Mistletoe Mother. Josie Metcalfe

faster rhythm.

      ‘So when are you free? This afternoon?’

      Ella couldn’t think. Not with her hand still firmly held in his. Had he forgotten it was there or was he holding it hostage until he’d pinned her down to a specific time?

      ‘Um. I think so. Yes. I’ve been rostered for a short day, as it’s my first day here, in case there was any paperwork still to be sorted out. I know there isn’t because I went to the personnel department yesterday after I’d picked up my uniforms.’

      ‘So, what time shall we meet and where? Do you know the area at all? Do you know if there are any shops around here that specialise in things like Christmas decorations? It’s not something I’ve had much experience with buying.’

      She gave her hand a little tug and for the briefest second he seemed strangely reluctant to release her, then let go of her hand with a jerk as though suddenly remembering where they were and what he was doing.

      ‘I’m due to finish at three, but—’

      ‘But that will depend on whether you’re in the middle of a delivery,’ he finished for her. ‘You don’t have to tell me how it works.’ He thought for a minute. ‘I’ll come up at three to see how the land lies and we can take it from there. Did you drive to work this morning or shall we go in my car?’

      Ella’s head was still whirling with the speed of events long after he’d left the room. Thank goodness the department was so quiet. She wasn’t at all sure that she would have been capable of concentrating on managing even the most straightforward delivery.

      Even the simple task of wandering around the department to get an idea of just how many doors and windows there were seemed to be beyond her. It wasn’t until she nearly tripped over her own feet that she finally got her head on straight and began to think logically. She even managed to take a wicked delight in weaving a web of suspense about what she was up to, carefully keeping Seth’s part in the plans strictly to herself.

      It nearly drove the rest of the staff mad as they pestered her for details. It was only when a couple of them cornered her during her lunch-break that she realised that the decorating of the department was an annual bugbear that everyone tried to palm off to whoever didn’t run fast enough in the opposite direction.

      As the newest member of staff she had been a sitting duck.

      ‘Well, this duck won’t quack,’ she murmured to herself, knowing that her mysterious grins and misleading hints were putting everyone off the scent. As if she’d actually intended taking the tinsel home to iron the crumpled sections!

      On the other hand, the patients were thoroughly enjoying the situation, taking an almost evil glee in winding the rest of the staff up for her.

      As she’d gone into each room, from the four-bedded wards to the single-occupancy rooms, she’d sworn each inmate to secrecy before explaining what she was doing.

      Several of them had offered suggestions, either of decorating schemes or of good places to find the decorations at a reasonable price.

      By the time three o’clock came around without a potential new arrival in sight, Ella had a notepad full of diagrams, measurements and totals and was ready to go.

      The sight of Seth’s dark head appearing round the door of the staff lounge was enough to double her heart rate, but she determinedly told herself that it was just a result of their subterfuge.

      ‘You’re ready,’ he said with a satisfied nod. ‘I’ll get the car and meet you down by the entrance to the staff car park.’

      ‘Um…’ She paused, suddenly tongue-tied because she didn’t know what to call him. ‘Ah, Mr Gifford, I don’t know—’

      ‘Ella, it’s Seth,’ he interrupted quietly. ‘I’m only Mr Gifford in front of the patients. OK?’

      ‘OK.’ She swallowed, surprised by how intimate it felt to be invited to use his first name. ‘I was only going to say that I don’t know what your car looks like.’

      ‘It’s white. A BMW, 3-series.’

      She couldn’t help the grin.

      ‘What’s wrong with that?’ His forehead pleated in a swift frown.

      ‘I wouldn’t know a 3-series from a moon-rocket,’ she explained with a chuckle. ‘But I do know what the BMW logo looks like on the bonnet and I know the colour white.’

      He raised his eyes in typical male exasperation and one corner of his mouth actually lifted in a wry grin before he raised a hand in farewell and let the door close behind him.