It was time to get these gifts wrapped and get on with some work.
So why, when she entered his office, did she feel a small ripple of disappointment to see Ethan behind his desk, intent on his computer screen, exuding professionalism?
His glance up as she entered was perfunctory at best.
She hesitated. ‘If you want to get on with some work I can wrap these later.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ One broad hand swept the contents of the desktop to one side.
‘Right. Here goes. I’ve got a list that details each person and their gift.’
His body stilled. ‘You bought individual gifts?’
‘Yes. I called the social workers, got a few numbers for foster carers and residential home workers and chatted to some people. Just to find out a bit about them all, so I could buy something personal.’
His eyes rested on her with an indecipherable expression.
‘Hey... Like you would say, it’s no big deal.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘No—really. To be honest, it’s kind of therapeutic. In a weird way I feel like I’m doing it for myself. The me of all those years ago. Because I can remember what it was like in care, being the person with the token present. That was the worst of it—having to be grateful for gifts that were impersonal. Don’t get me wrong—some carers really tried. But they didn’t know me well enough to know what I wanted. Others couldn’t be bothered to get to know me. So I’d get orange-flavoured chocolate when I only liked milk, or a top that I loathed and that didn’t fit.’
For heaven’s sake!
‘That all sounds petty, doesn’t it? But I want these kids to get a gift they want—not something generic.’
‘Like a key ring or a chocolate bar?’ he said, and a rueful smile touched his lips.
‘Is that what you thought I’d bought?’
‘Yes. I guess I should have known better.’ Ethan rose to his feet. ‘Come on.’
‘Where to?’
‘Let’s do this properly. We’ll wrap in the bar and you can show me what you bought everyone and brief me on what you found out about them. I’ll light the fire and we’ll have a drink.’
‘What about work?’
The rueful smile became even more rueful, mixed with charm, and Ruby concentrated on keeping her breathing steady.
‘I think we have done all we can do. The seating plan looks fine, the food is sorted, the wine is sorted, the auction is sorted and the band is booked. The banqueting hall furniture arrives after the Christmas period. All in all, I think we may have run out of work.’
He was right—and she knew exactly why that smile was now packed with regret...because without work to focus on what would they do with themselves?
She looked down at the presents she carried. The answer to that problem was to wrap fast, then flee to bed. Alone.
RUBY WATCHED AS Ethan lit the fire, his movements deft, the tug of denim against the muscles of his thighs holding her gaze as he squatted by the flames.
Stop with the ogling.
She forced herself to lay out the silver paper patterned with snowflakes and the list of gifts on the table. A sip of the deep red wine Ethan had poured for them both and then she waited until he sat opposite her.
‘Here,’ she said, and handed over the first present. ‘This one is for Max: he’s one of the boys in residential care and he’s really into music—specifically rap, which I have to admit I know nothing about. So I did some research, conferred with his key worker at the home, and we came up with this T-shirt. It’s the right size, and it’s a cool label, so...’
Ethan shook the T-shirt out and nodded approval at the slogan. Folding it up again, he kept his eyes on her. ‘It must have taken a fair amount of time to research each and every one of them and then find what you wanted. You should have told me. I’d have lightened your workload.’
‘No way. I was happy to do it on my own time. Plus, you’ve hardly been idle yourself. You’ve briefed the surf instructors, sourced the caterers, the billiards table, co-ordinated all the paperwork—and you’re also running a global business.’
Ruby frowned, wondering why he never seemed to realise just how much he did.
He broke off a piece of tape with a deft snap. ‘What I’ve done is generic—I could have set this up for any group of teenagers in care. You’ve made it personal.’
‘Yes, I have. But I couldn’t have done that if you hadn’t set it up in the first place. Plus...’ She hesitated. ‘What you’ve done is personal too. You’re giving them what helped you. The opportunity to surf, to do other water sport, to expend energy and vent frustration in a positive way. So what you’ve done isn’t generic, and I won’t let you believe it is. You care about these kids.’ With a sudden flash of insight she blurted, ‘Did you grow up on an estate? Like the one some of these kids are from?’ The one he’d described as ‘notorious’.
For a second she thought he wouldn’t answer; the only sound was the crackle of the logs. Then he dropped the wrapped T-shirt into a bag and lifted his broad shoulders in an I-suppose-there’s-no-harm-in-answering shrug.
‘Yes, I did. So I relate to where these kids have come from—a tough background, maybe abuse, neglect, parents on drugs and alcohol or in prison. It’s easy for them to get into trouble, join a gang, because there’s nothing else to do and no one to stop them. And then they do what their parents did—steal, deal...whatever it takes. All these kids are in that cycle, and I’d like to show them there are other choices. Not just by giving them Christmas, but by giving them incentive. If they can go away from here and stay clean for a few months they can come back and take other opportunities if they want to. I want to give them a chance to get off the wheel.’
‘Like you did?’
‘No.’
His voice was harsh now, and the dark pain that etched his features made her yearn to reach out.
‘I didn’t have their excuse. My dad was a lowlife—apparently he yo-yoed in and out of prison—but my mum tossed him out when I was tiny. The time he went down for armed robbery she said enough was enough. Mum didn’t drink or do drugs, and any neglect was because she was out at work all day so she could put food on the table. God knows, she did her best—but it wasn’t enough. I jumped onto the wheel all by myself. Like father, like son.’
The words sounded like a quote, the derision in them painful, and Ruby tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. ‘I’m guessing you got into trouble—but it’s like you said yourself. In an environment like a troubled estate that’s understandable. The point is you got off that wheel and out of trouble. Look at you now—your mum must be proud.’
It was the wrong thing to have said; his face was padlocked and his eyes flecked with ice. Surely his mother hadn’t been the one to make the father-son comparison?
Disbelief morphed into anger as she saw his expression. ‘You are not a lowlife.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’ His eyes were dark now, his voice vibrating with mockery, though she wasn’t sure if he was