Mills & Boon Christmas Delights Collection. Rebecca Winters

charity shop, mentioning that he always took his stuff to one in particular.

      ‘What?’ he asked.

      I looked up, confused. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

      ‘You didn’t have to.’

      I sat back on my heels again. ‘What are you on about?’

      ‘When I said I always take my stuff to a particular charity shop you pulled a face.’

      ‘I most certainly did not.’

      ‘I hate to disagree – ’

      ‘I doubt that,’ I mumbled.

      He shook his head. ‘Don’t you approve of charity shops?’

      ‘Of course I do!’

      ‘So what’s with the face?’

      I blew out a sigh. ‘I did not pull a face – ’

      ‘Yeah. You did.’

      I fixed him with a look. ‘If I did, then it was merely an expression of surprise.’

      ‘Surprise that I would donate anything? Thanks. I know I’m not exactly your favourite person but that’s a bit harsh, even from you.’

      ‘Of course that’s not what I meant. It’s just that…’

      ‘Go on.’

      I really needed to look into courses that would teach me how not to show everything I was thinking. Although, oddly, Michael O’Farrell was the first person to have ever picked me up on this.

      Glancing over, I saw that he was waiting for an answer, his intense green gaze unreadable. Unlike me, apparently.

      ‘Fine. I was just a little surprised that you donated anything.’

      He opened his mouth to speak but I got there before him.

      ‘Not because I don’t think you would, but it’s just…well, it doesn’t look like anything has left this house in quite some time, barring you.’

      He watched me for a moment or two longer before turning away and beginning to methodically go through the books in the pile in front of him.

      ‘I was referring to…before.’ His voice was flat and I wasn’t sure if I’d offended him. If I was honest, there was a lot about this client that I wasn’t sure about, and right now it was why I was feeling so awful about the fact that I might have hurt his feelings. ‘And you’re right. I haven’t taken anything there in ages. I really don’t know how I let things go quite so much.’ The last sentence was quieter, almost as if it were to himself. But I’d seen this so many times before. I wanted to let him know that it wasn’t unusual. That it wasn’t some sort of failure on his part.

      ‘It’s pretty common actually,’ I began, ‘when there’s been some sort of major event, as there has been in your life. It’s perfectly natural to – ’

      ‘Kate,’ he turned to me, ‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I’d appreciate it even more if you didn’t do the psychobabble thing on me.’

      ‘I wasn’t. All I’m trying to – ’

      The mobile on the floor next to Michael began to ring loudly, interrupting me.

      ‘Michael O’Farrell,’ he answered, looking away.

      I took a deep breath and reminded myself it was just a few more weeks.

      ‘I’ve already sent all those details.’

      Sat close to me as he was, it was hard not to overhear the conversation. And hard to not notice that it was clearly not one Michael was enjoying. His jaw was so tense I was surprised he could even speak.

      ‘No. That’s not what they said, and not what they asked for…’ He paused, listening. ‘I realise that but…no, it’s fine. I can do it now and email it over. OK. Yep. You’ll have it shortly.’

      He hung up and looked at me, running a hand across the back of his neck.

      ‘It’s OK,’ I said, before he had a chance to say anything, ‘Go and do what you need to do.’

      ‘I’m beginning to think this client is more trouble than they’re worth,’ he said, as he stood. ‘Ever have any like that?’ He sounded shattered but I heard the attempt at truce.

      ‘Now and again,’ I replied, not looking up.

      ‘So, what do you do about them?’

      ‘Oh, just try and get the job done as quickly as possible, generally.’

      ‘Sounds like a sensible plan. Although it’s unlikely to be anything else with you.’

      I looked up but he already had his hands up. ‘That came out like an insult when it was meant to be a compliment. I just meant that you have your head screwed on right.’ He ran his hand over his face, the tiredness making deep shadows under his eyes. ‘You’re right. I really do need to work on my compliments.’

      ‘I’m not here for compliments Michael. Don’t worry about it.’

      He nodded. ‘Fair enough. I shouldn’t be long on this.’

      ‘OK.’

      He turned and left the room. Moments later I heard the slight squeak from the hinge of his office door as he pushed it to.

      Two hours later and Michael still hadn’t reappeared. I’d long since finished sorting his books and had given up waiting. Fetching the cleaning supplies, I’d made sure all the new shelving was free of dust, done the same with the books, then begun putting them on the shelves. The top shelf was higher than I could reach and I’d cast a glance at a dining room chair before remembering the promise I’d made to my client about not climbing on such items. It’d be just my luck that if I was going to fall for the first time ever, it would be here, immediately giving him the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’, which frankly, would be unbearable. I recalled seeing a small stepladder in the utility room so, grabbing that, I began filling the shelves.

      It was long since dark when I finished and the house was oddly silent. I packed the books Michael had pulled out for donation into a box and put it by the door. Glancing back, I smiled as I looked at the room. There was still a little bit of work to do in here but its transformation so far was amazing. From a bland, empty room, it was now showing its owner’s personality, which is what a home should do. Although, admittedly, that was usually easier when you understood that personality in the first place.

      And now what to do? Did I just leave? Did I call out to him? What if he was in the middle of something? I didn’t want to interrupt. But if I did just leave, then would he feel that I was being rude? Ugh. I put a hand on the banister, enjoying the smooth feel of the oak under my hand as I pondered my decision. If I just peeked my head in to his office and waved on the way out I felt that covered me for not just leaving but wasn’t a big disturbance either - a good compromise.

      I reached the door to Michael’s office, which was ajar, and tapped lightly on it. When no answer came, I tried again, but there was still nothing. I glanced around but no light filtered from any of the other rooms so I could only assume he was still in this one, especially as he’d said he’d return to help me once he finished.

      Pushing the door open a little more, I peered around it. I was happy to see that the room was still as tidy as we had made it during the first session. I looked over to the desk. The lamp stood on it cast a pool of illumination and within that pool was Michael. His head rested on one arm with the other out to the side, his hand splayed across a laptop, his breathing steady.

      I hesitated where I was for a moment. I should probably just leave now. He couldn’t get snarky at me for leaving without saying goodbye if he was asleep. Perhaps I could leave a note? I looked around. A sticky notepad sat on the side of his easel so I scribbled a note and stuck it on the door.

      Right.