Mistletoe Proposal On The Children's Ward. Kate Hardy

anyone.’

      She’d said earlier that she didn’t have a partner; though Jamie could imagine Anna Maskell right at the heart of a family. A large one. Why didn’t she have a partner, and why didn’t she want to date anyone?

      Though it was none of his business and he wasn’t going to ask; if he started asking personal questions, then it was tantamount to an invitation for other people to ask him the same sort of things. Things he didn’t want to discuss.

      ‘I’m not going to pry,’ she said, echoing his own thoughts. ‘But Christmas is a fairly big thing at Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital, so it’s going to be in your face all the time. Maybe I can help show you that Christmas has its good side, so you don’t feel you have to try to avoid it all the time and it makes life feel a bit less pants at work.’

      Maybe he should tell her why he disliked Christmas, so she’d back off.

      Then again, he didn’t want to see the pity in her face once he told her what had happened.

      ‘Show me that Christmas has its good side,’ he echoed.

      ‘Yes. And, just in case you think I’m pitying you, I will admit that I have an ulterior motive.’

      He frowned. ‘Doesn’t that kind of ruin any scheming, if you warn me that you have an ulterior motive?’

      ‘No,’ she said, ‘because I believe in what you see is what you get.’

      He was going to have to ask now. ‘What’s your ulterior motive?’

      ‘I help you, and you help me.’

      Oh, no. He knew exactly where this was going. ‘You mean, if you show me that Christmas isn’t the worst time of the year, then I’ll play Father Christmas for the ward?’

      She grinned. ‘Thank you, Jamie. That’s an offer I’m very happy to accept.’

      Hang on. He hadn’t offered. He’d just said out loud what he was pretty sure she was thinking. ‘But I—’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. She’d shocked him into silence.

      ‘Sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘when you avoid something, you give it more power than it deserves. Facing it head-on can cut it back down to its proper size and make it manageable again.’

      He didn’t have an answer to that.

      ‘I’ve had days when I’ve had to fake it to make it,’ she said. ‘Days when I haven’t wanted to get out of bed and face the world—days when all I’ve wanted to do is curl into a little ball and let it all wash over me.’

      He knew exactly how that felt, and it made him look at her. Really look at her. And there wasn’t any pity in her expression. Just empathy. Understanding. Clearly someone or something had hurt her enough that she’d been through an emotional nightmare, too.

      ‘I’m not going to pry,’ she said, ‘but I think Christmas is like that for you. I’m a fixer, just like I think you are. I can’t fix everything, and neither can you. But I reckon we might be able to fix a problem for each other, because we’re on the same team.’

      Of course she couldn’t fix his problem. Nobody could bring anyone back from the dead.

      He was about to say no. But then he remembered this evening. How she’d steamrollered him into joining in with the ten-pin bowling, and he’d actually ended up enjoying the evening. He’d felt part of a group of people—something he’d told himself he never wanted to do again. But that momentary closeness had managed to do what he’d thought was impossible; it had temporarily lifted the cloak of misery from round him.

      If she could take the bits he hated about Christmas away, too, then maybe this was worth a shot. And if she could do that, he’d very happily wear that Father Christmas outfit to help her in return. ‘So what exactly are you suggesting?’ he asked.

      ‘Doing Christmassy things together,’ she said. ‘It’s the middle of November now. Give me a month. If I can convince you that Christmas has its good side, then you agree to be Father Christmas for the ward.’

      ‘And if you can’t convince me?’

      ‘Then there’s a bit of padding and a voice-changer in my very near future,’ she said. ‘And I’ll also apologise for not being able to make this time of year more bearable for you.’

      He could walk away now. Stay wrapped in his shroud of misery.

      Or he could say yes.

      Anna had made it clear that she wasn’t asking him because she fancied him. The pull of attraction he felt towards her was clearly one-sided, and he had no intention of acting upon it anyway. She was merely suggesting that they could help each other.

      He could almost hear Hestia’s voice in his ear. Say yes. The petite ballet teacher he’d fallen in love with had adored Christmas. She’d loved all the snowflakes and the fairy lights and the joy that her favourite ballet brought to her students and their parents alike. He’d loved it as much as she had, because her joy had been infectious.

      Without her, it had been unbearable and he’d avoided it.

      He had to admit it would be good to be able to cope with Christmas again. To remember the joy Hestia had found in the festive season, instead of seeing it as a harsh reminder of everything he’d lost. And for him to stop putting a dampener on Christmas for his family, choosing to work and stay out of the way instead of spending any time with them or inflicting his misery on them during the festive season. He knew they all worried about him.

      ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’re on.’

      ‘Thank you. And you can start by texting me your menu choices for the ward’s Christmas meal over the weekend,’ she said. Though her smile wasn’t full of triumph; instead it was a mixture of relief and gratitude. ‘Maybe we can begin with something light and easy. There’s a Winter Festival in the park for the next three weeks—basically it’s a big Christmas market. Are you working on Sunday?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Good. I’m on an early shift, so I’ll meet you at four o’clock by the park gates.’ She stopped outside a gate. ‘This is me. I’ll see you on Sunday. And thank you.’

      ‘See you on Sunday,’ he echoed.