With Morgan, she’d flipped the switch.
Ali flicked through her mental notebook for an emotion that fitted what she was feeling. Aroused. Alive. But also, comfortable. Ali flinched as the final one hit her. Yes, that was what it was. With Morgan, she felt comfortable. Like herself, but alive. If she was brutally honest, she hadn’t felt like that with anyone else that mattered for a very long time.
It was a crime they couldn’t be more.
“It’s okay.” Morgan’s words were low, almost whispered. “I get it.”
Ali’s arm shook under Morgan’s touch. “Do you?” Was she about to have a breakdown in the middle of decorating a gingerbread house? It was so out of character, it was almost comical.
But Morgan’s steady gaze on her made her feel seen. Reassured. Safe. Ali breathed through it and steadied her nerves.
“I do.”
Ali’s heart thudded like a kick-drum. She hung on Morgan’s every word.
“We could have a future. A great one. But it’s up to you to change your mind. I’m all for it.” Morgan’s blue eyes shimmered as she spoke. “Whether you like it or not, we make sense. We’re not typical, but that’s a good thing. We are precisely who we need to be and where we need to be, and I wish you would see it. I’m not saying we’re destined, far from it. But I think we might be if you’d give us a try.” She put a hand to her chest. “I feel it here. Every time you’re near me.”
Ali gulped, then stepped towards Morgan. Her chest ached with want. She still didn’t think they could work in the long run. But maybe another short run would get Morgan out of her system.
She glanced at Morgan’s soft, full lips. She was desperate to feel them pressing against hers once again.
“How’s the baking going?” A male voice sliced through the moment, killing it dead.
For fuck’s sake.
If it wasn’t Morgan’s mum, it was Morgan’s dad.
Ali jumped back, as did Morgan. Her heart clattered to the floor, so much so, she almost felt winded. Ali picked up the piping bag and tried to remember how to hold it, but it was useless.
She was useless.
Morgan made her useless.
In the best possible way.
“Going well,” Morgan replied. “Just getting the chilled dough.”
She heard the freezer opening, but Ali didn’t dare turn around. She couldn’t face Mr Scott right at this second. Not with all the illicit thoughts about his daughter still whizzing around her brain.
“We’re just about to bake, so shouldn’t keep you up too long.”
“Nonsense,” Mr Scott replied. “I love it. Reminds me of your nan.” He paused. “I’ll leave you to it. We’re going to bed soon. See you in the morning, love. Will we see you tomorrow as well, Ali?”
Okay, she couldn’t ignore him forever. She didn’t want to appear rude.
“Not tomorrow.” She turned her head. “Merry Christmas for then!”
He wished her the same, then disappeared. As if by some unspoken agreement, they kept quiet for the next few moments, until Morgan’s mum appeared and said good night, too. Only after a decent amount of time had passed did Ali dare to look at Morgan. When she did, Morgan was staring at her, too. She gave Ali the widest grin in her armoury.
“I remember now why I left this village, and particularly why I moved out of my parents’ house. It’s lovely, but it’s limiting.”
Morgan rolled the dough, then offered Ali a cutter in the shape of a star. “You do the stars. I’ll do the bench to replace the one I broke.”
“What about the umbrella?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow, looking very pleased with herself. She pulled out a kitchen drawer and produced a cocktail umbrella. “My plan is to stick this in the still warm dough, et voila, instant umbrella. What do you think?”
Ali shook her head. “That you’re a communications expert with a solution for everything.”
