Grace pressed her lips together. She knew Sally had four kids and would want to get home to them early. She held out her hand. ‘Of course I will. No problem.’
Sally gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Grace. Have a great Christmas.’
Grace glanced at the list and her stomach did a little flip-flop. She had The Nottingdale Suite to clean—Finlay’s place. She glanced towards the office. He’d be in there right now. If she was quick—she could get things done and get back out before he knew she was working.
It was a weird feeling. When he’d held her in his arms last night she’d felt…she’d felt…special. A tiny little fire that had been burning inside her for the last few days had just ignited like a firework—only to sputter out again.
The Nottingdale Suite didn’t feel quite so empty as before. One of her Christmas snow globes was sitting on the main table, with a wrapped parcel on the slate kitchen worktop.
Grace couldn’t help but pick it up. It was intricately wrapped in silver paper with curled red ribbon and a tag. The writing was copperplate. Grace smiled. She recognised it immediately and set it down with a smile. Mrs Archer had left a present for Finlay. How nice.
She made short work of cleaning the penthouse. The bathroom, kitchen area, bedroom and lounge were spotless in under an hour.
She stared out for a second over the dark London sky. In a few hours Christmas Eve would be over. By the time she got home, she could go straight to bed then get up early for her next shift. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second.
Please just let this Christmas be over.
‘Grace?’ She was the last person he expected to see at this time of night. ‘What are you doing?’
The words were out before he even noticed the cart next to the doorway.
She jumped and turned around. ‘Finlay.’ The words just seemed to stop there.
She was wearing her uniform again. But in his head she still had on the silver dress from the last night. That picture seemed to be imprinted on his brain. Seared on it, in fact.
She still hadn’t spoken. The atmosphere was awkward.
He wasn’t quite sure how to act around Grace.
That kiss last night had killed any ounce of sleep he might have hoped to get.
His brain couldn’t process it at all. There was no box to put it in.
It wasn’t a fleeting moment with someone unimportant. It hadn’t been a mistake. It wasn’t a wild fling. It hadn’t felt casual. So, what did that leave?
Grace’s eyes left his and glanced at the outside view again—exactly where she’d been staring when he came in. He heard a stilted kind of sigh. She moved over towards the cart.
This wasn’t going to get any easier. Neither of them seemed able to do the casual and friendly hello.
He had a freak brainwave. This was Christmas Eve. Grace was the woman that loved Christmas. No—she lived and breathed Christmas. What on earth was she doing still working?
Grace picked up some of the cleaning materials and shoved them back in her cart. ‘Merry Christmas, Finlay.’ The words were stilted. Was this how things would be now?
‘Merry Christmas, Grace.’ His response was automatic. But something else wasn’t.
The feelings that normally washed around a response like that. Normally they were cold. Harsh. Unfeeling and unmeant.
This was the first time in five years he’d actually meant those words as he said them.
He wanted Grace to have a merry Christmas. He wanted her to enjoy herself.
What if…?
The idea came out of nowhere. At least, that was how it seemed. He was flying back to Scotland on Boxing Day to see his family. Chances were, this would be the last time he would see Grace between now and then.
There were a dozen little flashes in his brain. Grace on the roof. Touching the tear that had rolled down her cheek. Drinking hot chocolate with her. The gleam in her eyes when she was cheeky to him. The expression on her face when she’d tried on the pink coat. The wash of emotions when he’d spotted the little girl and bought the rocking horse for her Christmas. Grace’s ruffled hair and pushed-up shirt as she’d wound in hundreds of purple bulbs. The way she’d clapped her hands together when he’d first seen the tree.
And the feel of her lips on his. Her warm curves against his. The soft satin of her dress under the palm of his hand.
He’d felt more alive in the last week than he had in the last five years.
And that was all because of Grace.
He reached out to touch her arm. ‘It’s been nice to meet you. Enjoy Christmas Day.’
The words were nowhere near adequate. They didn’t even begin to cover what he wanted to say or what was circulating in his brain.
Grace’s dark brown eyes met his. For a second he thought she was going to say the same thing. Then, her bottom lip started to tremble and tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’ll be working as normal.’
He blinked. What?
Why would the girl who loved Christmas not be spending it with her family and friends?
‘What do you mean—you’re working? Don’t you have plans with those you love?’
As soon as the words were out he realised he’d said exactly the wrong thing. The tears that had pooled in her eyes flooded over and rolled down her cheeks.
He reached out his arms to her. ‘What on earth’s wrong? Grace? Tell me?’
She was shaking and when the words came out it was the last thing he expected.
‘There’s no family. My gran…she died…she died a few months ago. And now, there’s just no one. I can’t face anything.’ She looked at him, her gaze almost pleading. ‘I thought I could do this. I thought I could. I thought if I kept busy and kept working everything would just fall into place. I wouldn’t have time to miss her so much.’ She kept shaking her head. ‘But it’s harder than I could ever imagine. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, I see people—families together, celebrating Christmas the way I used to. Even Mrs Archer—I love her—but I’m finding it so hard to be around her. She reminds me so much of my gran. The way she speaks, her mannerisms, her expressions.’ She looked down as she kept shaking her head. ‘I just want this to be over.’ Now, she looked outside again into the dark night. In the distance they could see the Christmas red and white lights outlining Battersea Power Station. ‘I just want Christmas to be over,’ she breathed.
Every hair on his arms stood on end. He got it. He got all of it.
The loneliness. The happy people around about, reminding you of what you’d lost. The overwhelming emotions that took your breath away when you least expected it.
He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Grace, you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to work at Christmas. It’s fine. We can cover your shifts. Take some time off. Get away from this. The last thing you want to do is watch other families eating Christmas dinner together. Stay home. Curl up in bed. Eat chocolate.’
It seemed like the right thing to say. Comfort. Away from people under her nose.
But Grace’s eyes widened and she pulled back. ‘What? No. You think I want to be alone? You think I want to spend the whole of Christmas without talking to anyone, without seeing another living soul? Do you think anything looks worse on a plate than Christmas dinner for one?’
As she spoke he cringed. What he’d thought might take her away from one type of agony would only