A Yorkshire Christmas (15 page)
He heard the clatter of Molly coming down the stairs, and turned to greet her, forcing a smile onto his face.
“Happy Christmas, Moll.”
His little girl hurled herself into his arms, surprising Noah and making his heart sing even as the worries and doubts about Claire whispered in his mind. “Happy Christmas, Dad,” she said, and before Noah could say anything else, she slid out of his arms and looked around the empty kitchen. “Where’s Claire?”
“She’s at her place, Molly.”
“But…” Molly frowned, the happiness in her eyes winking out like a candle. “I thought she was spending Christmas with us.”
“She is,” Noah assured his daughter, although suddenly he didn’t feel so sure. “But it’s still early.”
Molly nodded slowly, and Noah hated how her thin little shoulders slumped in defeat. Hated how his insides jolted with fear and disappointment and heartache. Hell, he didn’t want to wait for Claire to come back to him. She’d been spooked by what had happened, the reality of the morning after, just as he had been. He got that. But he also got that Christmas wasn’t Christmas without Claire.
“I’ve got an idea,” he told Molly, and she looked up warily. “How about we go over to Holly Cottage and wish Claire a Happy Christmas?” Molly’s face brightened and Noah continued, “And then we’ll bring back her here.”
*
Claire trudged through
the heavy, melting snow, blinking back tears and hating how hurt she felt. How heartbroken. It was surely too much emotion for a man she’d met a handful of days ago.
That’s just an excuse. You’re falling in love with Noah, and he doesn’t feel the same way about you. How could he?
She wrenched open the door to Holly Cottage, kicking off her boots and fighting the urge to scream into the silence.
None of it was real. None of it was meant to last.
The voices in her head were insistent, mocking, awful. Claire put her hands to her ears as if she could stop them, but of course she couldn’t. And so she did the only thing she could do, the one thing she needed to do.
She cried.
The sobs came from a place deep inside her, huge wrenching gulps that tore at her soul. She was, she knew, crying for so many things—her lonely childhood, her wretched almost-affair with Mark, her pseudo-relationship with Noah. All of it.
She didn’t know how long she cried only that she’d collapsed into an armchair, the sobs having subsided to sniffles, when she heard a knock on the door.
With a cold ripple of shock she saw the outlines of two figures through the frosted glass—Noah and Molly.
Hurriedly Claire wiped at her cheeks, but a quick glance in the mirror told her that she wouldn’t be fooling anybody. Her eyes were puffy and red, her face swollen. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
Noah jerked back when he saw her, clearly surprised by how awful she looked, but Molly barely noticed, just wrapped her arms around Claire’s middle.
“Happy Christmas, Claire!” she sang out, and Claire met Noah’s gaze over Molly’s head. Something silent passed between them; Claire suspected Noah knew why she was crying, and she didn’t know how she felt about that.
“We came to bring you back home,” Molly explained, and at that simple, heartfelt statement, Claire nearly started crying again.
She went upstairs to change, and a few minutes later walked back across the snowy fields to Ayesgill Farm. Stepping inside the cozy kitchen, the whole house smelling of pine and evergreen, really did feel like coming home.
As soon as they’d got inside, Molly rushed to open her stocking, which Claire and Noah had filled with an assortment of candy and small toys they’d found around the house. Nothing particularly showy or special, but Molly seemed delighted with it all.
Noah looked worried at the single wrapped present under the tree, but Molly didn’t seem to care that she only had one. And the look on her face when she saw the notebook and Noah explained about her drawing…
It was almost another time for tears.
After Molly had gone upstairs to put away her notebook and stocking stuff, Claire went into the kitchen to figure out Christmas dinner. Noah had bought a turkey, and she thought she could manage a few side dishes. She wasn’t sure what they’d do about dessert…
“Claire.”
Claire stilled, her back to Noah, everything in her tensing in expectation and fear. Was he going to thank her, then let her down gently? It would be so, so awful…
“Please,” she managed. “Don’t say anything.”
Noah was silent for a moment and, steeling herself, Claire turned around. She couldn’t tell a thing from his face.
“What do you think I’m going to say?” he finally asked and she shrugged jerkily.
“Something along the lines of ‘thanks for the memories’, I guess.”
“I want more for my life than memories,” Noah answered, and Claire just blinked at him. “I know things have happened fast between us,” he continued steadily. “Really fast. It’s been crazy and intense and wonderful, and while I know this feels like a break from real life, what I’ve felt for you, what you’ve made me feel…” He paused and Claire just watched him, her heart beating so hard it hurt. “It makes me want to try real life with you. However we can do that.”
