Christmas Ever After (Puffin Island 3)

“You don’t have to answer it, Sky.”

“I do.” Flustered, she paused and then put the phone down as if it were a poisonous insect. “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t have to answer it.” She stood with her hands hovering in the air for a moment and then clasped them behind her back as if that was the only way to stop herself from touching it.

She stared at the phone until the ringing stopped and the call went to voice mail.

“Right. Well, that wasn’t so hard.” She let out a shaky breath, her tension palpable. “Actually, it was hard. I feel guilty that I was here and I didn’t pick up. How awful is that?”

What was awful was the fact that her parents tried to control her love life and worse, far worse in his opinion, was the fact that they trampled so roughly over her dreams. A less strong person would have given up and yet here Skylar was working her guts out and earning a living doing something she loved.

He eased away from the counter, wondering how to make her feel better about something that was manifestly unreasonable. “You can’t always be expected to answer the phone.”

“But I still have to listen to the message so all I’ve done is remove the confrontation part. On the other hand that does make the whole thing less stressful.” She picked up her phone and listened to the message before he could suggest that she switch the damn thing off until tomorrow.

He assumed the message would be more of the usual. How selfish she was. How Richard was perfect for her. But then he saw her face pale and knew it was something more.

“Sky?”

She deleted the voice mail and stood for a moment, staring into space.

He felt a flicker of unease. “Sky?”

“Sorry about that.” Her voice was bright and she reached for her wine.

He watched as she downed it. “Don’t do that.”

“What? Drink? Why not?”

“I wasn’t talking about the drinking, I was talking about the fake voice. Be false with your mother if you like, but not with me. We agreed on honesty. Talk to me.” He wondered why he was so keen for her to talk about her feelings when that was usually something he actively avoided. “What was the message?”

“You’ve dealt with enough of my crap, Alec.” She picked up the knife and carried on chopping vegetables, each vicious slice cutting deep into the board. Carrot. Leek. Onion. Everything was diced to within an inch of its life.

He watched, concerned about her fingers, as the blade glinted in the light.

“Sky, maybe you should—”

“You eat lentils?”

“Yes, I eat lentils, but—”

“Good.” She reached for a potato, dicing it with decisive strokes of the blade. “This is going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted. It’s a perfect winter comfort soup.” Her voice was scratchy and raw and he sucked in a breath as he saw a gleam of moisture on her eyelashes.

During all the events of the past couple of weeks, the breakup, the accident, he’d never once seen her shed a tear.

He’d seen Selina cry a thousand times. He’d been sympathetic, made all the noises and moves that were expected of him, but her tears had never moved him. Toward the end they’d exasperated him. He’d assumed there was something missing inside him.

But watching Sky fight back that single raindrop of moisture made him feel as if he were being slowly unraveled.

“Sky—”

“I need a moment, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

He reached for her and then withdrew his hand, feeling helpless. His chest felt tight. He tried to see her face, but she kept her head down as she sliced. And sliced.

Two minutes into her cathartic session of violent chopping, blinded by a veil of misery, she missed the potato and sliced into her finger.

“Crap. Alec, I—”

“Yeah, I know.” Cursing himself for not having intervened earlier, he grabbed a towel and clamped it over her finger.