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“Yes, but…” It felt a little too make-do-or-mend for Laurel’s taste, and yet she realised how naïve and passive it was to think a happy ending was just going to fall into her lap. Not that she thought that, exactly, and yet…
And yet what?
Laurel didn’t even know. Her head was spinning, but at least the threat of having a major wobbly was receding. The pressure in her chest and the thickness in her throat had both eased, thank goodness. Laurel felt composed enough to turn to Archie and give him what she hoped passed for a rueful smile.
“Thank you, Archie. You’re right, of course. I don’t know why I’m having such a wobble now. But I think you’ve talked me down from the ledge.”
“I don’t think you were quite that far gone,” Archie returned with a smile. “Coming back here was tougher than you expected it to be. I can understand that. Memories are powerful things. So are dreams, and it sounds like you’ve got a lot of both.”
“Yes…” With a jolt of awareness, Laurel realised how close he was. She breathed in the bay rum scent of his aftershave and it made her dizzy. Their shoulders were brushing, their breath mingling, and then Archie was leaning even closer, angling his head down towards her while Laurel’s mind emptied out and she froze where she stood, so, so conscious of his nearness—his pressed shirt, his shaven jaw, his hair which was starting to stick up again, in the front.
And then he did what some part of her brain had known and been expecting him to do all along. He kissed her.
Chapter Eleven
Laurel’s brain short-circuited at the brush of Archie’s lips against her own. His lips were cool and soft, the caress more like a question, and before she could process what was happening, or think about what she was doing or how she felt about it, she gave its answer.
Laurel jerked her head away from his and took a definitive step back, one hand pressed against her thumping heart.
They stared at each other for one endless, agonising moment, and a look of hurt vulnerability flashed across Archie’s rugged features before he composed his face into the far more expected expression of easy affability.
“Sorry,” he said. “That shouldn’t have happened. I suppose I got carried away.”
Laurel’s face felt as if it was on fire, her heart was beating painfully hard, and she felt even nearer to tears than before. “No,” she said. “It’s not… I just…” She could not find the words. She didn’t even know which ones she was looking for. She had no idea how she felt, or why she’d stepped away so quickly, and yet she had. She had.
Archie shook his head, smiling. “It’s all right, Laurel. I understand.”
Did he? Did she? “I’m sorry,” Laurel said, one hand still pressed to her chest. Her heart was racing. “If… if…” Her tongue felt thick, the words coming clumsily. “If I gave out the wrong message somehow…” She thought of those cosy dinners, blabbing on about Mr Right, how she’d kept going to him for advice and comfort and company…
Of course she’d given out the wrong message. She felt both stupid and mean and stupid. So stupid.
“No, no, you didn’t.” Archie was still shaking his head. “Please don’t worry about that. This is entirely on me. But let’s say nae more about it. It was a moment, that was all, a foolish moment. Christmas, mistletoe, moonlight, and all that.” Even if there was neither mistletoe nor moonlight in this moment. “Let’s put it behind us,” he said firmly. “For good. But I think I’d better go check on my dad.” With a quick smile that didn’t crinkle his eyes, he turned and walked back into the hotel.
Alone in the cold and dark, Laurel let out a sound that was part groan, part whimper, part howl. If only that hadn’t happened. If only she hadn’t jerked away like that, as if she’d been disgusted. Why had she? And yet what else could she have done? She’d enjoyed Archie’s company these last few days, of course she had, but she couldn’t ever think of Archie like that.
Could she?
He wasn’t at all the man of her stupid, schoolgirl fantasies, not that that mattered. In that moment Laurel knew that was all they’d ever been… fantasies. She’d never really been expecting a Mr Darcy lookalike to emerge dripping from a pond, of course she hadn’t.
But Archie? Archie MacDougall, a man who wore jumpers with more holes than wool, and talked to cookers, and made lemon drizzle cake, and spent his days with sheep? He was tied to this island, which was lovely but on the edge of nowhere, and a relationship between them, even if she’d wanted one, would never work.
But if Archie hadn’t kissed her, they could have gone on being friends, if only for another week. Now Laurel feared it was all going to be terribly awkward, and there would be no more cosy suppers in Archie’s kitchen, no games of Ludo or Monopoly, no comfortable chats as they washed the dishes… basically, Christmas was ruined, and worse, far worse, she might have ruined it for Archie.
She hated the thought of having hurt him, hated it with a ferocity that made her want to howl. He was far too nice a man for her to have done that. He was far too nice a man for her.
Swallowing hard, Laurel headed back inside. The band was taking a break and a buffet was being served on the side of the ballroom, although Laurel knew she couldn’t manage a mouthful. Her stomach swirled with nerves and the acidic aftertaste of disappointment.
She looked around for Archie, but she didn’t see him anywhere, and when she glanced into the foyer, she saw the receptionist watching Elf all alone. Had Archie taken his dad and just left? Her stomach seethed even more, and forcing herself forward, she went to look for Zac. He was standing with a few lads his own age; they were tossing cocktail sausages into each other’s mouths and laughing loudly whenever one of them succeeded in catching one.
Laurel didn’t want to spoil their fun, but she felt rather desperate to go back to Bayview Cottage and crawl beneath her duvet. Still, for Zac’s sake, she turned away, and decided to get another drink. A glass of wine this time.
She took her large glass of pinot grigio to a quiet corner of the room, wanting only to sip it in silence, her mind still twisting and turning on itself, with no real answers to the questions seething in it. Why did Archie have to kiss her? Was everything going to be ruined? Why did she feel quite so upset? What would happen now?
“Hello, you look new.” A fortyish woman with red hair and a wide smile came up to Laurel, forcing her to smile back even though everything in her protested.
“Yes, I am.”
“Visiting family, or…”
