turning away, and she took her chance and pelted him right on the back of his neck.
‘Like that, is it?’ he said softly, and she felt her heart flip against her ribs.
But he did nothing, because they found a clear bit of snow where it wasn’t too deep, and one by one they fell over backwards and made snow angels.
Josh’s angel was a bit crooked, but Sebastian’s was brilliant, huge and crisp and clean. How he stood up without damaging it she had no idea, but he did, and she looked down at it next to Josh’s little angel and then hers, and felt something huge swelling in her chest.
And then she got a handful of snow shoved down the back of her neck, which would teach her to turn her back on Sebastian, and it jerked her out of her sentimental daze.
‘Thought you’d got away with it, didn’t you?’ he teased, his mischievous grin taunting her, and she chased him through the orchard, dodging round the trees with Josh running after them and giggling hysterically.
Then he stopped, and she cannoned into him just as he turned so that she ended up plastered against him, his arms locking reflexively round her to steady her.
And then he glanced up. She followed his gaze and saw the mistletoe, but it was too late. Too late to move or object or do anything except stand there transfixed, her heart pounding, while he smiled slowly and cupped her chilly, glowing face in his frozen hands and kissed her.
His lips were warm, their touch gentle, and the years seemed to melt away until she was eighteen again, and he was just twenty, and they were in love.
She’d forgotten.
She, who remembered everything about everything, had forgotten that all those Christmases ago he’d brought her here, to the orchard where that summer they’d made love in the dappled shade under the gnarled old apple trees, and kissed her.
Under this very mistletoe?
Possibly. It seemed very familiar, although the kiss was completely different.
That kiss had been wonderfully romantic and passionate. This one was utterly spontaneous and playful; tender, filled with nostalgia, it rocked her composure as passion never would have done. Passion she could have dismissed. This...
She backed away, her hand over her mouth, and spun round in the snow to look for Josh.
He was busy squashing more snow up, pressing his hands into it and laughing, and she waded over to him and picked him up, holding him against her like a shield.
‘Oh, Josh, your hands are freezing! Come on, darling, time to go back inside.’ And without waiting to see what Sebastian was doing, she carried Josh back to the relative safety of the house.
As she pulled off their snowy clothes in the boot room, she noticed the little heap of mistletoe on the floor. It was still lying in the corner where he’d left it yesterday, and she’d forgotten all about it. Had he? Or had he taken her to the orchard deliberately, so he could kiss her right there underneath the tree where it had been growing for all these years? Where he’d kissed her all those Christmases ago?
If so, it had been a mistake. No kisses, she’d said, and he’d promised. They both had. And it had lasted a whole twenty-four hours.
Great. Fantastic. What a result...
* * *
Sebastian watched her go, kicking himself for that crazy, unnecessary lapse in common sense.
He hadn’t even put up the mistletoe in the house because in the end it had seemed like such a bad idea, and then he’d brought her out here and they’d played in the snow just as they had eleven years ago, right under that great hanging bunch of mistletoe.
And he’d kissed her under it.
In front of Josh.
Of all the stupid, stupid things...
‘Oh, you idiot.’
Shaking his head in disbelief, he made his way back inside and found she’d hung up their wet coats in front of the Aga to dry. Josh was playing on the floor with one of the cars out of his stocking, and she was pulling up her sleeves and getting stuck into the clearing up.
‘I’ve put the kettle on,’ she said. ‘I thought we could do with a hot drink.’
‘Good idea,’ he said, but he noticed that she didn’t look at him, and he only noticed that out of the corner of his eye because he was so busy not looking at her.
No repeats.
That had been the deal. He’d give Josh Christmas, and there’d be no recriminations, no harking back to their breakup, and no repeats of that kiss.
So far, it seemed, they were failing on all fronts.
Idiot! he repeated in his head, and pushing up his own sleeves, he tackled what was left.
* * *
‘I’m sorry.’
The words were weary, and Georgie searched his eyes.
She’d put Josh to bed, waited until he was asleep and then forced herself to come downstairs. She’d hoped he’d be in the study, but he wasn’t, he was in the kitchen making sandwiches with the left-over goose and cranberry sauce, and now she was here, too. Having walked in, there was no way of walking out without appearing appallingly rude, and then he’d turned to her and apologised.
And it had really only been a lighthearted, playful little kiss, she told herself, but she knew that she was lying.
‘It’s OK,’ she said, although it wasn’t, because it had affected her much more than she was letting on. She gave a little shrug. ‘It was nothing really.’
‘Well, I’ll have to do better next time, then,’ he said softly, and her eyes flew back to his.
‘There won’t be a next time. You promised.’
‘I know. It was a joke.’
‘Well, it wasn’t funny.’
He sighed and rammed his hand through his hair, the smile leaving his eyes. ‘We’re not doing well, are we?’
‘You’re not. It was you that raised the walking out issue, you that kissed me. So far I think I’ve pretty much stuck to my side of the bargain.’
‘Apart from running around in a scanty little towel that didn’t quite meet.’
She felt hot colour run up her cheeks, and turned away. ‘That was an accident. I was worried about Josh. And you didn’t have a lot on, either.’
‘No.’ He sighed again. ‘I have to say, as apologies go, this isn’t going very well, is it?’
She gave a soft, exasperated laugh and turned back to him, meeting the wry smile in his eyes and relenting.
‘Not really. Why don’t we just draw a line under it and start again? As you said, it was warmer today. It’ll thaw soon. We just have to get through the next day or two. I’m sure we can manage that.’
‘I’m sure we can. I thought you might be hungry, so I threw something together.’ He cut the sandwiches in quarters as he spoke, stacked them on a plate and put them on a tray. Glasses, side plates, cheese, a slab of fruit cake and the remains of lunchtime’s bottle of Rioja followed, and he picked the tray up and walked towards her. ‘Open the door?’
She opened it, followed him to the sitting room and sat down. This was so awkward. All of it, everything, was so awkward, pretending that it was all OK and being civilised when all they really wanted to do was yell at each other.
Or make love.
‘George, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
He sat down on the other sofa, opposite her, and held her eyes with his. ‘Don’t look like that. I know it’s