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‘A whole night is plenty. Besides, I can’t give any more than that. I don’t fall in love.’
‘So you’re incapable of feelings?’
‘Of course not,’ he grins. ‘It’s called unadulterated, mindless lust. But I understand people like you. It must be nice to live in la-la land. To believe in things that just aren’t there. You think everything is about love and that love is perfect. Well, baby girl, it’s neither.’
I step back as if he’d slapped me across the face. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you being such an—’
He laughs. ‘An arsehole? I told you to keep away from me from the start. I’m not a good man.’
My throat constricts as I struggle to breathe past the huge boulder forming.
‘I have to agree with you,’ I retort.
What else can I say? He has, in effect, warned me. Told me he was no gentleman, or boyfriend material. It’s not much of an effort to be perfect for one night only, whereas relationships prove to be more difficult. They last too long and sap too much of his energy. Too much tension.
And besides, what makes him think I’m even remotely interested in him? Not one to run away and give him the satisfaction that he’s hurt my feelings, I stay and do my fill of work in the shop. But I’m on tenterhooks. And in a foul mood now. To distract myself, I rearrange the entire shop, Christmas decorations and all. They suddenly seem offensive to me, all these lights and laughing Santas. Everyone is so in love with the holidays and completely oblivious to the real world, albeit for a few days. But me? When is it ever going to be Christmas for me?
When I can’t take it anymore, I find an excuse to leave and go for a walk. The sky is as bruised as my ego. It’s not every day that someone tells you they are not interested in you. I guess I had it coming. So Jago isn’t interested in a relationship. Not with me, not with anyone. As if I care, right? I can’t say he hadn’t warned me. But it’s not like I broke up with Stephen for Jago, is it? I mean, look at the two of us. We couldn’t possibly be any more different. We have nothing in common. And yet, when he touched my face, I thought I was going to shake myself apart. What would you call that sensation? I’ve never felt it in my entire life. And I don’t think I ever will again.
The cobbled streets of Starry Cove welcome me with a warm embrace despite the bitter temperatures. I breathe out and watch the air condense before my face. Why doesn’t it just give up and snow? Why the resistance? Even if it hardly ever snows in the south, that’s what Christmas is for – lots and lots of beautiful snow. And tobogganing, sleigh-riding, making snow angels. And snowball fights. Snow is the main character in the show. Without snow, what kind of Christmas is it? It’s like the icing on the cake, the kiss under the mistletoe. Without snow, where is the promise of love? Where is the happy ever after?
Jago is like the snow. He won’t give himself up and do what he should – let himself go to life and whatever it may bring. Look at me – I’ve done it. But is he going to admit what he needs, what he wants? No. He’s going to stand there and not let it snow. It’s going to be a cold, grey Christmas despite all of my greatest expectations.
And speaking of expectations, I’ve come to a financial decision. Not that I understand much about numbers, but it’s obvious that Jago is actually making a good living through his general store. Imagine if we increased the floor space or opened another venue… Or even diversified. But as long as we’re at loggerheads with the inheritance, we’ll be stuck in the mud. It would be so easy if we could just come to an agreement.
So I head back and patiently wait for him to wrap some presents that a young couple are hoarding into their basket. They look happy, excited. And from the twinkle in their eyes when they grin at each other, I bet this is their first Christmas together as a couple. Good for them. May it last forever and not come crashing down on their innocent little heads.
‘I have a business proposition for you,’ I offer over the clanging of the bell on the door as they leave.
His eyes widen and then narrow. ‘OK, my little viper’s nest. Shoot.’
‘I’ll leave you the business if you leave me the barge.’
He laughs. ‘Again? You do know that the barge is worth absolutely nothing. But a business—’
‘I’m aware. But I have an idea for a business on the barge.’
His eyes narrow even more. ‘What kind of business?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps a floating café with books, or a picnic boat.’
‘You want to turn my barge into a café?’ he asks, his face reddening.
‘Ourbarge. And that’s the idea, yes.’
‘Not happening. And even if it was yours, you haven’t got a nautical licence.’
‘No, but I can get one.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘But possible.’
‘You don’t know the first thing about navigating. Coordinates. How are you at maths, geometry, trigonometry?’
‘Oh, come on, Jago! You mean to tell me that every single boat owner is versed in numbers?’
His lips tighten. ‘Only the ones who want to live. Everyone here with a boat knows how to pilot one. And you don’t.’
