The Mills & Boon Ultimate Christmas Collection. Kate Hardy

held out a bag of groceries I’d stopped off to buy. “Thought we could rustle up some dinner, what do you say?” I held back the real words that threatened to pour from my lips: Why haven’t you come to see me?

      She darted a quick peep behind her.

      “Is someone here?” I ventured. Mom hadn’t dated after Dad died. Did she have someone special now, and that was what was distracting her? At least that would be progress.

      “No, no. It’s fine. Come in.”

      I held in a sigh. “I thought we could make lasagna and roast vegetables. Are you hungry?” Mom had lost weight, too much weight. She’d always been whisper-thin, but now she was almost invisible.

      “My favorite,” she said, attempting a smile.

      The cottage was immaculate, not a cushion out of place. Mom had always been tidy but this was next level. The small living room sat solemnly; the kitchen was pristine and smelled of cleaning agents, not a place where food was made.

      “Help me peel the vegetables?” I stood at the sink and washed my hands.

      She did as instructed, and worry hit me anew, watching her tiny frame move around the kitchen. I should have come over sooner. I debated whether to ask her outright what was wrong, but she fixed me with her Mona Lisa smile, so I let it go, hoping she’d eventually soften and confide in me. There’s a first time for everything… right, Clio?

      “Where’s Aunt Bessie? I thought she would have called in at the lodge. I’ve called her a few times but got the machine.”

      Mom washed potatoes and carrots and placed them on a tea towel. “You know Bessie – she’s desperate to see you but she’s on a cruise with her book club. When she phoned I told her all about your homecoming and how you turned up unannounced.” There was a light rebuke to her voice, and I realized that no matter how I approached my mom it would never be the right way. “She gets home soon and, whirlwind that she is, will no doubt come straight to you.”

      As if visiting me first up was out of the ordinary. I was grateful for Aunt Bessie in my life. She’d always been there for me, and made up the shortfall my mother had left.

      She owned a gourmet donut shop in town called Puft. My aunt took the basic donut and transformed it into a sweet-lover’s delight. Big, custard-filled donuts balanced precariously on a cloud of Chantilly cream on top of thick chocolatey shakes. Donuts were stacked like the leaning tower of Pisa, each with different fillings – from passion-fruit curd to chocolate hazelnut custard, hand-spun candy floss on top. Or for those wanting simpler fare there were mini pistachio and honey rings, or lemon-flavored churros with orange sauce. My Aunt Bessie always emailed me the menu to proofread and it was torture not being able to taste the words.

      Once she was back from her cruise I planned to go in and roll out, having my fill of her delectable treats.

      She was a cuddly, bubbly person and had been a refuge in my formative years. Aunt Bessie was the type of person people confided in, and she welcomed them into her open arms. Along with confidentiality, she also provided advice, hugs and donuts. So many donuts.

      “You should come by the lodge with her, Mom. We had a slight issue with the plumbing, but thankfully it didn’t blow the budget.” She turned away, but I kept on, hoping it would sway her. “The electrics have been fixed. The wainscoting has been replaced but still needs painting. The floors need to be sanded and polished, but we had a problem with a patch of rotted wood in the—”

      “Do you want me to chop and fry garlic?”

      Was I speaking too softly? “Sure. Did you hear me, Mom, about the lodge?”

      Her hands fell to her sides and she stared out the window as if debating what to say. She’d gone so pale, I worried I’d pushed her over some invisible precipice. “I heard.”

      “Well?” I asked softly.

      “Well, what?” When she turned to me her eyes were bright with tears. What could have provoked such a thing?

      “What is it, Mom? Why are you so upset?” I moved to hug her but she stiffened at the sight of my outstretched arms.

      She shrugged. “What do you want me to say? That I’m happy for you? OK, I’m happy for you. Is that enough?” Her voice was almost inaudible.

      “Aren’t you glad I’m home?” I swallowed a lump in my throat. It hurt the way she froze me out. No wonder New York had been a haven for me; it was easier to ignore this strangeness when I was away.

      “I’m glad you’re here.” She motioned to where I stood.

      “Here? But not at Cedarwood?” I leaned casually against the counter, and tried to keep the conversation light despite the tense atmosphere.

      She turned back to the chopping board. “Look, can we just make dinner and talk about other things?”

      “Other than the lodge, you mean?” What was it about Cedarwood that upset her so? Outside, stars twinkled in the inky night, as if urging me on.

      “Yes, other than the lodge. I’m tired of hearing about it.” Garlic skin coated her fingers as she peeled and chopped. “I know that sounds harsh, and I don’t mean it to be.”

      “OK,” I said. “But I’m a little confused as to how you could be tired of hearing about it, when we haven’t really spoken.” God, sometimes I wanted to shake the woman. Why wouldn’t she want to hear about the biggest gamble of my life? The very place I’d always dreamed of owning. It didn’t make sense, but Mom’s moods had never been easy to translate.

      “I hear about it in town. That’s enough. I want to talk to you, just not about that.”

      I remained silent, and we prepped the dinner that way, both mired in our own thoughts. With the white noise of TV in the background, it was enough to pretend we were listening to that.

      Sitting down at the table, I took the spatula and served Mom a generous slice, hoping she’d eat with gusto. “It’s good to have dinner together again. I’ve missed it.”

      “Me too,” she said.

      “We could make it a regular thing. Maybe Friday nights? And I can give you a rundown about what stage I’m at with the lodge?” I hadn’t meant to bring it up again, but really, it was all I had these days and it wasn’t like I was discussing something scandalous.

      She sighed and placed her napkin on the table. “Clio, I’m just… confused. You were doing so well in New York. Why would you give it all up to come back here? That place…” She grimaced. “…It’s a money pit. What if you lose everything?”

      With a deep breath I said, “It’s a risk, a big one. But to be honest, Mom…” I stalled. Would telling her the truth help or hinder? “I couldn’t stay there. I had an incident with a bride, and I got fired. It was a big misunderstanding, but the press got hold of the story and it gathered momentum, giving me no choice but to leave. I was basically blacklisted by every agency in and around New York. And then when Cedarwood came up for sale… it seemed like fate, a lifeline.”

      Her face pinched. “I’m sorry to hear about your job. I know how much you loved it. It just seems like a step backwards coming home. There’s nothing here for you.”

      I worked my jaw, fighting back tears. I felt so goddamn sorry for her, for myself. We were back to the same pattern of the past.

      “Mom, you’re here.” When my dad died, part of her did too, but I’d always hoped it was just a phase, just part of the grieving process. Instead of pulling me close, she pushed me away. As the years passed she’d folded in on herself even more until all I had left was a shell of what she had been. Even Aunt Bessie hadn’t been able to pull her out of the funk she was in, though she never gave up trying.

      She pushed her plate away. “What if you lose all that money, Clio? Your father’s money?”

      Ah.