CHAPTER TEN
‘You seem in a good mood,’ says Rob when I catch up with him later in the barn back at Brambleberry Manor.
I open my mouth to tell him about Ethan having a surprise for me. But something stops me.
I get the distinct feeling that Rob dislikes, which is weird because as far as I know, they’ve only spoken once – that time on the high street.
Instead, I smile and say, ‘I’m just really looking forward to the Snow Ball.’
I mentioned to Rob the other day that Mum had put me in charge of making the entrance at the Snow Ball all beautifully Christmassy. And his response was: ‘Why not make it actually snow for once? With a snow machine?’
I was thoroughly enchanted by the idea and immediately decided to go for it. Dad’s helping me to source a machine on-line, probably rented.
‘Imagine walking round to the front in your Christmas party finery and finding that’s it’s actually snowing! How amazing will that be for the guests?’
Privately, I’m thinking it would be as romantic an entrance as it was for Ella Macdonald in A Scottish Adventure. At the very moment Ella arrived at Rory Colquhoun’s castle in the Highlands on Christmas Eve, where she was to be governess to the widower’s three young children, snow began swirling around her, so she felt like a figure in a glittery snow globe. It’s such a gorgeously romantic image, I’ve remembered it ever since.
I open my mouth to tell Rob this. But then I decide against it.
Rob is great to talk to and I feel like we’ve really bonded as friends. But confessing my passion for romance books would be an intimacy too far. I don’t want Rob thinking I’m some sad introvert who gets her thrills from make-believe and fairytale romance!
‘So what else do you need apart from a snow-making machine?’ asks Rob.
‘Not sure. Snow would be lovely but we probably need a Christmas tree or maybe fairy lights around the main entrance.’ I sigh. ‘Mum’s relying on me and she’s a stickler for perfection. I need inspiration.’
‘Inspiration,’ murmurs Rob, slotting the chair’s ladder-back onto the seat part. It fits to perfection. He pauses then says, ‘There’s a Christmas Fayre on at the weekend. In Brighton. I was thinking of going to get some inspiration for making Christmas gifts. People seem to like my hand-carved presents.’ He grins. ‘Or maybe they’re just too polite to say otherwise.’
I laugh. ‘I’m sure your gifts are lovely,’ I tell him truthfully. ‘If this gorgeous furniture is anything to go by. You’ve got an incredible talent.’
‘Thanks, Fen.’ He looks away but I can tell he’s chuffed. ‘So anyway, we could get inspired together. If you like.’
‘Definitely. As long as it isn’t Sunday afternoon. Because that’s when the - ’
‘Panto rehearsals are, I know,’ he says a little brusquely.
I glance up at him. Perhaps he’s bored hearing me talk about the am dram club. But he shrugs and says, ‘Saturday after your baking shift at the café is fine by me.’
‘Okay. It’s a date!’ I say, pleased. Rob’s so easy to be with and it will be great to have his opinion on lights and so forth.
‘A date, eh?’ he teases and I blush the colour of a letterbox.
‘You know what I mean.’
He gives me an oddly rueful smile. ‘Yes, Fen, I know what you mean.’
I watch him as he runs his hand along the back of the chair, engrossed for a moment in his work.
I’m drawn to men with strong arms and hands. I’ve always thought Rob has lovely hands. They’re big and capable-looking, a little roughened by the job he does, but his nails are always clipped and surprisingly clean. It’s active work, and even in winter, he wears T-shirts, so his arms are always lightly tanned and finely muscled from constantly handling the wood and coaxing it into shape.
‘Rob, can I ask you a question?’
He looks up in surprise, wiping the back of his hand across his brow. ‘Of course. Shoot.’
‘Do you think I look better in jeans or a skirt?’
As soon as I’ve said it, I feel slightly silly. Rob probably hasn’t even noticed what I wear – and now I’ve put him on the spot! I just thought it might be good to get the male viewpoint . . .
‘It’s okay.’ I shake my head. ‘Stupid question.’
He frowns. ‘No it’s not.’ He crosses his arms and assesses me seriously for a moment. ‘I’d say you look really good in slim-fitting jeans and tops. And in the right dress – like that red one you wore when we went out to the pub that time – your figure is stunning.’
‘Oh.’ I stare at him, taken aback. ‘Thank you, Rob.’
He shrugs a little awkwardly, as if he’s said too much, and turns back to his lathe.
To say I’m surprised at Rob’s reply would be an understatement. I’d felt good in the red dress I borrowed from Jaz – it was more flattering on me than I thought it would be - but I’d never in a million years have thought it looked stunning.
