A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,124

our arms in the air like we’ve won ourselves.’

‘Non?’

‘No,’ Keeley admitted, taking steps towards him. ‘We might get a little sour at having lost primarily, but then we always give a firm “well done” handshake even if we’re still not quite satisfied with the result.’ She held her hand out to him.

‘You are sour?’ he asked her, one eyebrow raising.

‘No one likes losing,’ Keeley said. ‘Particularly if you’re someone who hasn’t ever felt you’re very good at anything.’

She watched his face morph into a deep-set frown then. ‘You do not think you are very good at anything?’

Keeley shrugged then, realising perhaps this conversation about winning and losing had suddenly got a little deep. ‘Well, you know, some people are naturally good at things and some people just aren’t. And those people, they have to work a little harder to achieve good things.’

‘Oh, Keeley,’ Ethan breathed.

She almost felt his exhalation inside herself and it was as heartening as it was confrontational. She shivered as he took her hand.

‘What I am about to show you,’ he said so gently. ‘It is all your doing.’

She swallowed, trying to read the emotion in his eyes. What was he going to show her?

‘Come,’ he said, gently tugging her hand and heading for the glass-paned door to the inside.

Once inside the porch area, Ethan drew them to a halt and Keeley tried to look over his shoulder to the interior of this hotel. He barricaded her view, smiling at first and making a joke of shifting a little this way and that. Then he stilled and that seriousness was back on his face again.

‘Before we go inside,’ Ethan began. ‘I want you to know that… it is not perfect yet.’ He sighed. ‘That is, not in the way I want it to be perfect.’ He took what sounded like a nervous breath, his free hand going to his hair and briefly edging it backwards. ‘But with the small amount of time I had… it is better than I could have imagined.’

‘What is it?’ Keeley asked him.

He smiled like he was wearing his whole heart in his expression. ‘I only hope that you like it.’

Pressing his back to the door, he leaned into it, opening it, and, still holding her hand, he steered her inside.

Keeley’s feet met carpet and then the most sumptuous rug that her boots sunk down into in the best of ways. Tiny glowing droplets like strings of sparkling rain hung from wooden beams and along every wooden surface. And there, right in front of her, was an open fire, in a snug sitting area, logs crackling, woollen stockings hanging from nails on a broad chunk of mantle on which rested berry-red baubles, pinecones and silver stars. A Christmas tree covered in a mish-mash of ornaments was in one corner, wrapped presents under its branches. Immediately Keeley recognised the chairs ahead. She stepped forward, into this large yet cosy room, festive tunes playing from an old radio and stepped up to the mismatched chairs. One was a russet-red, the other a moss-green, both their backs covered by plaid rugs that brought every nuance of shade in the room together.

‘You bought these at the flea market,’ Keeley said, running her hand over the velveteen fabric.

‘I did,’ Ethan replied. ‘And the radio… and some of the decorations and… quite a lot of other things in many other parts of the hotel I will show you.’

‘You did all this?’ Keeley asked, stopping in front of the fire and turning to face him.

‘Non,’ Ethan answered. ‘You did this.’

*

Ethan could see that somehow she still didn’t fully understand. He had to tell her. He wanted to make it absolutely clear.

‘What you said to me…’ He paused, wanting to get the words absolutely right. ‘What you have been saying to me from the moment we first met. About “moments” and “feelings” and “memories”.’ He swallowed. ‘I listened. And finally, I understood what I had to do for the hotels.’

‘I… don’t understand,’ Keeley said.

Ethan took her hands in his. ‘I have been hiding for the past year, Keeley. I have been… swimming through honey, er, walking the wrong way up an escalator… not knowing how to carry on, not even knowing if I should carry on… until I met you.’ He laced his fingers through hers, loving how her skin felt next to his. ‘You showed me the way,’ he breathed. ‘You reminded me of all the things that make life important. You taught me again that being special is not