is beautiful—although I’ll admit when I first saw the island from the ferry I thought it looked like something out of a very scary story.”
That made Cam chuckle, even though he still felt the sting of her retort about the jetpack. He knew the exact vista she was talking about.
“Eigg Point, no doubt—before you round the headland and see the village. That sheer black cliff with the sea foaming around its base does look like it belongs in a horror movie on a misty, overcast day like today. On a sunny day, though, when the hills are so startlingly green they look like they were drawn with crayon and the water is smooth and clear, it’s very different. There’s the surgery,” he added, pointing across the grassy village green to the three-story building beyond.
“That’s your surgery? It looks more like a fancy hotel!”
Cam chuckled. “My great-grandfather built it to try and attract a decent doctor to take up residence. I used to tease my grandfather that he only took up medicine so he’d be able to work in the second nicest building on the island. He didn’t deny it.”
“I don’t blame him,” she said.
The appreciation in her voice was pleasing.
“Normally I’d cut across the green to get to the surgery, but it’s pretty wet right now and your heels would sink in.”
“Thank you.”
She had a prim way of speaking he rather liked, and an intriguing way of pronouncing some words that gave unusual flavor to an otherwise very North London voice. Caitlin had mentioned that Harmony’s mother’s family had originally come from Jamaica, and he thought he could hear an echo of that migration in the nurse’s voice. It was so nice, especially with its husky tone, he was tempted to keep her talking so he could go on hearing it.
“Patients come in through either the front door or the one closest to the car park on the north side,” he told her as they approached the surgery. “But you have your own entrance on the other side.”
Cam led her around the building, and as they got to the door heard her give a little gasp.
“Oh! What’s that back there?”
She was looking up the hill through the trees, along the track he used every day.
“That’s the nicest building on the island—Rurie Manor.”
Big hazel eyes stared at him. “You live there?”
“Yeah,” he said, opening the outer door and holding it for her, once more pleased at her awestruck reaction to his home. “But only in a small part of it. Most of the Manor is a hotel now.”
Harmony turned back to stare at the Manor a moment more, before stepping through the door and into the entryway.
Cam glanced at his watch. Time to test his glucose levels.
Handing her the keys, he said, “There’s another door at the top of the stairs, and the door behind me leads into the surgery, so I sometimes come in this way, but otherwise you’ll be the only person using it. Go on up and check out your apartment, and I’ll bring up your suitcase in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Her slightly stiff reply made him want to break the ice a little more. He was used to a relaxed atmosphere in his practice and hoped to establish that type of working relationship with her too. Even with his niggling suspicion he should actually keep her as distant as he could. Just standing in the small entryway she seemed too close, with her citrusy perfume warming the air between them and those golden eyes surveying him with solemn intensity.
“Hopefully life on the island won’t seem too tame and boring for you after living and working in London. At least Christmas should be exciting.”
His words stumbled to a halt, arrested by the flash of pain crossing her face.
“I’m looking forward to the quiet,” she said, turning toward the steps and hitching her tote bag higher. “And Christmas can pass me by and I won’t complain.”
Had he somehow put his foot in his mouth? He couldn’t see how. Everyone loved Christmas, didn’t they?
But even as he was trying to figure out what he’d said wrong he found himself staring once more at her delectable rear end, until it sashayed around the corner of the landing and disappeared.
HARMONY STOOD IN the middle of the apartment, not even taking in the space around her, annoyed at herself for being so curt with her new employer. Not to mention for the sarcastic comment she’d made to him earlier about the water jetpack.
It wasn’t really like her to be that way, but hearing him make light of her innate dislike of risky behavior had irked her—so, like her mother always said, she’d run her mouth, speaking before thinking.
But there was something about him that had put her on edge from the first time she’d looked him in the eyes. He was, she had to admit, a fine specimen. Handsome, in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, with brown hair just shy of ginger and blue-gray eyes, his looks alone made him a standout. Couple his face with a body that looked amazing even in a wetsuit, and Harmony knew he must make women’s heads turn faster than wheels on ice.
But it wasn’t his looks that were making her snarky. There was an air about him—an aura of confidence and ease that, conversely, made her tense and jumpy. And when he’d mentioned Christmas, just as she’d promised herself a hiatus from the entire season, it had brought all her pain flooding back.
For almost as long as she could remember Christmas had been a special time for Mum, Gran and Harmony. There was always a flurry of baking, both English treats and Jamaican. And a night specially planned to trim the tree while listening to a variety of holiday music or old movies.
They’d also watch Greetings from Yaad, an hour-long special filmed in Jamaica, in which people could wish their loved ones in England a Merry Christmas. Harmony had used to dislike the amateurishly filmed show, until Gran had said, “We may not know any of these people, but it makes me happy to hear the accents of my youth.”
That had always led to conversations about old times in Jamaica, and even how things had been for Gran when she’d first moved to England. She’d been part of the Windrush generation, coming from the colonies to help with the rebuilding efforts in the UK after World War II. She’d had to leave all her family behind, including Mum, but once she’d gotten herself a job and somewhere to live she’d started saving so she could send for her husband and daughter.
Grandpa had decided he didn’t want to live in England, so eventually Mum had travelled to the UK with her Uncle Shorty, Gran’s brother. Uncle Shorty, a perennial bachelor, had settled in Birmingham, but had come to visit every Christmas until he died, adding to the family fun. Harmony could still remember his plaid driving cap, his booming laugh and the way the scent of smoke and cologne clung to his clothes.
On Christmas Eve they’d have neighbors and friends in and out of the house, each one of them bringing a little gift, receiving goodies in return.
Until
