Jake
Jake looked up as the front door opened. ‘Mr Danes? Hi, my name is Jake Knightley. I’m a friend of your daughter. Emma?’ he added, when there was no discernible change in expression.
‘You’re the one with the amazing gardens?’
Emma had been talking about him? ‘Yes.’
Relief entered the man’s eyes. ‘You’d better come in. I’m afraid she’s been at the sherry.’
Jake assumed that was some sort of euphemism.
But one look at the spacey eyes that lit-up to the size of saucers when she saw him, along with the way she plastered herself to his side and said, ‘Jakey!’ in a rather more outdoors than indoors volume voice and, holy Gertrude … Hollywood was drunk!
He’d only left her alone for two hours.
What would’ve happened if he’d kept right on driving as planned?
If it hadn’t started to snow again, he wouldn’t have bothered listening to the weather forecast. And he’d only done that because the car had seemed empty without her. But as he’d listened, he’d known immediately Emma wasn’t going to be able to get a train back to West Sussex that night and with The Clock House grand opening party tomorrow night she needed to be able to get home.
She hardly knew her dad. What if he was a really bad driver? Or didn’t drive in snow?
So he’d sworn a bit.
Driven a few more miles.
Sworn a bit more.
Then turned the car around and headed back here, to her dad’s.
She could always tell him thanks, but no thanks, couldn’t she?
And if she’d happen to appreciate a lift back to Whispers Wood, well then the car wouldn’t feel so empty.
And he wouldn’t be forced into thinking about what she’d said on the drive up and how simple she’d made it seem to start a conversation with his parents about their relationship.
‘Jakey,’ she repeated, her hand sliding up his chest, her voice smoky and pleased, ‘you got my text and understood the subtext and now you’re here to take me away to your hideaway.’
‘Um…’ What text? What subtext? Looking at the baffled expression on John and Teresa’s faces he tried a pleasant smile. ‘She might have been a bit nervous so the alcohol’s gone to her head.’
‘Well, of course she was,’ Teresa empathised. ‘So were we. Hence the sherry.’
‘Right,’ he said, thinking what the actual, as his eyes slid to the large, empty bottle on the table. ‘I don’t suppose you could make her a large cup of black coffee?’
‘Of course,’ Teresa said, going straight into hostess mode. ‘And for you?’
‘Same.’ He hadn’t been drinking but he had been driving on not a lot of sleep. ‘Emma? They’re forecasting buckets more of snow.’
‘Yay.’
‘Yay, if I can get you back for the grand opening tomorrow.’
She nodded, already looking more sober. ‘We should leave right away.’
‘I think we have time for that coffee first.’
‘I promise not to be sick in your car.’
‘And that would be a “definitely have time” for that coffee,’ he said aiming another smile at John and Teresa.
‘You should stay for something to eat,’ her father said quietly.
‘No,’ Emma shook her head, her hand clenching against Jake’s chest. ‘We should be getting back. But thank you for having me, though.’
Thank you for having me?
Ouch.
He watched Emma dutifully gulp down coffee and thought about the way his family just barged in and out of Knightley Hall and realised why she might not have had such a problem with it, if this awkward formality was the alternative.
And then he saw the way her eyes kept darting to the only colour in the white, modern kitchen. A multi-aperture, three-feet-tall photo-frame of the family.
He sat at the table and squinted at the pictures. He couldn’t see Emma in any of the photos and with sudden understanding, started drinking his coffee quicker.
By the time she’d finished her mug, barely fifteen minutes of pleasant small-talk had filled awkward silences.
As Emma got to her feet, everyone else at the table followed her lead.
‘Well now,’ her father began, ‘Emma, you must come back and visit us after—’
‘And you should come to Whispers Wood,’ Emma rushed out, cutting him off.
Jake frowned. ‘Won’t you be coming back for—’
‘Jake, if you could grab my bag?’ Emma asked.
‘Just a moment,’ Mr Danes said, turning to his daughter. ‘Emma, I’d be remiss if I didn’t check you really wanted to go home with this man?’
Emma’s nod was automatic. ‘I really do.’
‘Okay, well,’ Mr Danes turned towards Jake and thrust out his hand, ‘nice to meet you, Jake. Thank you for taking the trouble to come back for Emma.’
‘Of course,’ Jake said, feeling Emma’s nerves as she tried to figure out whether to hug the man she hadn’t seen for years, or shake his hand. Turning to run his hand reassuringly down her arm, and lightly lace their fingers together for a moment, he told her, ‘I’ll pop your bag in the car while you say your goodbyes.’
