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“This.” He waved a finger at her, his look concerned.
“What’s ‘this’?” she repeated his gesture, pointing at herself.
“You’re demeanour. You haven’t been yourself, lovie.”
“Haven’t I?” Damn it. And she’d thought she was doing such a good job of pretending.
“No.” He sighed, reaching for his own glass and taking a sip. “What happened?”
Her heart thumped. Memories of the last time she’d seen Michael slammed into her and they were all the more painful because Nico was right there too. She stifled a groan, looked down at her plate. “It just didn’t work out.”
Silence descended upon their table, but noise and merriment swirled around them. People were dancing, singing, talking loudly. It wasn’t really the place to go into the details of what had transpired between Michael and her. And while she wished she didn’t feel it, Maddie still felt some kind of embarrassment. Like she didn’t want to confess the truth to her dad in case he blamed her in some way. Academically she knew it was stupid, but the grief counsellor she’d seen when she’d first come back from Italy had said that wasn’t an uncommon response.
“And you miss him?”
Maddie jerked her gaze to her father, shaking her head. “God, no. Why would you say that?”
“Because you look as though you barely want to put one foot in the other. You look crestfallen, darling. Absolutely heartbroken. And as much as I thought Michael wasn’t worth the dirt on your shoe, if you miss him that much, maybe you should call him?”
Maddie’s stomach dropped to her feet. She shook her head hurriedly, looking out the window to her right. Her father requested this table – a nook in the bay window – every year and given his friendship with the publican, they were given it, always. “No.” And then, because he was right – she was heartbroken and crestfallen and falling apart in lots of ways, but not because of Michael – she lifted her shoulders. “It’s over.” And it was. She’d heard nothing from Nico, nor did she expect to. “It would never work between us.”
A long pause and then, “Are you sure?”
She reached across the table, putting her hand over his. “Dad? I don’t want to talk about it.” She tried to soften it with a tight smile. “Do you mind?”
“Well, it’s Christmas,” he said, his misgivings obvious. “I can hardly force you. But come back next week. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.” Then, with a more relaxed smile, “We’ll come here for lunch.” And he winked so her own smile was more natural. “Have the roast. And some cider.” He leaned closer. “Maybe even a little pie and ice cream.”
“Okay.” After all, it wasn’t like her social life was lighting the world on fire, and her book had stalled in the last month or so. Everything had stalled.
She needed to find a way to kick start her life and she would. One day things would start to feel normal again, surely?
Only in England would there be three pubs called The Wandering Goose, all located in the quaint collection of villages that made up the Cotswolds. Nico wished he’d asked more questions – but why would he have? So all he had to go on was the fact she often spent Christmas with her father in a little Cotswold village and they had lunch at the pub – The Wandering Goose – if her mother wasn’t home.
It was a big ‘if’. He’d been to two pubs and there’d been no sign of Maddie, and the staff he’d asked had never heard of her. But what if they just didn’t know her? What if her father reserved the table? What if she’d been within a mile of him and he hadn’t known?
He came into the third village a little before two o’clock. There were pale stone buildings on either side of a road that curved gently in one direction first, then another, leading to a street that was lined, on each side, by pale stone buildings. His heart sped up. Hadn’t she described exactly this? Fairy lights were strung from the highest point of one roof to the next and so on and so forth so the whole street had a zig-zag of lights overhead. The sky was a leaden grey and little tiny flakes of snow had begun to fall. There was barely any sign of life – no cars, no people – until he reached the very end and the street gave way to an ancient square – Tudor period, if he’d been forced to guess. There were three pubs and one, he saw, had a hanging sign with a coat of arms and beneath it: THE WANDERING GOOSE.
He moved quickly, his hand falling to the handle in his door, his eyes scanning the building on autopilot. And then he froze.
Maddie.
Everything inside of him lurched. He released his grip on the car door and sat right where he was, fumbling and switching his headlights off so as to avoid drawing attention to his parked car. At this distance, she’d never be able to see through the darkly tinted windows of his car.
But he could see.
He could stare, and he did. Alone in his car, he allowed himself this indulgence, this moment, to simply sit – knowing what he did now about his own feelings – and watch her.
He watched as she reached across and put her hand on her father’s, smiled at him in a way that almost ripped Nico’s heart from his chest, then looked towards the window so he could see right into her eyes. And everything plummeted inside of him.
The separation was suddenly intensely painful. Having her in another building, separated by a car park, glass, stone, steel. He wanted her in his arms, immediately.
But he’d waited this long. Months. Months of missing her and refusing to acknowledge that to himself. Months of wanting to cave and call her, and not doing so. He could sit in his damned car until she’d finished her meal. Couldn’t he?
“Thanks for lunch, dad.”
Her dad reached over, straightening her novelty crown into place, then kissing her cheek. “My pleasure. Come on, love. Let’s go see what Liz has to say about the year that was.” He wiggled his thick, grey brows so she smiled and nodded.
“Sounds good.”
