A Kiss in the Snow - Rosie Green Page 0,20

to water furiously.

Still, Ronan Mackay will be gone in the morning, so it really doesn’t matter how much of a fool I looked tonight…

CHAPTER SEVEN

It’s a little-known fact that eating delectably warm and buttery Danish pastries for breakfast releases magical substances into the blood that elevate your mood. (They must be fresh from the oven, the golden flaky pastry pulling apart easily in your fingers, releasing all those glorious home-baked aromas.)

Actually, that’s entirely made up – but it’s always felt true to me…

I pummel with my fists, taking all my frustration out on the poor innocent dough, and a cloud of flour rises up.

I’m always baking – it’s my job. But it’s also my comforter, like a favourite old blanket that pacifies a tired toddler. When everything is bleak or confusing, baking lifts me like magic into a happier world, where the only tough decision facing me is whether to bake double chocolate brownies or eat warm, flaky Danish pastries fresh from the oven. (I decided on both. The aroma of almost-ready, deliciously squidgy chocolate brownies is currently drifting through the cottage, and I’m currently adding apricots and plump sultanas to my Danish pastry dough. When they’re baked, I’ll sprinkle them with flaked almonds and icing sugar.)

I bake when I’m happy. I bake when I’m anxious. And I bake when I don’t know what the hell to do next – like now…

I woke at seven-thirty to the sound of the front door closing. Seconds later, a car engine purred into life, and I assumed that Ronan Mackay had left. Lying there, I felt a little unsettled. Having been shocked half to death by his nocturnal arrival, I suppose I thought we’d at least have a chance to chat in the morning. Would he be back later? Maybe he’d gone to work and was planning to find a hotel for tonight, in which case I wouldn’t see him again. Nothing would surprise me, not after the bizarre happenings of last night…

I slide the tray of pastries into the oven, fill the kettle and – hesitating slightly as I recall last night’s ghostly figure beyond the window - I pull up the kitchen blind. It’s a perfect December day, the air frozen and still. In a stark contrast to yesterday’s dramatic clouds and swirls of snow, the sun glows pale golden and hazy in a flat, light grey sky, and the back garden looks as if it’s been iced like a Christmas cake.

The loveliness of it all pierces my heart and makes me think of Adam.

Will he tell Krystle how he feels about her?

My insides clench and I turn away from the romantic, snowy scene, taking a gulp of tea that burns my mouth. Slamming the cup down, I march upstairs to take a shower. Five minutes, then I’ll check the pastries and make some coffee. I never feel right until I’ve had my first coffee of the day. Perhaps that will make me feel a little more human and less…befuddled.

But my mind drifts away in the shower, recalling Ronan Mackay’s untimely arrival, and by the time I run downstairs to rescue the pastries, they’re already a little singed. And that’s when I find there’s not enough coffee left in the tin…

Tears of frustration threaten – but, determined not to give in to them, I pull on my coat, scarf and wellies, and set out for the village store. The frosty air makes my eyes smart and I leave a trail of footprints in the newly fallen snow as I crunch over the bridge onto Silverbells High Street.

There’s a very cute dog, his coat the colour of golden syrup, sitting patiently outside the village store, tethered to a lamppost. Maud’s cockapoo perhaps? He stands up, alert and tail wagging at my approach, and when I bend to tickle his soft ears and make a fuss of him, he rises onto his little hind legs and starts licking my face.

Laughing, I pull him into a hug, patting him and burying my nose in his teddy bear fur. ‘Well, hello there. Are you Wilfred by any chance? You’re a lovely boy, aren’t you?’

In response, Wilfred rolls onto his back in the snow, begging for a tummy rub, and I willingly oblige, reminded of how dogs are such great therapy. I wasn’t hopeful of smiling much today, but here I am, totally entranced and laughing out loud at Wilfred’s cuteness.

‘Can I borrow you, boy? Just while I’m here. You’d be fabulous company,’ I murmur.

Sure enough,