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He trusted her.
He wanted her.
But what did that mean in the big picture? How did she fit into a future?
Cara wasn’t the only one on his mind. Christmas was on his mind, not surprising since tomorrow was Christmas Eve. But he hadn’t spent any time thinking about how Christmas happened at Langley, or the effort others put into decorating the house—always done in early November, and removed again in the new year.
His assistant in London bought the Christmas gifts for the family, and organized the cash gifts and bottles of liquor, andthen once at Langley, Mrs. Booth put the family gifts under the tree for his uncle and aunts to open the night of their dinner together.
There really was nothing for Alec to do. Everyone handled the festivities for him. All he had to do was show up. And now, for the first time in a very long time, Alec felt a niggle of shame, embarrassed that he did nothing to contribute to Christmas. He did nothing but follow tradition, which meant, he personally did… nothing.
He understood why the staff rallied around him, but he was just beginning to realize that the reason his relatives showed up, year after year, wasn’t because they had nowhere else to go and no one else to be with. They weren’t at Langley for their sake. They came for his.
They wanted to be there forhim.
Chapter Eleven
Cara had sleptso well she didn’t stir until it was almost seven. Feeling rather victorious, she dressed and headed downstairs, perking up at the smell of bacon sizzling. Entering the kitchen, Cara found Alec at the stove in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, cooking not just bacon, but browning sausages, and in another skillet mushrooms and halved tomatoes. There were baked beans in a small saucepan, bread and eggs at his elbow.
“Aren’t you industrious?” she said, peeking over his arm to watch him maneuver the various skillets with ease.
“We have to eat.”
“That’s a lot of food.”
“It’s a proper English breakfast. Uncle Frederick loves his fry up, so here I am.”
“Have you ever made him breakfast before?” she asked, going to the coffeepot and pouring herself a cup.
“No. Only Madeleine.”
“Then this is pretty special,” Cara said, adding a generous splash of milk from the refrigerator. “What can I do? How can I help?”
“Nothing. I’ve got this.”
“Not even toast the bread?”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “We’re not toasting the bread. We’re frying it, as soon as I have a pan free.”
“So impressive. How did you learn to do this?”
“Mostly self-taught, although both Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Booth gave me some tips along the way.” He gestured to the island with the stools. “Have a seat. Enjoy your coffee.”
She did, content to be perched high so she could watch him as she sipped her coffee. He was certainly confident as he stirred this, and flipped that, and the smells just got better. She looked from him out the long kitchen window over the sink at the white winter wonderland beyond. She could see icicles line a stretch of the roof, the morning sun reflecting off the snow and ice, making the world even brighter.
Her heart felt full, and full of light, and love, and everything hopeful and good. She felt the way Christmas Eve made her feel when she was a little girl. Excited and expectant, wanting time to pass, but not wanting it to pass too quickly, because then Christmas would be over.
She was thrilled it was almost Christmas, but she didn’t want it to end. She wanted to sit in this kitchen forever, to sip coffee and be near Alec and feel this joy and contentment. She didn’t know him, but she did. She couldn’t see a future, but she could.
“You’re smiling,” Alec said, glancing at her over his shoulder.
She clasped her cup, warming her hands. “I love Christmas. I love being here for Christmas. I just feel really happy.”
“Not missing your family too much?”
Cara shook her head. “Not enough to want to be there. But I will call them later, once they’re awake.”
“What will be happening at your house today?”