‘Are you planning a night out?’ he asks, still turned away from me, concentrating on the wood. He bends to smooth an edge of the chair with sandpaper but drops it.
‘Er, not really,’ I mutter, blushing at the lie, even though he’s not even looking at me. ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’
He picks up the sandpaper. ‘The am dram lot seem quite a sociable group from what you’ve told me,’ he says, running his thumb absently over the rough side of the sandpaper. ‘Ethan Fox seems a good guy.’
‘Er, yes. Yes, he is.’
He looks at me, at last, with an intensity that makes me feel suddenly strangely self-conscious. For a moment, I wonder if he’s guessed that I’ve fallen for Ethan. But no, how could he have? I’ve never said anything to him.
In the silence, he reaches across. ‘You’ve got . . . a speck of sawdust . . .’ His fingers brush against my hair as he gently removes it and my heart gives a funny little flutter at the intimacy of the gesture. My hair swings forward, released from its mooring behind my ear and the scent of my favourite shampoo rises up.
I see his nose react. ‘Nice smell.’
‘Coconut,’ I murmur, noticing while Rob’s this close that his eyes are a lovely shade of brown. They remind me of the salted caramel sauce I make to pour over the café’s individual sticky toffee puddings.
My favourite dessert sauce ever . . .
‘Rob, can I ask you another question?’
He grins. ‘I’m beginning to feel like a murder suspect. Go on, then.’
I hesitate. Even though I know he’ll realise I’m asking him as a friend, I’m still quite nervous about inviting him to be my partner at the Snow Ball.
‘I . . . I was wondering if you’d like – ’
His mobile shrills into our ears. He glances at the name on the screen. ‘Sorry,’ he says, frowning an apology. ‘I really must take this.’
And my opportunity vanishes . . .
*****
I’m a bag of nerves that night, wondering what Ethan’s going to tell me at the meeting the next day. And next morning, I’m even worse.
I’ve never been very bothered about my appearance. I’m always clean and tidy but as for style, Victoria Beckham I most definitely am not. But searching through my wardrobe that morning, I find myself wishing I could look as effortlessly chic as Cressida. Or Karen. In fact, most of the girls in the am dram group have a great sense of style . . .
Then I remember Rob telling me I look good in slim-fitting jeans and tops. That will have to do, then. I can’t wear the red dress to an am dram meeting!
I pick out my skinniest jeans and pair them with a white camisole top and a soft cotton shirt with big bold checks in pink and dark blue that I’ve never worn because usually I prefer muted colours. (Mum describes these colours ‘jokingly’ as ‘shades of sludge’ and is always trying to encourage me to dress more colourfully.)
But Rob’s kind comments of yesterday have made me feel a little more adventurous this morning. Slipping my feet into low-heeled cowboy boots, I turn this way and that in the mirror. I’d say it was a definite improvement on my Christmas pudding outfit of last Friday night . . . although remembering Ethan’s favourable reaction to the plunging neckline and short skirt, perhaps he wouldn’t agree.
A little shiver runs through me, remembering our bar stool kiss.
I’ve got plans for you that I think you’re going to love, he said yesterday – and I’ve spent way too much time since then wondering what those plans could possibly be.
I keep thinking of Olivia Good in Decent Proposal when she was whisked off to Vienna by her lover, the enigmatic and very sexy Lukas, for lunch at an exclusive restaurant - followed by a surprise proposal in the snow and later, a diamond solitaire, glinting beneath the soft lights of a coffee house, in the saucer of a cup of hot chocolate.
Of course Ethan’s plans for me won’t be anywhere near that exotic . . .
Dad knocks on my door to tell me about the snow machine he’s thinking of hiring for the Snow Ball and he stops when he sees my outfit. ‘You look really nice, love. Are you going out?’
‘Just to a meeting of the am dram group.’ I smile at him. ‘Mum will have a purple fit when she sees me out of ‘sludge’ and wearing pink.’
‘It does look good on you.’
‘Not you as well, Dad!’ I flash him a fake warning look and he laughs.
‘You know, your mum doesn’t mean to criticise you. She only wants the best for you. She’s just one of those people who says what she thinks and sometimes it comes out wrong.’
I give a brittle smile. ‘Funny how it never seems to come out wrong with Rich. Everything he does is perfect.’ I hate the bitter way I sound at times like this. It’s just I can’t remember the last time I pleased Mum the way Rich always seems to. It was probably when I got a gold star for reading in Primary Three!