His Mistletoe Proposal. Christy McKellen

someone he trusted, and she was more than willing to become that person.

      If only he’d let her.

      * * *

      Alex sat back in his chair with a sigh, feeling the burger and beer boosting his blood sugar levels and improving his irascible mood.

      When Flora had questioned his relationship status he’d been ready to close her down fast, but had checked himself at the last minute. It was pretty clear she wasn’t the sort of person to take a brush-off lightly—she had fire and determination in those big, bright eyes of hers. He’d decided that an approximation of the truth would be the best course of action.

      Hopefully she’d leave it at that now. He didn’t feel like rehashing the pain and misery of the last few months to satisfy the curiosity of a near stranger. Just because she’d been Amy’s closest friend didn’t mean she deserved his total trust and honesty.

      Except it sort of did.

      He sighed to himself, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with his sister in the hospice, the day she’d passed away.

      ‘She may seem as tough as nails,’ Amy had said, her voice weak and slurred from the painkillers they’d been pumping into her, ‘but she’ll need a friend once I’ve gone. Promise me you’ll be kind to her, Alex, especially if she comes to you looking for atonement. She’ll beat herself up about not being here to say goodbye.’

      And it seemed his sister had been right.

      It also looked as though he was going to have to keep the hurried promise he’d made to her as he’d watched her life ebb away.

      He remembered now how her request had seemed like the only positive thing at a time when he’d felt so horrifically impotent, unable to do anything to save his sister. It had given him just a little sliver of power over the situation. He suspected Amy might have known that too.

      ‘I’m just going to the bathroom,’ he said, suddenly feeling an overwhelming need to escape from the poignant memories that were pressing in on his head like a vice.

      ‘Okay,’ Flora said, producing an overly bright smile, as if sensing his pain.

      In the gents bathroom he stared at himself in the mirror, noting the dark rings around his bloodshot eyes and the unhealthy pallor of his skin. He’d not meant to get so drunk last night, but he hadn’t had the willpower to say no when his bandmates had suggested going to the pub after rehearsals. He’d also not been entirely straight with Flora earlier when he’d suggested that someone else had persuaded him to drink whisky until the early hours of the morning.

      He’d done that entirely of his own volition.

      Yesterday had been a difficult day and he’d felt the overwhelming need to get out of his head for a while and drown his raging thoughts. Music was usually his salvation, but it had become increasingly difficult to lose himself in it over the last few months and it was slowly driving him insane.

      He slapped his cheeks, seeing colour bloom on his pale skin. Time to pull himself together.

      Returning to the table, he bit back a wry smile as he noted how uncomfortable Flora looked perched on the edge of the bench, as if afraid that sitting on it fully might sully her impeccable image.

      ‘I swear that’s the last time I drink whisky straight from the bottle,’ he said flippantly as he sat back down, noticing Flora flinch a little. It reminded him of her less than impressed reaction earlier when he’d told her he’d only just got up. He’d laughed it off at the time but, truth be told, he’d found it virtually impossible to drag himself out of bed today.

      They sat in awkward silence for a moment, both sipping from their nearly empty pints.

      ‘It’s no wonder you’re depressed if you spend all your time in places like this,’ Flora said suddenly in a voice that she’d perhaps meant to be jokey but actually came off as a little officious.

      ‘I’m not depressed,’ he stated firmly, feeling discomfort flood through him.

      ‘Really? Are you sure? From what you’ve told me it sounds like you could be.’

      He sighed in frustration, wishing she’d change the subject. ‘If I need a shrink, I promise you I’ll give one a call.’

      She ignored his pointed sarcasm and waved a hand at him, her movements suspiciously exaggerated. ‘You know, it can be a great help to get out and socialise after ending a relationship.’ She took an audible breath. ‘Perhaps if you went on a couple of dates? It might give your spirits a bit of a lift.’

      He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you serious?’

      Fixing him with a cool stare, she said, ‘Totally.’

      ‘Yeah, well, I don’t seem to be having much luck in the dating department at the moment,’ he muttered, his mind spinning back to the way he’d crashed and burned last night when he’d drunkenly attempted to chat up a woman at the bar. Not that his heart had really been in it.

      She seemed to be studying him closely now, her eyes narrowed. ‘Is that how you usually dress when you go out?’ she asked after a beat.

      ‘Yes,’ he replied gruffly, guessing where this was going and trying not to grind his teeth.

      ‘Maybe if you smartened yourself up a bit you’d have more luck.’ She waved her hand at his favourite T-shirt. ‘I always find a new outfit and a haircut does my confidence the world of good.’

      He dug his fingers into his thighs under the table. ‘I happen to like the way I dress.’

      She shot him a patronising smile. ‘Well, I don’t mean to be rude but your clothes look so old I suspect they’re about to get a telegram from the Queen any day now.’

      A heavy pulse had begun to throb in his head. ‘Oh, really? Well, at least they have personality. You look like every other fashion victim on the street.’

      She blinked at him in shock before regaining her composure. ‘At least I made an effort with my appearance today,’ she replied tightly, her words sounding more slurred now. ‘It’s clear you couldn’t care less. You didn’t even turn up on time to meet me, just left me sitting there like a lemon on my own for twenty minutes, only to turn up looking like a vagrant.’

      He leaned forward in his chair, aware of his heart thumping hard against his chest, and matched her fierce gaze. ‘Look, I get it. You feel some misplaced obligation to “take me in hand” and alleviate your guilt about not being there at the end for Amy.’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘But I don’t need another sister figure and I certainly don’t need some uptight do-gooder telling me how to live my life!’

      ‘I’m only trying to help, Alex,’ she snapped back.

      ‘I don’t need your help, Flora.’

      ‘Is that right?’

      ‘Yes!’

      ‘Well, you know what? Since we’re being so honest with each other now, perhaps you should know that Amy really struggled with your arrogant determination to keep everyone at arm’s length,’ she bit out, the increased volume of her voice causing the couple at the next table to turn and stare at them. She seemed to have hit her stride though, so didn’t appear to notice. ‘And it was incredibly frustrating for her that you found everything you did so easy when she had to work so hard for success. Then she had to watch while you just squandered your brain and your talents when she would have killed for them!’ she hissed, her tongue obviously completely loosened now by strong cider and frustration.

      Anger and guilt battled inside him. He was acutely aware of what a risk he’d taken, jacking in his steady job to follow his ambition to be a professional musician, but he didn’t need to be reminded of it right now. ‘I think what you really mean is that a slacker like me should have been the one to die, rather than my hard-working sister,’ he bit out defensively.

      ‘What?