for him.

‘Yes, I do. My parents always made a big deal about Christmas, and I love this time of year. OK, the year they died was different—it’s pretty hard to enjoy Christmas when you’re fifteen years old and planning a funeral for the two people you love most in the world.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘But, other than that year, I’ve always tried to keep it the way they kept it, full of love and happiness. Just how it should be.’

The complete opposite of the Christmases he remembered. Full of misery and wishing the day was over. Knowing that he wasn’t really wanted and was in the way—he’d always had presents, yes, but they’d been on a much smaller scale than those of his cousins because he didn’t really belong. He’d been a charity case. Sometimes, as a child, he’d thought he would’ve been better off in a children’s home.

* * *

A man who hated Christmas.

It was so far removed from Carissa’s own view that it intrigued her. Why didn’t Quinn like Christmas? Had he had a tough childhood, maybe? Grown up in a family where Christmas had been a source of tension and worry?

It would explain why he didn’t like the commercialism. When money was tight, tempers tended to fray as well. She’d seen the results of that first-hand when she’d helped at the refuge. And yet the women there still tried to make Christmas good for their kids and put their own feelings aside.

She knew she really ought to let this go. Quinn had already shown himself to be a private man. This was none of her business. And she knew, too, that her best friend would call her on it. Erica would say that Carissa had gone straight into Ms Fixit mode as a way of avoiding the fact that she was attracted to Quinn, and it scared her stupid. Fixing things—like making Christmas good again for Quinn—meant that Carissa didn’t have to face up to her past.

It was probably true.

Definitely true, she thought wryly. And another way of making Quinn safe to be around.