Alice Ross - A Winter's Wish

‘But surely, if things aren’t that great, you’d be better off splitting up. Even she must see that.’

He shrugged. ‘I think she probably has a different take on it to me. And from my side, I’ve never really felt the need before. There’s never been anyone else and it’s worked out okay, I suppose, meeting up with her every few weeks. But now you’re back in my life and I—’

Amelia’s heart stuttered. ‘What?’

He gazed at her for several seconds during which time any lingering fragments of ice in that area of her anatomy dissolved into a pool of water. ‘I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’

‘Me too,’ she’d whispered, savouring that heavenly sensation of floating on air.

But all that had been ten months ago, during which time Amelia had clattered down to earth with an almighty bump. She loved Doug with a passion, but she didn’t want to be “the other woman”. She wanted him all to herself: to have a normal life with him, doing normal things, like wandering round the supermarket, spending lazy Sunday mornings in bed, going for a stroll in the park.

But he was doing all those things with Imogen, living with her in an apartment in Kensington. Up until now, Amelia hadn’t liked to put too much pressure on him. After all, it was early days in their rekindled relationship. They needed to get to know one another again – find out if the special bond that had once tethered them together could be retied. And, for all she felt sick every time he mentioned “Immy”, ten years with someone was an incredibly long time. Plus, Amelia wanted to be sure of her own feelings, confident they could have a future together, before he did anything drastic. But, last month, having spent every spare moment they could together, she became impatient.

‘Where do you think this is going?’ she asked one evening, after they’d tumbled into bed together.

‘I know where I want it to go. I want to be with you. I’ve never stopped loving you.’

Rather than swooning in his arms like she would normally have done at such a proclamation, Amelia had sat up and looked him directly in the eye. ‘So does this mean you’re going to tell Imogen about us?’

He’d nodded. ‘I am. In the next couple of weeks. I promise.’

And she’d believed him.

Until something happened to postpone his “announcement” …

A cackle of laughter on the radio jolted her back to the present. Blinking back yet another round of tears, she sucked in a fortifying breath before beginning to clear away the remainder of the breakfast dishes, suddenly aware that her every move was being monitored by a pair of dark canine eyes from a basket in the corner.

‘Well,’ she announced, ‘in the absence of any better ideas, Mr Pip, I think we should go for a walk, don’t you?’

Chapter Five

Snuggled under her duvet on Monday morning, Ella gazed at the freshly printed photograph and heaved a satisfied sigh. She trawled through the internet every day just in case any new pictures had been added. Last night’s discovery was particularly delicious. A head-and-shoulder shot, against a dazzling white wall. She’d add it to her secret scrapbook later, but for now she just wanted to savour it. To drool over the divine bone structure, the jet-black hair, the smouldering dark eyes. Eyes that reduced her insides to mush every time he looked at her.

Ella couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she’d fallen in love with Jake O’Donnell, but she suspected it might well have been the first time she’d ever seen him. It had been in the newsagent’s a couple of years ago, not long after he’d arrived in Buttersley. She’d heard rumblings of a famous author moving to the village of course, but hadn’t been particularly interested given her indifference to all things bookish. She much preferred the celebrity magazines she’d wandered into the shop specifically to purchase. She’d been browsing the meagre selection offered by old Mr Russell, the owner, when in marched a tall man with jet-black hair, a wide, stubbled jaw, razor-sharp cheekbones and just about the broadest shoulders Ella had ever seen. So devastatingly gorgeous was he, that he’d literally taken her breath away. Glued to the spot, she’d gawped as he’d whipped up a couple of packets of mints and a copy of The Guardian , exchanged a few cheery words with Mr Russell at the till, then whisked out. It was several seconds later before she’d managed to pull herself together.

‘Well, now,’ old Mr Russell had said, peering at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles as, in something of a trance, she’d shuffled over to the counter and began rummaging in her bag for her purse, ‘what do you think of Buttersley having its very own celebrity?’

Ella had furrowed her brow, her head still reeling from that glorious vision.

‘ That was Jake O’Donnell, the famous writer,’ he added, with obvious triumph at being able to impart this succulent piece of information. ‘A very welcome addition to the village, I think.’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Ella agreed. But probably for quite different reasons.

Unfortunately, as she still attended school in Harrogate during the week, her sightings of Jake had been few and far between over the next couple of years. But every time she did catch a glimpse of him – even if he just drove past – her heart would skip a beat and her pulse would soar. And that’s as far as she’d ever imagined her adulation would stretch – admiring her hero from afar. Until she started working at the tearoom …

Back in July, she’d been in the courtyard struggling to collapse one of the parasols on the wooden picnic tables. Hunkered underneath it on the table, she couldn’t budge the pin but there was no way on the planet she was going to ask for help from the one other member of the waiting staff. Growing up with four brothers, Ella hated asking boys for anything: a) because they never let you forget it, and b) because she deemed herself as capable as any male.

Crouched on the table, she was attempting to devise a new pin-budging strategy, when, to her astonishment, a familiar jeep pulled up next to her and out popped Jake O’Donnell. It had been a couple of months since Ella’s last sighting of him. He’d been on the opposite side of the high street to her. In a sharp navy suit he’d looked like he’d stepped straight off a Parisian catwalk. Now, in faded jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, hair all dishevelled, jaw sporting at least three days’ worth of stubble, he looked completely different – but equally as delectable. So much so, that Ella’s breath caught in her throat, her heart rate rocketed and her bent legs turned to cotton wool. As he’d marched over to her, she’d clung on to the parasol as if her life depended on it.

‘Got a problem there?’ he asked, grinning.

Somewhat star-struck at being so close to the object of her long-held desire, anything remotely resembling vocal communication deserted Ella. In the absence of any alternatives, she’d nodded.

‘Is it the pin?’ he asked, sticking his head under the shade and narrowing his eyes at the offending item. He was now so close Ella could smell his minty breath. Terrified she might keel over, she tightened her grip on the pole.

‘We have the same problem with ours at home,’ Jake ploughed on, evidently oblivious to the effect his presence was having on his number one fan. ‘You’d think they’d have come up with a better design by now, wouldn’t you? If you come down, I’ll have a look if you like.’

He withdrew his head and held out a hand to her. Ella gaped at it for a few seconds before realising, with an acute stab of embarrassment, that it would be weird to stare at it for a second longer.

‘Um, thanks,’ she mumbled. Placing her hand in his, a dart of something she’d never before experienced zipped down her spine. Her hand remained in his as she clambered down from the table, ending up just inches away from him.