getting involved with someone she’d end up disappointing.
Jamie hadn’t actually replied to her text saying that she was on her way to meet him, and Anna felt slightly antsy as she headed towards the park. Would he be there? Or had he had time to think about it over the weekend and decide that he couldn’t handle any part of Christmas, after all?
He owed her nothing. They barely knew each other. If he didn’t turn up, it would be her own fault for trying to steamroller him into doing something he really didn’t want to do.
But she hoped that he’d let her at least try to help him.
When she reached the entrance to the park and saw him leaning against the metal railings, her heart gave a little skip. Which was completely inappropriate. They were meeting this afternoon simply as colleagues who were in the early stages of friendship; it was a kind of quid pro quo thing. If she could help him, then he would help her. This wasn’t a date date. Yes, he was gorgeous: tall and brooding, with those enormous cornflower-blue eyes, dark hair that she suspected would be outrageously curly if it wasn’t so short, and a full, sensual mouth. But he wasn’t dating her. Full stop.
Her heart gave another of those ridiculous little skips when Jamie saw her and lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Oh, for pity’s sake. She needed to get a grip.
‘Hey. Thanks for coming,’ she said as she reached him.
He inclined his head. ‘How was your day?’ he asked.
‘Full of babies with bronchiolitis. There’s a whole bay reserved just for our RSV-positive patients, poor little loves,’ she said. ‘Though I feel even sorrier for the parents.’
‘Because the babies can’t tell them how they feel, and they’re tired and not eating well, and the parents are feeling utterly helpless because they can’t do anything to make their babies feel better,’ he said.
‘That,’ she said before she could stop herself, ‘sounds like personal experience.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Observation. I did my paediatrics rotation at this time of year, and I remember what it was like.’
But she knew she’d asked something a bit too personal. She’d better switch the subject back to work. ‘What made you become a surgeon?’ she asked.
‘I really enjoyed my surgical rotation,’ he said. ‘And I like working with children. Making a difference. How about you?’
‘It was a toss-up between obstetrics and paediatrics,’ she said. ‘Helping to bring a new life into the world—that’s so special and I loved every minute. And actually delivering a baby was so wonderful. But then I did my paediatrics rotation at Christmas, and that decided me. It’s where I feel I can make the most difference, so that’s why I chose the specialty.’ She smiled at him. ‘So. Shall we?’ She gestured to the park.
Jamie really didn’t want to do this.
But he’d had the best part of two days to come up with a reasonable excuse, and he hadn’t found one. Plus, part of him wanted to be able to handle Christmas again without making his family miserable. For the last three years, he’d chosen to work over the festive season rather than join in with the family celebrations, and he used work as an excuse not to see them very often in between.
He felt guilty for not spending time with them; but whenever he was with them, it was always so obvious how much they were trying hard not to say the wrong thing. He knew they worried about him, but he found it suffocating when they wrapped him in cotton wool. Being in a family situation reminded him so much of what he’d lost, and Christmas magnified it to the point where it was too much to handle. He knew he needed to make the effort. Just… This was going to be painful. Like picking at a scab. Bit by bit.
Facing Christmas.
The time of year he dreaded.
His doubts must’ve shown on his face, because she said gently, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
No. He wasn’t sure at all.
She took his hand and squeezed it briefly. ‘Look, we don’t have to walk around the Winter Festival. We can, I dunno, go back to the high street and grab something to eat, or get a takeaway and go back to mine to chill out with some old comedies on TV—and then you can meet George.’
‘George?’ That got his attention. He was sure Anna had said she didn’t have a partner. Or did she have a child? Was she a single mum? He hadn’t heard any rumours on the ward, but then again he always closed his ears to gossip. ‘Who’s George?’
‘George the Gorgeous Goldfish.’
He looked at her, not quite sure he’d heard that correctly. ‘George is your goldfish?’
‘Gorgeous goldfish,’ she corrected. ‘Yes.’
It was so incongruous that he couldn’t help smiling. ‘George the Gorgeous Goldfish,’ he repeated.
‘That’s right. Obviously it’s not quite like having a dog, because he doesn’t stick his chin on my knee and look up at me with big brown adoring eyes, and he doesn’t want to go for walks in the park or play ball. But I talk to him and he likes my singing.’
Singing to a goldfish.
That definitely wasn’t what he’d expected to hear her say.
It was so surreal that he found himself smiling and walking into the park with her.
And then somehow they were right in the middle of the Christmas fair, strolling up and down the path lined by little wooden pop-up shacks selling food, drink, Christmas decorations and every kind of gift you could think of, from candles to cosmetics to jewellery to hand-knitted Christmas jumpers. There were fairy lights draped over the roofs of the shacks, and garlands of greenery.
‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she said, ‘because I’m ravenous. I didn’t get time for lunch.’
‘It’s four in the afternoon,’ he pointed out.
‘Which is too early for dinner, but I need a Christmas cookie and a hot chocolate right now to keep my blood sugar level.’ She grinned at him. ‘Which I admit is just a terrible excuse, because I love hot chocolate and cookies.’ She found a hot drink stall, tucked her arm into his and queued up. ‘This one’s on me,’ she said.
He accepted a coffee; she dithered about having extra cream on top of her hot chocolate, but then said, ‘No, because I’ll have another one later, laced with cream liqueur.’
Just how long did she intend to spend at the fair? he wondered, but didn’t ask.
Next was a cookie in the shape of a star, studded with chips of butterscotch. ‘Perfect,’ she said after the first bite. ‘You have to try this, Jamie.’ She broke off one of the arms of the star and handed it to him.
He had no real choice but to eat it.
When was the last time he’d eaten something and really tasted it, instead of it being simply fuel? This was delicious: buttery and sugary,
