A New Year Marriage Proposal. Kate Hardy
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nobody’s footsteps to follow in. He’d made his own way. ‘I guess that made it easier for you.’
‘More like it meant I had something to live up to,’ she corrected.
He’d never thought of it that way before—that privilege could also be a burden. Tabitha’s friends and family had all been privileged, and they’d taken their easy life for granted; they’d also looked down on those who’d had to work for what they had, like him. Clearly Clarissa saw things very differently.
‘I had to be the best, because I couldn’t let Gramps down,’ she continued. ‘If I fell flat on my face, it wouldn’t just be me that looked an idiot. No way would I do that to him. I wanted him to be proud of me, not embarrassed by my incompetence.’
Quinn hadn’t known Carissa for very long, but incompetence was a word he’d never associate with her. And he’d just bet that her grandparents adored her as much as her parents obviously had, because her voice was full of affection rather than fear or faint dislike. ‘Do your grandparents know what you’re doing about the ward?’
‘The ward itself, yes, of course—Gramps was really good at helping me cut through the red tape and pushing the building work through endless committees. Plus, obviously he’s one of the trustees. But I haven’t told them anything about the virtual Santa. I wanted to make sure it could work first.’
‘If you hadn’t met me, what would you have done about it?’ he asked, suddenly curious.
‘Found a programmer. Talked to his clients. Offered him a large bonus to get the job done in my timescale.’ She shrugged. ‘Standard stuff. But it’s irrelevant now, because I’ve met you.’
‘How do you know I could...?’ he began, and then stopped. ‘You talked to some of my clients, didn’t you?’
‘I couldn’t possibly answer that,’ she said, making her face impassive and clearing away their empty plates.
He sighed.
‘OK. I won’t say who I spoke to, but they said that if you run a project then it’ll work the way it’s supposed to work. No compromises and no mistakes.’
He prided himself on that. ‘Yes.’
‘And that you call a spade a spade rather than a digging implement,’ she added with a grin.
‘What would you call a spade?’ he asked.
‘That rather depends on the context.’
He smiled. ‘A very lawyerly response.’
‘It’s who I am,’ she said.
‘No. You’re more than your job,’ he said. ‘You could’ve just got the rest of your dad’s band to come and play some of his most famous songs at the opening. That would’ve been enough to wow everyone. But you went the extra mile. You’re arranging a very special Santa for the kids. It’s personal—and I don’t mean just for them, I mean for you.’
‘That hospital saved my life when I was a baby. I owe them,’ she said. ‘The virus meant that I was more prone to chest infections when I was really small, and I can remember spending my fourth birthday in hospital with pneumonia, being too ill for a birthday party and balloons and cake. The staff were really kind, but I knew what I was missing. And being in hospital at Christmas is especially hard on kids. They miss out on Santa and all the parties. It’s hard on their families, too. I just want to put a bit of sparkle into their day and make a difficult Christmas that little bit better for them.’
‘Christmas isn’t always good outside hospital,’ he said, and then he could have kicked himself for letting the words slip out.
Carissa, just as he’d half expected, homed straight in to the crux of the matter. Even though she’d just brought the box of macarons over to the table and looked thrilled when she opened it, she didn’t let the pudding distract her. ‘Is that why you don’t like Christmas?’
No way was he going to discuss that subject with her. ‘I don’t like the greed and commercialism surrounding Christmas,’ he said. Which was true. Just not the whole truth.
‘So you don’t believe that the spirit of Christmas exists any more?’ she asked, putting the macarons on a plate.
‘Do you?’ he asked, throwing the question back at her because he didn’t want to admit that the spirit of Christmas had never really existed for him.
‘Yes, I do. My parents always made a big deal about Christmas, and I love this time of year. OK, the year they died was different—it’s pretty hard to enjoy Christmas when you’re fifteen years old and planning a funeral for the two people you love most in the world.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘But, other than that year, I’ve always tried to keep it the way they kept it, full of love and happiness. Just how it should be.’
The complete opposite of the Christmases he remembered. Full of misery and wishing the day was over. Knowing that he wasn’t really wanted and was in the way—he’d always had presents, yes, but they’d been on a much smaller scale than those of his cousins because he didn’t really belong. He’d been a charity case. Sometimes, as a child, he’d thought he would’ve been better off in a children’s home.
* * *
A man who hated Christmas.
It was so far removed from Carissa’s own view that it intrigued her. Why didn’t Quinn like Christmas? Had he had a tough childhood, maybe? Grown up in a family where Christmas had been a source of tension and worry?
It would explain why he didn’t like the commercialism. When money was tight, tempers tended to fray as well. She’d seen the results of that first-hand when she’d helped at the refuge. And yet the women there still tried to make Christmas good for their kids and put their own feelings aside.
She knew she really ought to let this go. Quinn had already shown himself to be a private man. This was none of her business. And she knew, too, that her best friend would call her on it. Erica would say that Carissa had gone straight into Ms Fixit mode as a way of avoiding the fact that she was attracted to Quinn, and it scared her stupid. Fixing things—like making Christmas good again for Quinn—meant that Carissa didn’t have to face up to her past.
It was probably true.
Definitely true, she thought wryly. And another way of making Quinn safe to be around.
Yet at the same time it was an irresistible challenge: to show Quinn that there was more to Christmas than just blatant commercialism and greed. And maybe if she could heal whatever hurt was in his heart, it would teach her how to heal the ache in her own heart, too.
‘What if I can prove to you that the Christmas spirit is real—that there really is magic out there?’ she asked.
‘The magic of Christmas?’ he scoffed. He didn’t believe in it.
But what she was suggesting...it meant spending time together. Getting to know each other. Part of him knew that this was just an excuse for him to spend time with her—something he ought to resist, because he was definitely attracted to her, and with his track record he knew it would end in tears. But then again, if he got to know her better, it would help their business arrangement—he might even be able to improve the Santa project. He looked her straight in the eye. ‘What if you can’t?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Then I’ll pay you double for the virtual Santa system.’
‘A wager?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘OK. Let’s make it double or quits. If you can prove it, then I’ll build your system free and help you sort out things on the day.’
‘Double or quits,’ she agreed, and held out her hand.
It was the second time they’d shaken hands on a deal. And this time the tingle in his skin was stronger. Scarily so.
But it was just adrenalin, he told himself. The excitement of the challenge. Nothing to do with