She was still smiling. ‘You’ll be lucky if they tell you. The coffee in here has been this good for years. My gran and I used to come here all the time.’
Her voice quietened. He wanted to ask some more but it felt like prying. Could he really go there?
He went back to safer territory. ‘The Christmas stuff. You seem to really enjoy it.’
She gave him a careful stare. Her voice was soft. ‘I do. I’ve always loved Christmas. It’s my favourite time of year.’ She stretched her fingers across the table and brushed them against his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I know you said you didn’t like it.’
He took a deep breath. The coffee was excellent in here. The food was surprisingly good. And the company…the company was intriguing.
Grace was polite, well-mannered and good at her job. She was also excellent at the unexpected job he’d flung on her the other day. She’d more than delivered.
It was more than a little distracting that she was also incredibly beautiful. But it was an understated beauty. Shiny hair and a pair of deep dark brown eyes that could hide a million secrets. But it wasn’t the secrets that intrigued him. It was the sincerity.
Grace didn’t feel like the kind of person who would tell lies. She seemed inherently good. All the staff at the hotel liked her. Frank was strangely protective of her.
He took a deep breath. ‘It’s not that I don’t like it. I know I said that—’
She touched his hand again. ‘No, you said you hated it.’
He nodded. ‘Okay, I said I hated it. And I have. For the last five years. But I didn’t always hate it. I had great Christmases as a kid. My sister and I always enjoyed Christmas with our mum and dad.’
Grace pressed her lips together. ‘I’ve spent all my Christmases with my gran. My mum…’ She paused as she searched for the words, ‘My mum had me when she was very young. My dad was never on the scene. I was brought up by my gran.’
‘Your mum wasn’t around?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Not much. She’s married now—lives in Australia—and has a new family. I have two half-brothers.’ Her gaze was fixated on her plate of food. ‘She’s very happy.’
‘Do you talk?’
Grace looked up. ‘Yes. Of course. Just…not much. We have a relationship of sorts.’
‘What does that mean?’
Grace sighed and gave a shrug. ‘I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman. There’s not much point in holding a grudge against someone who couldn’t cope with a baby as a teenager. I had a good life with my gran. And we had the best Christmases together.’
He got the feeling she was taking the conversation away from her family circumstances and back onto Christmas.
‘Is that where your love of Christmas came from?’
She smiled again and got a little sparkle in her eyes. ‘Gran and I used to watch lots of black and white films, and we especially loved the Christmas-themed ones. We had a whole load of handmade ornaments. Spray-painted pine cones were our favourites. We did a lot of Christmas baking. We couldn’t afford a real tree every year but we always had a holly wreath and I loved the smell.’ There was something in her voice. Something in the tone. These were all happy memories—loving memories. But he could hear the wistfulness as she spoke.
He’d told her the biggest event in his life. It didn’t matter that he’d blurted it out in anger with a whole host of other things. Grace knew probably the most important thing about him.
Him? He knew very little about her. It was like peeling back a layer at a time. And the further he peeled back the layers, the more he liked her.
She looked out of the window. ‘I love Christmas—especially when it snows. It makes it just a little more magical. I love when night falls and you can look out across the dark city and see snow-covered roofs. I always automatically want to watch the sky to see if I can spot Santa’s sleigh.’
‘Aren’t you a little old for Santa?’ Her eyes were sparkling. She really did love the magic of Christmas. The thing that for the last five years he’d well and truly lost.
It made him realise how sad he’d been. How much he’d isolated himself. Sure, plenty of people didn’t like Christmas. Lots of people around the world didn’t celebrate it.
But, when it had been a part of your life for so long, and then something had destroyed it, the reminder of what it could be circulated around his mind.
She set down her knife and fork. ‘Finlay Armstrong, are you telling me there’s no Santa?’ She said it in such a warm, friendly voice that it pulled him back from his thoughts without any regrets.
He pushed his plate away. ‘Grace Ellis, I would never say something like that.’
She wagged her finger at him as her phone beeped. ‘Just as well. In that case I won’t need to tell you off.’ She glanced at her phone. ‘Oh, great, the light bulbs have arrived.’ She reached around for her pink coat and woolly hat. Her eyes were shining again. ‘Come on, Finlay. Let’s light up The Armstrong!’
How on earth could he say no?
‘I HAVE THE perfect dress for you.’ Mrs Archer clapped her hands together. ‘You’ll love it!’
‘What?’ Grace was stunned out of her reverie. She’d spent the last few days in a fog. A fog named Finlay Armstrong.
He’d managed to commandeer staff from every department and they’d spent two hours—Finlay included—replacing the light bulbs on the external display. Five specially phoned-in maintenance men had hung the purple and white strips down either side of the exterior of The Armstrong.
As they’d stood together on the opposite side of the street to get a better look, Finlay had given her a nudge. ‘It does look good, Grace. You were right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’
The closed-off man who apparently had a reputation as a recluse was coming out of his shell. Except Finlay hadn’t been in a shell. Grace got the impression he’d been in a dark cave where the only thing he’d let penetrate was work.
He was smiling more. His shoulders didn’t seem quite so tense. Since their first meeting he’d never shouted, never been impolite. Only for the briefest second did she see something cloud his eyes before it was pushed away again. Even Frank had commented on the changes in the last few days.
She nudged Finlay back. ‘Just wait until next year. I’ll pick a whole new colour scheme and bankrupt you in light bulbs!’ She’d been so happy, so excited that things had worked out she’d actually winked at him.
Winked. All she could do right now was cringe.
But the wink hadn’t scared him off. Every time she’d turned around in the last two days, Finlay had been there—asking her about something, talking to her about other pieces of interior design work she might be interested in. Getting her to sit down and chat.
They’d had another lunch together. Around four coffees. And a makeshift dinner—a Chinese take-away in the office one night.
She’d even found herself telling him about the Elizabethan-style chairs she’d found in a junk shop and spent weeks re-covering and re-staining on her own.
Last night she hadn’t slept a wink. Her brain had been trying to work out what on earth was going on between them. Was she reading this all wrong? Had it really been that long since she’d dated that she couldn’t work out the signals any more?
‘Ta-da!’