“How…” Claire whispered, although she didn’t even know what she was asking, only that she was so, so glad about what Noah had said.
“I don’t know how,” Noah admitted with a crooked smile. “However we can. You flying here. Me flying to New York City. I’ve always wanted to go to America. I know,” he continued before she could so much as frame a word, “It’s not ideal. And that at some point, if we—if things become serious, we’ll have to make some choices. All I’m asking is for a chance to get to that point. To see what this thing between us can become, can grow into, if we let it.”
“I want that,” Claire whispered. “So much. But I know things are complicated, with Molly…”
“Molly loves you,” Noah answered. “That’s pretty obvious. And yes, things are complicated. But not too complicated, I hope.”
“Not too complicated,” Claire whispered.
Noah’s grin broke through, making Claire grin back at him. “Then come here, woman, and let me kiss you.”
And she did, relishing how he enveloped her in his arms, how his lips felt so right on hers.
Distantly Claire heard the patter of footsteps, and then an audible gasp.
“
Oh
!” Molly exclaimed, and then she giggled. “This is the best Christmas
ever!
”
‡
ONE YEAR LATER
C
laire craned her
head to look out of the tiny airplane window, but all she could see was endless darkness. They were only three hours out of New York, but already she was tapping her foot, everything in her fizzing with anticipation at being back in Ledstow again.
It was hard to believe in some ways that she’d been on a plane just like this one a year ago, heartsick and lonely, wanting only solitude. And returned to New York a week later, her life utterly changed. She’d picked up the same airline magazine she’d flipped through on the way out, read, with a little smile on her face, all the twenty-five tips to a perfect Christmas
BrambleCottage.com
had advised. The website had saved the best for last:
Spend Christmas with the ones you love
. Well, Claire had certainly done that. Amazingly.
The year since then had been life-changing and wonderful, yet not without its share of difficulties.
She and Noah had begun a transatlantic relationship, with one of them flying over to the other every six weeks. Claire had ended up going to Ledstow more than Noah had come to New York, because of the responsibilities at the farm, but also because Claire simply preferred Ledstow to city life. And when the time had come to make a decision, it had been easy for each of them. Claire would move to Ledstow, and she’d enrolled in a course at York University to get her teaching qualification in England. She and Noah would marry in the church where he’d first held her hand, the Saturday after Christmas.
Claire sat back in her seat, a smile curving her mouth as she thought of all that had changed. Noah had asked for more time with Molly, and in May he’d been granted school holidays and every other weekend. His relationship with Molly had had its fair share of setbacks, but it was stronger now than it ever had been.
Claire had made peace with her own past, apologizing to Emma for her almost-affair with her father, and finally forgiving herself.
And now the future loomed in front of her, bright and shining. Her family was even coming to England for the wedding; her mother had decided on a ‘Dickens Christmas’, whatever that meant. Claire had made her peace with them too, in the quiet of her own heart.
Three hours later the plane landed in Manchester, and Claire speed-walked towards Immigration, desperate to get out of the airport and see Noah and Molly. She’d told him not to bother coming to Manchester to get her; she could rent a car, and he had too many responsibilities with the farm. Just a few more hours, she thought. A few more hours until I see him.
Immigration took longer than usual, but she brandished her new permission-to-remain visa, collected her bags and breezed through Customs. Now just to pick up the rental car and drive to Ledstow.
Claire stopped short at the sight of Noah and Molly standing by the Customs exit with the private car drivers brandishing their signs with various surnames. Noah and Molly had a sign too—
Welcome Home
.
Grinning from ear to ear, her heart full to overflowing, Claire walked towards her family.
The End
If you enjoyed
A Yorkshire Christmas
, you’ll love the other Holiday Christmas stories!
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by CJ Carmichael
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Christmas in Venice
by Joanne Walsh
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After spending three years as a diehard New Yorker,
Katharine Swartz
now lives in the Lake District in England with her husband, their five children, and a Golden Retriever. She enjoys such novel things as long country walks and chatting with people in the street, and her children love the freedom of village life—although she often has to ring four or five people to figure out where they’ve gone off to.
She writes women’s fiction as well as contemporary romance under the name Kate Hewitt, and whatever the genre she enjoys delivering a compelling and intensely emotional story.
You can find out more about Katharine on her website at
http://www.kate-hewitt.com
, on Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/KateHewittAuthor
and on Twitter
@katehewitt1
.