On the corner of the hearth where Nick sat earlier in the evening, there was a lone mince pie. They hadn’t all been eaten after all.
My stomach gurgled. I’d forgotten to eat dinner. There was no way I had the energy to go and make myself something in the kitchen. Even the thought of walking there was exhausting. But there were nuts and crisps behind the bar, and that lone mince pie, so I decided to snack my heart out in the hopes it would fuel me for the final clean-up. Or at least to stay awake long enough until Nick, Stephen and Noelle all came back, and I could lock up.
When I’d settled myself back down on the rug, with my midnight feast piled up, I grabbed the mince pie first. As I removed it from the foil case, I couldn’t help but think about Nick’s long fingers gently lifting the cut-out pastry and his bunching muscles as he wielded the rolling pin.
This really had to stop. I was becoming obsessed.
I shoved the whole pie in my mouth. Maybe I could push the thoughts of Nick out of my head by filling it up with pastry instead? As a deterrent for sexy thoughts, blocking a vital airway was quite effective.
‘Hey.’
I swung my face, hamster cheeks and all, in the direction of the doorway and of course, there he was standing, swathed in his great snuggly coat, hair tousled and cheeks pink.
I coughed and covered my mouth, frantically chewing, whilst waving with the other hand. Oh, the irony. Did I call this a mince pie emergency or a medical emergency?
By the time he reached me, I’d just about managed to swallow but there was still a worrying amount of pastry clinging to the roof of my mouth. I may have made a resolution not to cross any more lines with him, but that didn’t mean I wanted to talk to him with raisins stuck in my teeth.
‘Is it okay if I join you? I need to thaw out.’
I nodded and he stripped off his gloves and coat, a waft of fresh air and eucalyptus washing over me. He dumped the coat on the arm of the nearest chair and my pervy, disobedient eyes did a slow reconnaissance of him from top to toe; loose-fitting jumper that did nothing to hide the width of his shoulders, dark jeans clad around legs that went on and on forever. If he was a tree, I wanted to climb him. If I wasn’t careful, I’d stop licking my teeth clean and start licking my lips.
‘Would you like a nip of something to warm you up too?’ I offered; my voice hoarse. I told myself it was from inhaling a mince pie.
‘Yeah, maybe that’d be good.’ He held his hand in a stilling gesture as I started to move. ‘No, I’ll get it. You’ve served enough drinks tonight.’
‘Technically I shouldn’t let you go behind the bar,’ I protested feebly.
‘Technically, I probably shouldn’t have been allowed to bake mince pies for your guests either, but these things happen.’ He shrugged with one shoulder. ‘Would you like something?’
Would I ever.
No, bad Beth.
‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ I squeaked. While he was behind the bar, I stared at the ash crumbling in the fireplace and tried to give myself a serious talking-to. All this lusting after him was too intense. This was how I’d been with Peter when I met him, like a teenager with more hormones than I knew what to do with and no common sense.
Nick came back over cradling two shot glasses with clear liquid and instead of standing by the fire or taking a comfortably cushioned chair, he sat down next to me on the floor and stretched his legs towards the flames. He handed me the glass and I raised my eyebrows. ‘Neat vodka? You don’t mess about do you.’
‘It’s what they drink in Russia and it gets pretty damn cold there.’
‘Good point. How do they toast then?’
‘Very poetically, with far too many words for me to learn when I’ve been drinking vodka.’
‘Cheers it is then.’ I lifted my glass.
‘Cheers.’ The knuckle of one of his fingers brushed mine as we clinked our glasses together and we both hesitated a moment, a curl of warmth hitting my belly, before any alcohol even touched my lips. Then we knocked our drinks back and sat in a silence I was diligently trying not to label as ‘charged’.
‘How is it outside?’ I asked suddenly, because talking about the weather was safe.
‘Brass monkeys. But the snow’s stopped falling.’ That little half-smile tipped up at the corners of his mouth as he looked at me. His blue eyes danced fleetingly across my face and the edge of the smile softened, hinting it might grow further. Such a tease. ‘It’s beautiful.’
I took a deep breath and turned away, grabbing the nearest packet of snacks.
‘Nuts?’ I swung the bag in his direction for him to see and watched in horror as it slipped from my hand, sailed through the air and smacked him square on the cheek. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ He laughed softly as he straightened his glasses. ‘Oh, hang on.’ He tilted his hips upwards so he could slide his hand in the pocket of his jeans to retrieve something and I nearly fainted. It hardly made it any better when I realised that the object was a bar of chocolate, which he proceeded to offer to me.
I took the chocolate. If I couldn’t have a piece of him, I was getting a piece of something.
