It Started With A Kiss. Miranda Dickinson

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СКАЧАТЬ me. Or is that brandy? I can never remember …’

      ‘Tea will be fine, thanks,’ I called back quickly. The last thing I needed was Wren’s idea of a ‘shot’ of brandy (to everyone else, that’s about a quarter of a bottle). Despite her diminutive stature, Wren can drink more alcohol than me, Charlie and all our friends put together.

      Ugh, Charlie. In the craziness of the past hour, I had almost forgotten the gut-churningly awful reality of his reaction, but now it made its horrific return to my innards.

      ‘How did you leave things with Charlie?’ Wren asked, once she had thrust a scalding hot, impossibly sweet cup of tea into my hands.

      I shuddered as embarrassment launched another crushing onslaught on my guts. ‘I didn’t. I just legged it. I was so mortified, Wren. I mean, what on earth was I thinking, telling him how I felt?’

      Wren grimaced. ‘I bet you felt a right prat.’ Seeing my expression, she raised her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, Rom, I’m sorry! That came out wrong.’

      ‘Don’t worry. It’s accurate. I just don’t understand how I got it so wrong.’

      ‘I don’t think you did – at least, that’s what all of us thought would happen, sooner or later. But you know Charlie. He’s a typical bloke, head goes straight in the sand the moment he’s challenged on anything. You know that.’

      Without thinking, I drank some tea, recoiling in horror as the high sugar content grated against my teeth. Wren completely misread my reaction and grinned with pride.

      ‘See, I told you tea was the answer.’

      Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I swallowed, even though every fibre of my being was screaming at me not to. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘You’re welcome. So did you get the bloke’s name?’

      I shook my head. ‘I just wish you could have been there. He was amazing – just calmly helped me while everyone else stared.’ I stood and walked over to the window to gaze out at the tiny slice of the cosmopolitan city heart outside. The afternoon light was fading as Christmas lights from the surrounding apartments, restaurants and bars were reflected in the canal four storeys below. Festive city revellers hurried by on the frozen towpath, muffled up against the arctic weather. ‘And he’s out there, somewhere, right now …’

      Wren appeared by my side, watching me carefully. ‘He’s really got to you, hasn’t he?’

      I nodded, the memory of his lips brushing mine suddenly bright in my mind. ‘I’m honestly not using this as a diversion. I want to find him again.’

      ‘Right. Come with me.’ Wren grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the front door.

      ‘Where are we going?’

      ‘To find him, of course!’

      ‘What? Wait …’

      ‘We can’t wait, Rom! We need to find him now!’

      ‘But we also need coats?’

      Wren looked down at her thin jumper, jeans and large pink fluffy slippers. ‘Ah. Absolutely. And then we’re going!’

      One of the things I love the most about Wren is her ability to get things done. Although the lightning-fast change in her attitude to my handsome stranger was a bit of a curveball, there was no doubting the fact that when Wren Malloy puts her mind to something, nothing can shake her from her chosen course of action.

      ‘Wren, it happened yesterday. He won’t be there,’ I protested as we flew along the canalside and across the bridge to the city centre.

      ‘I know. But there might still be some people around who remember him,’ Wren called back, dodging shoppers laden with last-minute Christmas shopping. ‘And you need to keep his image fresh in your mind.’

      When the small wooden stalls came into view, I pulled up to a halt. ‘Wren, stop.’

      She stared at me, wild auburn curls blowing about her face. ‘What now?’

      ‘Why are you doing this?’

      ‘Eh?’

      ‘Five minutes ago you thought he was a twisted psycho stalker. And then you drag me out here like your life depends on it. I don’t understand …’

      She took a breath and smiled at me. ‘You’re my best friend. So I’m here to support you.’

      Genuinely touched by this, I smiled back. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘And anyway, maybe if we go down this route you’ll get it out of your system.’

      ‘Ah.’

      Wren looked around. ‘So, where did you meet him?’

      I looked around. With the arrival of a new day the whole Christmas Market had taken on a magical appearance, the brightly coloured lights that framed each stall reflecting in the damp pavements, while the blazing glow from the whirling carousel illuminated the windows of the surrounding buildings. The air temperature had dropped considerably and tiny white flakes of snow swirled in the air above the bustling market stalls. For a moment it was hard to get my bearings.

      ‘I think it was near the beginning of the craft market,’ I answered, ‘or at least, that’s where he kissed me. The stall I demolished was further down New Street because we walked a little afterwards. But it’s all a bit of a blur to be honest.’

      ‘Well, let’s start at the kiss and work backwards,’ Wren suggested, hugging my arm. ‘Where did that happen?’

      ‘By a stall with hand-painted glass tree baubles.’

      We followed the line of craft stalls, passing displays of garish felt hats, jewellery, delicate silk scarves and hand-dipped candles until Wren let out a squeal and tugged at my arm. ‘There!’

      My heart began racing as we approached the stall, memories of the stranger’s concerned questions, his breath on my face and that kiss suddenly bombarding my mind. The large, teardrop-shaped bauble was still hanging from its silver-painted twig in the mottled gold pot at the front of the stall, exactly as it had been when he caught up with me. Shivers chased each other up my spine as my fingers brushed its lustrous surface.

      ‘I was here – looking at this – when he reached me.’ I closed my eyes and remembered the warmth of his gentle voice behind my ear, the light touch of his hand on my shoulder.

      Wren was already summoning the attention of the stallholder. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘Yes, love?’

      ‘This might sound a bit weird, but we’re looking for a man.’

      The lady behind the counter let out a cracked, throaty laugh that could only have been created by a serious nicotine intake over many years. ‘Aren’t we all, dearie! That’s what I want for Christmas, eh, Sylv?’

      ‘Ooh too right, Aud,’ laughed the short woman beside her who was swathed in so many woollen layers she resembled a forty-something rainbow-hued СКАЧАТЬ