Frozen Heart, Melting Kiss. Ellie Darkins

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      ‘Let me do that,’ Will said, walking over to her.

      She tried to insist that she could manage, but he washed his hands and then pulled the box from out of her reach. When he turned back he had gauze, blue plasters and a bandage in his hands and a determined look back on his face.

      ‘Will, I think just the plaster will probably do it.’ Maya risked a chuckle, hoping that it would break the tension in the air, but Will ignored her and stepped closer.

      ‘Stop, Maya. Why is it so hard to let me help you? You don’t have to do it all yourself.’

      What other way was there? She’d done everything for herself all her life. And then spent most of her adult life doing whatever she could for other people. No one had ever tried to take care of her before.

      She looked up at him and forgot everything she had told herself about not letting him close. Lost every self-protective instinct she had nurtured since stepping into his office. He just walked straight through every barrier she’d erected, every promise she’d made to herself since they’d met. Instead of getting away, she wondered how she’d not noticed before how tall he was—another inch closer and he’d be able to rest his chin on her head—and explored the structure of his face from this new, sharper angle.

      His eyes didn’t leave her face, though they darted between her eyes and her mouth as he reached across and turned off the tap. His forehead wrinkled and his eyes were serious as he wrapped gauze around her finger, applying pressure as he pulled her hand between them, and then reached for a paper towel. He scrutinised the cut, watching the red beads bloom from her skin, and then clamped the gauze down. Maya gave a little gasp of discomfort.

      ‘Sorry,’ Will said, and she saw that his concern was genuine. ‘But the pressure will stop it bleeding.’

      She knew that, of course, but she couldn’t help wondering whether that was really why he was standing so close, why neither of them had taken a step back. She told herself that he was only so close because he was helping her. But she knew that she was kidding herself. She’d been drawn to him from the first time she’d met him, and it was only her rigid determination to protect herself that had stopped her imagining this intimacy before. She wasn’t sure that she had the strength to pull away now that she was here. She took a deep breath to steady the swimming sensation that threatened to make her sway.

      When Will was satisfied the cut had stopped bleeding he carefully unwrapped a plaster and pressed it around her finger, catching her eye as he did so and watching her expression. Smoothing the edges down, he inspected the digit from several angles, ensuring that the plaster held firm, and then held it up for her approval.

      ‘Thanks.’ The word came out breathy, unsure, and as she heard her voice she knew that she had to act. She had to do something—and now—if she was going to stop herself getting hurt. This had gone more than far enough already. Maya looked up from her finger to Will’s face. ‘It’s fine now,’ she said, trying to pull her hand away.

      But Will kept a firm hold on it, using it to pull her fractionally closer until her chest was pressed against him.

      And then he froze. Maya watched reality crash through his face as he realised what he was doing. He dropped her hand and turned away from her, and she glimpsed his hard, set expression twist into a grimace.

      Relief and disappointment flooded Maya and she leant back against the sink, trying to remember that space was what she had wanted. But his rejection stung her nonetheless. She kept her eyes on the floor until she could look up at him with an indifferent expression.

      ‘Let’s carry on,’ she managed eventually.

      Will proceeded to hack the remains of the fillet from the fish. She briefly considered trying to help, but her last attempt had ended in a sliced finger. By the look of the way he was handling the knife this time around, if she tried to interfere now she was likely to lose a hand. For the first time she could remember she wished she wasn’t in her kitchen. She wished she could escape upstairs, hide away from this man and the dangerous effect he had on her. But she’d committed to help him and she wouldn’t go back on her word.

      Things didn’t improve when she tried to explain the sauce. She’d hoped that a simple herb butter would be a good way for him to become familiar with the flavours of the different herbs from the kitchen garden behind the house. But his response when she suggested that he smelt and tasted each one was ‘nice’ or ‘fine’. And the increasing detachment in his gaze showed him retreating further from her with every prompt, shutting her out just a little bit tighter.

      In the end, with her finger and her feelings hurting more than she wanted to admit, she decided she just wanted the day over with and gave up any pretence of trying to reach him. The sooner it was ready, the sooner they could eat, and then she could escape this stifling atmosphere that had invaded her home.

      This wasn’t what her kitchen was for. She loved to share her passion with other people. Help them to discover a new talent, or develop a skill, or just eat chocolate pudding until they couldn’t move if that was what brought them pleasure. This room existed to make people happy, created the bliss that she needed to fend off the memories of her childhood. Or it had until this man had walked in here, all taciturn and cold, and brought her decades-old insecurities with him.

      With a final addition of salt and pepper she decided that the food was as good as it was going to get, considering the mood of the chefs, and set it on warm plates. She and Will carried the food and a bottle of chilled white wine to the table outside, and Maya wondered how they were going to get through this dinner. Will had said barely five words since they’d left the sink, and if she allowed it to the silence would become unbearable.

      But what could they talk about?

      Maya wished that she’d thought this through before she’d agreed to run the course for him. She loved to talk about food. When people found out that she was a cook they always asked about her work, and she was happy to talk shop for as long as they would put up with her. But she suspected that food would not be high on Will’s list of favourite topics of conversation. In fact she wondered if he had ever had a conversation about food that hadn’t involved a consideration of gross profit.

      Silence. It was definitely not golden. It was bad-tempered and it was awkward and it was the final insult for a much-abused meal.

      She gazed out over the meadow beyond the garden, hoping that the view, which never normally failed to cheer her, would have its usual soothing effect. The shadows of the clouds chased over the ground, causing the colours of the wildflowers to shift and change, and the corners of her lips twitched upwards. She encouraged it into a full-blown smile as she let the beauty and serenity of her home topple her bad temper.

      She’d fallen in love with the view, and this house, the moment that she’d first seen them. It was exactly what she’d needed: somewhere to escape from the slick city kitchens she had been working in until then, to get away from the constant client pitches, the networking events. And so she’d created a haven here—somewhere she could experience the intense colours and fresh scents of the natural world, could be completely creative. And she’d made herself part of the community. Here she understood what she needed to do, how to make people happy.

      She’d thought she’d known what she was getting when she’d paid for the old stone house and its beautiful garden. And then the place had sprung a surprise on her.

      The first cookery class she’d run had been a complete accident: she’d invited faithful clients to come for the weekend СКАЧАТЬ