He’d only had the engine running a minute or so by the time Emma opened the car door, eased herself into the passenger seat and smoothly snapped on her seatbelt.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘Not a problem,’ he told her, easing the car down the drive.
‘It’s really coming down now,’ she said, staring out at the snow.
He waited a minute and then said, ‘If it’s any consolation I’d have been at the sherry too.’
‘I can’t believe I got drunk in front of my dad and his new wife. Way to go Ems, stellar performance,’ she added under her breath and he hated hearing her so down on herself.
‘Was it really that bad?’
‘Yes—no—yes.’
‘I guess this first visit was always going to be hard.’
She was silent a while and then out of the corner of his eye he saw her sit up straighter and drag in a breath. ‘Yes. I’m sure next time won’t be so bad.’
‘Christmas Day, right?’
‘Right,’ she mumbled.
‘Hollywood?’
‘Maybe next Christmas.’
He breathed in deep. They hadn’t invited her for Christmas Day? What the hell? The man’s daughter was back at Christmas for the first time in years and he wasn’t laying out the welcome mat? Wasn’t throwing a party? Wasn’t introducing or even including her in his life?
It was one thing to want to spend Christmas on your own like him, but to basically be rejected? He couldn’t let that happen. He’d driven back to pick up Emma telling himself that as soon as the weather improved he’d be leaving Whispers Wood again. But now, before he left, he’d make sure that Kate and Juliet knew Emma didn’t deserve to be on her own Christmas Day. Make sure they knew to spoil her as well.
After a few miles she broke the silence. ‘So I have a question that might help you relax,’ she mimicked his question from hours before.
Impressed with how she’d rallied, he smiled, wanting to pre-empt her question with his answer, like she’d done to him. ‘Alice called off our engagement because she realised she couldn’t hack the lifestyle.’
‘I did wonder.’
‘So had I,’ he admitted. Along with realising how easy it had been to admit to Emma.
‘It wasn’t a complete shock, then?’
‘Looking back, no. The manner in which she chose to tell me? Definitely. And that she left it so late in the day? I could really have done without that.’ And what had come after, he thought, automatically shying away from sharing that particular memory.
‘You didn’t love her enough to try a different life with her? Sorry,’ Emma added hurriedly. ‘None of my business.’
‘No. It’s a fair point. The thing is I’d already led that different life with her. We’d done living in London. Socialising. Partying. Right from the beginning I’d said that that wasn’t for me. Not for forever. I couldn’t have been more clear that for me it was going to have to be Knightley Hall, and that if that wasn’t for her, that was okay. She wasted two years convincing both of us that was what she wanted too. She must have been so unhappy. Was so unhappy, it turned out,’ he said more to himself than to Emma.
‘That’s so sad.’
‘Yep.’
He could feel her looking at him when she whispered, ‘Did she break your heart, Jake?’
He thought about the last time he’d seen Alice and swallowed. ‘Yes, but not for the reasons you think.’ Before she could ask what that meant, he asked, ‘So, tell me why you wanted to get into acting?’
‘Oh,’ she turned her head back to face forward. ‘Doesn’t every little girl?’
‘So you wanted to be an actress ever since you can remember?’
‘I think so. Books, plays, films. That ability to be whoever you want to be.’
Jake frowned. ‘But it’s not who you want to be though is it? It’s who the person who wrote the book or the screenplay wants you to be.’
‘I guess.’
‘Why did you want to be someone else?’
‘Who says I wanted to be anyone else?’
‘That’s what you just said.’
‘No I—okay, I did. I guess I liked the costumes and the lights.’
‘And you wanted to be famous?’
‘No. I really didn’t. I’d much rather be known for craft than face.’
‘But it’s such a beautiful face,’ he quipped.
‘Careful! You could really swell a girl’s head.’
‘And that’s when I’m not even trying to make a girl fall in love with me!’
‘Ha.’
‘So was it a rebellious thing? Your mum and dad didn’t approve?’
‘Oh my mum more than approved. She took me straight to the source as soon as she and my dad separated. And, well, you’ve just met my dad.’
‘It must have been hard on you being out there, with him here.’
‘It was better than all the fighting,’ she said quietly.
‘So acting was an escape?’ Just like the way he’d used gardening to escape all the endless arguments about Knightley Hall haemorrhaging money, he thought.
