Mistletoe Proposal On The Children's Ward. Kate Hardy

should tell her why he disliked Christmas, so she’d back off.

      Then again, he didn’t want to see the pity in her face once he told her what had happened.

      ‘Show me that Christmas has its good side,’ he echoed.

      ‘Yes. And, just in case you think I’m pitying you, I will admit that I have an ulterior motive.’

      He frowned. ‘Doesn’t that kind of ruin any scheming, if you warn me that you have an ulterior motive?’

      ‘No,’ she said, ‘because I believe in what you see is what you get.’

      He was going to have to ask now. ‘What’s your ulterior motive?’

      ‘I help you, and you help me.’

      Oh, no. He knew exactly where this was going. ‘You mean, if you show me that Christmas isn’t the worst time of the year, then I’ll play Father Christmas for the ward?’

      She grinned. ‘Thank you, Jamie. That’s an offer I’m very happy to accept.’

      Hang on. He hadn’t offered. He’d just said out loud what he was pretty sure she was thinking. ‘But I—’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. She’d shocked him into silence.

      ‘Sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘when you avoid something, you give it more power than it deserves. Facing it head-on can cut it back down to its proper size and make it manageable again.’

      He didn’t have an answer to that.

      ‘I’ve had days when I’ve had to fake it to make it,’ she said. ‘Days when I haven’t wanted to get out of bed and face the world—days when all I’ve wanted to do is curl into a little ball and let it all wash over me.’

      He knew exactly how that felt, and it made him look at her. Really look at her. And there wasn’t any pity in her expression. Just empathy. Understanding. Clearly someone or something had hurt her enough that she’d been through an emotional nightmare, too.

      ‘I’m not going to pry,’ she said, ‘but I think Christmas is like that for you. I’m a fixer, just like I think you are. I can’t fix everything, and neither can you. But I reckon we might be able to fix a problem for each other, because we’re on the same team.’

      Of course she couldn’t fix his problem. Nobody could bring anyone back from the dead.

      He was about to say no. But then he remembered this evening. How she’d steamrollered him into joining in with the ten-pin bowling, and he’d actually ended up enjoying the evening. He’d felt part of a group of people—something he’d told himself he never wanted to do again. But that momentary closeness had managed to do what he’d thought was impossible; it had temporarily lifted the cloak of misery from round him.

      If she could take the bits he hated about Christmas away, too, then maybe this was worth a shot. And if she could do that, he’d very happily wear that Father Christmas outfit to help her in return. ‘So what exactly are you suggesting?’ he asked.

      ‘Doing Christmassy things together,’ she said. ‘It’s the middle of November now. Give me a month. If I can convince you that Christmas has its good side, then you agree to be Father Christmas for the ward.’

      ‘And if you can’t convince me?’

      ‘Then there’s a bit of padding and a voice-changer in my very near future,’ she said. ‘And I’ll also apologise for not being able to make this time of year more bearable for you.’

      He could walk away now. Stay wrapped in his shroud of misery.

      Or he could say yes.

      Anna had made it clear that she wasn’t asking him because she fancied him. The pull of attraction he felt towards her was clearly one-sided, and he had no intention of acting upon it anyway. She was merely suggesting that they could help each other.

      He could almost hear Hestia’s voice in his ear. Say yes. The petite ballet teacher he’d fallen in love with had adored Christmas. She’d loved all the snowflakes and the fairy lights and the joy that her favourite ballet brought to her students and their parents alike. He’d loved it as much as she had, because her joy had been infectious.

      Without her, it had been unbearable and he’d avoided it.

      He had to admit it would be good to be able to cope with Christmas again. To remember the joy Hestia had found in the festive season, instead of seeing it as a harsh reminder of everything he’d lost. And for him to stop putting a dampener on Christmas for his family, choosing to work and stay out of the way instead of spending any time with them or inflicting his misery on them during the festive season. He knew they all worried about him.

      ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’re on.’

      ‘Thank you. And you can start by texting me your menu choices for the ward’s Christmas meal over the weekend,’ she said. Though her smile wasn’t full of triumph; instead it was a mixture of relief and gratitude. ‘Maybe we can begin with something light and easy. There’s a Winter Festival in the park for the next three weeks—basically it’s a big Christmas market. Are you working on Sunday?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Good. I’m on an early shift, so I’ll meet you at four o’clock by the park gates.’ She stopped outside a gate. ‘This is me. I’ll see you on Sunday. And thank you.’

      ‘See you on Sunday,’ he echoed.

       CHAPTER THREE

      FOUR NEW BRONCHIOLITIS CASES, Anna thought with a sigh on Sunday afternoon. This was peak season for the respiratory syncytial virus. In adults, it produced a spectacularly nasty cold, but in children it could be much more serious, gumming up the tiny tubes inside their lungs and making it hard for them to breathe.

      Small babies often went on to develop pneumonia as a result, and Anna really felt for both her tiny patients and their parents, who were often exhausted with worry and shocked by the sight of their little ones on oxygen and being fed by a tube down their nose because the babies were too tired to suck milk from a breast or a bottle.

      She finished writing up her notes, did a last check on the ward in case anyone needed emergency help before she left, then texted Jamie to let him know that she was leaving the hospital on time and would meet him at four.

      Hopefully she could change his views on Christmas and take away its power to hurt him. She wasn’t going to pry and ask exactly why he hated Christmas so much, but it would be good to think that she could make life a bit better for him.

      Anna the Fixer. Her whole family teased her about it, but she knew they appreciated what she did. Her own problem wasn’t fixable, but you couldn’t have everything. She was blessed with a wonderful family and good friends, and she’d just about forgiven Johnny for the way he’d thrown their marriage away, even though part of her still thought that there were ways round her infertility; they could’ve given IVF a try, or fostering or adoption. But Johnny had found the pressure and the worry too much to cope with, and he’d chosen someone who could give him what he wanted without the complications.

      It was just a pity that he hadn’t ended their marriage before he’d found that someone else.

      His betrayal had made everything feel so much worse; and for months after that Anna had felt herself not good enough for anyone. Especially when Johnny had sneered at her that nobody would want her because she wasn’t a real woman and couldn’t give a man the family he wanted. She knew it had probably been guilt talking, trying to justify the way he’d treated her; before she’d married him, if anyone had told her he’d ever be so cruel to her in the future she would have laughed, not believing it. She and Johnny had loved each other, and they’d been happy.

      But her infertility had shattered his dreams as well as her own;