Christmas at Hope Cottage: A Magical Feel-Good Romance Novel(8)

He came forward and squeezed her shoulder, as if they were lifelong friends. She blinked, trying to find speech, but her mouth just hung open somewhat stupidly.

The stranger winked at her. ‘I heard a lot about you,’ he said. His accent was mild and lyrical, Spanish, she realised. He gave her a knowing sort of grin as if they were sharing a grand old joke. ‘Looks like The Book did its magic after all, eh? They – what’s the word – oh yes, dithered!’ He laughed, throwing his head back, as he slapped a knee. A dimple appeared in his tanned cheek, making him handsomer still. ‘They dithered for a long time before they finally sent it.’

‘What?’ she breathed, shooting a nervous glance at Jack, who seemed to have taken an unconscious step backwards. The stranger didn’t appear to notice. He just kept staring at her in utter delight.

‘What are you taking about?’ she asked, blinking.

He grinned, showing off very white, even teeth. Making the dimple grow deeper. ‘It worked. I mean, you’re here now, eh?’

‘I’ll see you soon Emma, I better take Gus away,’ said Jack, indicating his dog. ‘Come on,’ he said, separating Gus from Pennywort again. ‘I – er, hope you get better soon,’ he said, then turned and left.

Emma opened and closed her mouth, stopping herself, just in time, from asking him to stay. The strange man regarded her with an amused look for a little longer, and then he winked and headed inside the cottage, Pennywort following, devotedly, at his heels.

Emma blinked, watching Jack leave, feeling torn for a moment, then turned to follow the stranger inside, too. She crossed an arm over her cast, hoping that she looked a little more intimidating than she felt. ‘I’m sorry – not to be rude, but who the bloody hell are you?’

The stranger stopped in his tracks. ‘I’m Sandro,’ he said, a slightly confused look on his face, as if that name should have meant something to her.

‘Sandro,’ she repeated, recalling, distantly, something that Evie had said about someone named Sandro… though she couldn’t remember what, exactly. ‘Okay? And what exactly are you doing here?’

His brown eyes widened. ‘I live here.’ He smiled, and the dimple appeared in his cheek.

She blinked, wondering if her ears had played tricks on her again. They were wont to do that sort of thing since her accident. Music could sound like lawnmowers and people’s voices could sound like swarms of insects.

‘You live here?’ she repeated.

He cocked his head to the side, frowned. ‘Didn’t Evie tell you?’

Slowly, she shook her head.

He smiled at her sadly, his dark eyes trailing over her injuries, clucking sympathetically while he muttered something in Spanish. Something that sounded a little like ‘Pajarita’, as he shook his head.

Emma ignored this. ‘Where exactly?’

‘Scuse?’

‘Where do you sleep?’ she asked, shuffling to the kitchen table, where she took a seat, balancing her crutch against the table edge, her unhurt leg shaking. She could feel a headache coming on.

‘In the annexe.’

It was just off the kitchen, a small one-room studio with a view of the garden.

She stared at him. None of this made any sense. Why hadn’t Evie told her? Part of her couldn’t help being annoyed that he’d chosen that moment to come home, just when she’d seen Jack again, though she knew this was ridiculous; she hadn’t wanted to see Jack anyway, right? And she certainly hadn’t wanted him to see her, not like this.

There was a swarm of excited babbling, and Emma heard three familiar voices bickering slightly as they made their way into the kitchen.

‘I told you she’s resting,’ came Evie’s voice.

‘Excuse me,’ huffed a throaty voice, ‘my niece was hit by a bloody van, the least I can do is come and see if she’s okay—’

‘Exactly, Evie, we’re her family too, if you don’t mind. It’s just like when she first came to live here all over again, how you tried to keep her for yourself…,’ came a voice like runny honey.

‘Keep her to myself?’ huffed Evie. ‘She’d just lost her parents you bubble-head. I was trying to ease her in and you barged in then too, overwhelming her with talk of the recipes and—’

‘Barged in? Barged in!?’

Sandro looked at her. ‘I’d offer to hide you, but I don’t think we’d make it,’ he said, indicating the path to the front door.

Despite everything, she found herself grinning with him as her aunts, followed by Evie, came tearing inside. Dot’s plump, cheerful face paled. She clutched her chest when she saw her. Aggie’s eyes looked like they were about to pop.

‘Hi,’ said Emma. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’

They blinked. Dot’s glasses grew foggy as tears pricked her eyes. It obviously looked pretty bad.

Ten minutes later, after Sandro had retreated with a mild ‘adios’ and a sandwich, Aggie looked at her, across from her cup of cold tea. She’d tried to escape to the sofa three times, but no such luck. They wanted details. All of them.

‘So, we heard, you’ve literally lost your senses?’

‘I didn’t say it like that—,’ began Evie at the same time that Dot protested ‘Aggie!’ at her sister’s bluntness, then looked at Emma, her eyes magnified enormously behind their thick lenses. ‘Is she right? Evie said they were a jumble?’