Christmas at Butterfly Cove: A delightfully feel-good festive romance!

‘That’s very kind of you, Luke. I must say it’s good to see you, again. Nee’s been doing a wonderful job of sorting things out, but another pair of hands certainly won’t go amiss. It… it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it’s still difficult.’ There wasn’t even a ripple of surprise in her father’s voice, like her estranged husband turning up out of the blue was the most natural thing in the world. That familiar cough of his came again. ‘Right, well, I think I’ll put the kettle on. Will you have something, Luke?’

‘Cup of coffee would be brilliant, thanks, Mr Thorpe.’

‘I think we’re past time for you to call me George. Coffee’s only instant, I’m afraid, we’ve run out of pods for the machine. Lots of visitors, you see. Everyone’s been very kind. Come on through to the kitchen when you’re both ready.’

Laughter sputtered through her tears at their exchange of mundane pleasantries, as if she wasn’t falling to noisy pieces in front of them. She grabbed for the laugh, tried to hold on to it and bring herself back under control, but now acknowledged the grief wouldn’t be denied. Luke pressed a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Take all the time you need.’ She nodded, all she could manage before the tears swamped her again.

When she finally felt able to lift her face from the now-sodden front of his coat, she’d lost track of time. Limp, exhausted, like she’d cried for a week. Luke tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, an infinitely tender gesture, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Silence hung between them as he waited her out, broken only by the faint strains of her father whistling along to some classical tune on the radio. China rattled against wood, followed by the metallic clink of cutlery. If her dad was laying the table still, they couldn’t have been standing there as long as she’d thought.

Inertia held her in its claws. She should move, step back and at least give Luke a chance to take his coat off. But if she broke the moment, she’d have to deal with all the bitter truths she’d just wept out on his shoulder. That was the trouble with life. It didn’t wait for you to catch your breath, didn’t care if you were ready or not, it just kept coming at you. Move. Drop your arms. Take a step back. Her fingers clung stubbornly to the back of his coat, her feet glued to the spot.

A loud grumble rolled from his midriff, and Luke chuckled as he continued to smooth his hands up and down her back. ‘My stomach smells whatever your dad’s toasting.’

‘Probably crumpets.’ She’d made a trip to the supermarket that morning, anything to get out of the house for a little while. They hadn’t needed much—mostly refills for the coffee machine, which was the one thing she’d forgotten, of course—so she’d wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles grabbing random things that wouldn’t take much thought and even less effort to prepare. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had crumpets, but they’d appealed to her enough to end up in the trolley.

He gave an exaggerated groan. ‘Have pity on a man. Next you’ll be telling me there’s strawberry jam to put on them.’

‘You always had such a sweet tooth.’ She saw him in her mind’s eye, covers pooled at his waist, Sunday papers strewn across the bed as he munched his way through a mountain of jammy toast and endless cups of coffee. His breath whispered against her cheek, and it would be so easy to turn her head, to seek out his lips and pretend the past year had been an aberration. But this wasn’t one of those time-slip stories. She couldn’t wish herself back to another point in time and tread a different path.

Tasting the bitterness of that truth on the back of her tongue, she stepped back. His arms lingered, a brief resistance to her attempt to retreat before he let her go. And so he should. Luke might be here with the best of intentions, but she didn’t deserve the easy comfort of his presence. People didn’t just forgive and forget, and even if he believed he was different in that, she wasn’t the hopeful girl he’d fallen in love with. ‘Let me take your coat, and we’ll see what Dad’s rustled together for tea.’

He ducked his head, trying to catch her eye, but she fixed her gaze at a point over his shoulder as she held out her hand. Tension filled his frame for a moment, before he released it on a sigh and quickly unbuttoned his coat. She busied herself with hanging it on the row of hooks, fussing at the soggy mess she’d made on the front until he caught her hand and pulled it away. The firm grip on her fingers told her he wasn’t about to let go in a hurry, so she chose to ignore the way her palm slotted perfectly into his as she led him down the short hallway.

The gilt-edged frame of a mirror caught her eye, but she ignored that too, knowing she’d see nothing good in it. Her eyes itched, that awful dry-burn which came after too many tears, and the skin around her nose felt raw. Fixing the best smile she could muster on her lips, she entered the kitchen, pausing when she saw the feast laid out on the table. ‘Oh, Dad, this looks brilliant.’

George shrugged a little awkwardly. ‘It was no bother, and I thought Luke would probably be hungry after his journey.’ He turned to Luke who was pulling out the chair next to the one she’d chosen, ‘You came up on the train? The service from London is pretty good, I find.’ Another attempt by her dad at polite small talk, she assumed, because she might not have seen him for a few years, but he’d always been a creature of habit and trips to the capital weren’t something she ever remembered him making.

Luke nodded. ‘Euston’s pretty easy access for me, too, which helped.’ He reached for the mug George held out to him. ‘Thanks. Nee’s right, this looks great.’

George passed a mug of tea to Nee then took a seat opposite. ‘Please, help yourselves. I didn’t know what you would want, so I put a bit of everything out.’ His smile faltered. ‘Everyone’s been very generous, we’ve more food than I know what to do with. If you’d prefer something hot…’

He made to stand, but Luke waved the hand already gripping a crumpet at him. ‘No, no. This is perfect, honestly.’