‘Books were my first escape. I was convinced I wanted to be a storyteller of some sort. Acting seemed easier than writing. It’s more physical.’
‘You ever think about telling your own story?’
‘Mine? It’s way too boring. Yours though…’
‘Oh, I think there’s more than enough stories about the Knightleys in circulation.’
She laughed softly and then yawned, easing back into her seat.
‘Hey, don’t go going to sleep now, we’re near Whispers Ford.’
‘You know what?’ Emma said, sounding as if she was trying to wake herself up. ‘When I have kids of my own I’m going to make sure they grow up knowing without a shadow of a doubt that they’re loved.’
Jake grinned as he drove through the village.
She made it so easy to believe.
So easy to see her with kids.
So easy to want…
Suddenly they were both leaning forward to peer out at the night.
‘Why are there no lights?’ Emma asked.
‘Damn. I think the power’s out,’ Jake said, the only thing illuminating The Clock House as they drove past the green was the car’s headlights bouncing light off the snow.
‘You’re kidding? Oh, snow, I so don’t want to hate you, and yet, you insist on taking away the heat,’ she moaned.
Jake was aware of dark silhouettes of cottages and trees. ‘You could stay at Knightley Hall.’ The words slipped out into the confines of the car and he found himself holding his breath, hoping she’d say yes.
What she actually said was, ‘But you won’t have electricity, either.’
‘But I am man and I make fire,’ he grunted.
She grinned. ‘Sold.’
Jake shoved his phone back into his pocket as Emma came out of the bathroom holding the torch.
‘You can use this room,’ he said, nodding to the one opposite. ‘I’ll light a fire in there for you. Seth’s room is in the other wing and my room is next door to this one.’
He saw her eyes go to his closed bedroom door as she took in the information, saw the way her fingers fiddled with the strap on her bag. ‘So today was—’
‘Quite the day off,’ Jake said, watching her.
‘Yes.’
‘And tomorrow is your big night.’
‘Well, The Clock House’s at least. You could come to the grand opening now you’re back.’
‘I guess I could. If it keeps snowing I can’t see me getting out of here tomorrow, and I do have a tux sitting in the wardrobe.’
‘But after that…?’
‘I can’t stay here for Christmas, Emma. The snow will melt and I will want to leave.’ It was important that he be clear, even as he wondered how he would leave her.
She gave a nod. ‘Well, thank you for being my Mr Knightley-in-shining-armour today. Goodnight,’ and stepping forward she rose up on tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers.
Before she could turn around and disappear into her room, he reached out to snag her free hand in his.
She glanced down to their joined hands and then sudden understanding crossed her face. ‘Oh, right, the fire. I can probably light it my—’
He didn’t let her finish the sentence. Instead he reached out, and sliding his fingers into the hair at her nape, lowered his mouth to hers.
She tasted the same yet different.
So incredibly soft and beguiling, but then as she nipped on his bottom lip, so incredibly hot and seductive.
The more he got to know her, the more he wanted to know.
The more his mouth explored hers, the more of her he wanted to explore.
The sound of the torch falling out of her hand had him lifting his head.
In the intimate light, their breathing more rushed, the sense of anticipation acute, he rushed out, ‘Remember when I said you make it hard to walk away?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I did think about kissing you last night, Emma. It’s why I kept a piece of the mistletoe.’
‘What?’
‘And I do think about kissing you. Pretty much all the time. Those kisses didn’t mean nothing.’
‘Wait,’ she pushed him back to get some breathing space. ‘You read my text.’
‘Just now.’
‘My drunk text.’ Embarrassment flashed in her eyes and he lifted his hands to her face.
‘Are you drunk now, Emma?’ he checked, wanting them drunk on each other, not alcohol.
‘Stone,’ she said, her eyes sparkling, ‘cold,’ she added, as she placed her hand on his jumper, right over his abs, ‘sober,’ she finished, with a smile and then tugged so that he closed the distance again, tipping her head helpfully back so that his mouth could have access to her neck.
‘You were in my dreams last night and this morning,’ he admitted, enjoying her intake of breath. The way her hand tightened on him.
‘You were in mine too.’
He lifted his head to stare down into her beautiful eyes. ‘So here’s the part where we could each go into our separate rooms and dream about each other, or—’
‘Or,’ she told him, opening his bedroom door and dragging him through into it. ‘I choose “or”.’