Their Christmas Miracle. Barbara Wallace

amazing, doesn’t it?” she said. “All that darkness.”

      “Looks cold.” Thomas handed her a glass. “This is the most northern part of the UK. When we were here last week, I told Linus to watch out for elves.”

      Rosalind laughed. “Why? You think Santa and his minions are popping down for a pint?”

      “Why not? Can’t the old man enjoy a nip now and then?”

      “Of course he can. If he’s a real person.” And life was as simple as sitting on a lap and making a wish.

      “Don’t let Maddie hear you. As far as she’s concerned, Santa doesn’t only exist—he can do anything. Including visiting Scotland for a drop of whisky.” He touched his glass to hers.

      “I’ll be sure to keep my blasphemous thoughts to myself,” Rosalind told him. Pulling her blanket tighter, she glanced in his direction. “Are you sure you’re not cold? I’m happy to share if...” She let the offer drift away.

      “Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” Thomas answered.

      Good. She’d hoped that’s what he’d answer. Despite the part of her wondering what it would feel like to have those strong arms wrapped around her.

      “If Santa was real, what would you ask him to bring you?” she asked.

      “Nothing.”

      “Nothing?” She found the answer hard to believe. Surely there was something he wanted. “Everyone has something on their list, even if they’re as rich as Midas.”

      “Except I already got my Christmas wish. Right here on this beach.”

      There he went again, treating her like she was some kind of gift. Rosalind’s face turned crimson. Ducking her head, she pretended great interest in her wineglass. How she wished she could return his sentiment the way he clearly wanted her to, but her memory remained as dark as the water before them.

      “How about you?” he asked. “What would you wish for? Besides the obvious.”

      “The obvious is a pretty big wish. I’m not sure I could think of another. But if pressed...” She sighed. “I think I would ask for a cottage of my own. Not that I don’t like my room over the restaurant, but it would be nice to have a place to call mine.

      “Then again, I guess I—I mean, we—do, don’t we?” she added. Thomas’s body had stiffened at the mention, making her realize her wish was based on having a life on her own. “Apparently, I’m still getting used to my identity. I don’t mean to be hurtful.”

      “You weren’t,” he replied. “The situation is going to take some getting used to for both of us.”

      Stretching out his legs, he leaned back on the blanket. Without his body to warm the space beside her, Rosalind shivered.