Nee added a dash of milk to her tea and watched in silence as the two men filled their plates with a selection of sandwiches, cold meat and, in Luke’s case, a slab of fruit cake to go with the crumpet already dripping in jam. He paused, the crumpet inches from his mouth, fixing a determined look on her. ‘Eat something.’ Order given, and it was most definitely an order, he stuffed about half the crumpet in his mouth and closed his eyes with a happy sigh.

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse him, a tiny spark of heated indignation breaking through the suffocating weight of sadness blanketing her, but two things stopped her. Firstly, she was bloody starving for the first time in days. Secondly, he’d come when she hadn’t known she needed him, when she’d given him no reason to ever want to be near her again.

Helping herself to some fruit and cheese, she ate in silence as Luke told her dad about the newest addition to Aaron and Kiki’s family, and the ‘surprise’ party they’d thrown for his brother the previous month. It sounded like he’d had a great time with everyone, reinforcing her decision to leave Butterfly Cove as the right one, even if it caused a pang of regret at the same time.

He cut himself another slice of fruit cake, adding a thinner piece to her plate at the same time. Raising an eyebrow at his presumptuous action got her little more than a cocky grin in return. Damn him for knowing how much she loved fruit cake – they’d treated themselves to a Fortnum’s one as part of their homemade wedding supper. Memories of that day swamped her, bringing the fresh sting of tears to her eyes. His smile faltered and she bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the waterworks. ‘I’m okay. Thanks for the cake.’

‘I’m being bossy, sorry.’ He didn’t try too hard to look contrite, whatever his words.

‘It’s fine.’ She didn’t examine her own motives for acquiescing so easily. Being taken care of was too bloody nice.

‘In that case, when you’ve finished that, I’ll make you another cup of tea and you can take it up to bed with you.’

Give a man an inch… ‘I’m going to have a bath.’ A pathetic little rebellion, but she wouldn’t let him push her around too much.

He nodded. ‘Fine. Bath, then bed.’ She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep the corner of her mouth from twitching in amusement.

‘I think we could all do with an early night,’ her father interjected with a slightly desperate attempt at diplomacy. ‘There’s clean bedding in the airing cupboard so it won’t take me two minutes to make up one of the other rooms, unless…’ George trailed off, colour rising in his cheeks.

Oh. God. He couldn’t possibly think she and Luke would be sharing a room, could he? Nee gaped at her father, feeling her own blush heat her skin. Luke surely wouldn’t expect it…

She didn’t dare wait for him to respond. ‘I’ve already made up Kiki’s bed ready for tomorrow, but Luke can use Mia’s old room.’ Her elder sister had decided to stay with Pat and Bill, the parents of her late husband. They remained close and had welcomed Daniel into their family with a graceful ease few possessed. The couple would be spending Christmas with their other children and grandchildren, so Mia wanted to catch up with them while she could. Kiki’s children were staying home with Madeline and Richard, who had also agreed to look after the couple of artists staying at the studios until Mia and Daniel returned. No one had mentioned Luke to her when they’d been making arrangements, and she wondered whether they even knew he’d shown up. They’ll find out soon enough when they arrive.

Needing to escape, she pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll make up the bed while my bath is running.’

The bland expression on Luke’s face told her nothing. ‘Thanks. I’ll fetch your tea up in a minute.’

Chapter Six (#ulink_a0c62b5f-5816-5f5f-8f09-1c3d67a02453)

Luke waited until he could hear the water running upstairs, then stood and began to clear the table. George rose and began to work beside him silently, although Luke could tell he had something on his mind. He refilled the kettle, wiping down the spaces on the kitchen table as the older man cleared them and bided his time. Now he’d set his mind to things, he had all the patience in the world. Nee was his, until the day she said otherwise, and nothing would stand in the way of that. He’d had a long chat with Mia on the phone before he’d travelled up, and though she’d issued a number of outrageously dire warnings to him, she’d eventually come onboard with his plans.

The kettle bubbled and steamed and the loud click of the automatic cut-off switch set Luke into motion, rinsing their cups out, going through the familiar ritual of tea-making. ‘Coffee?’ he asked George, with a quick glance across to him.

‘Tea, please. I think I’ll take it upstairs with me, if you don’t mind?’ George brushed a few imaginary crumbs off the front of his neatly buttoned cardigan, then set his shoulders in a way that told Luke he’d made up his mind to speak. Abandoning the tea for now, he put his back to the kettle, giving his father-in-law his full attention. Face to face, he could see the girls had inherited their brown eyes from him, as well as a certain stubbornness around the jawline.

George folded his arms with a sigh. ‘I’m probably the last man with any rights to behave like a protective father, but I’m going to anyway.’ Luke nodded. He’d learnt about the difficulties within the Thorpe family over the past year, as neither himself nor Nee had spoken much about their backgrounds during their madcap courtship. ‘She’s lost all her spark, my poor girl, and I need to know whether that is down to you.’

A reasonable assumption, given all the man knew was that his daughter had walked out on her husband. ‘She wasn’t like this last summer, I swear. Kiki thinks it’s to do with whatever happened in New York. Has Nee said anything to you about it?’

‘Not a word. She spent most of her time at the care home, before, you know…’ A tight, painful expression crossed George’s face. ‘I went when I could, but I had to sit outside the room to avoid upsetting Vivian, and it didn’t seem fair to leave her alone.’

Luke tried to imagine the agony of it, especially for someone as self-contained as George. The excruciating embarrassment as people speculated and gossiped about the man who couldn’t even enter his wife’s room. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’ Such inane, pathetic words, but they were all he had.