A December to Remember (70)
He went to get up.
“Easy does it,” she said gently, helping him up to sitting. “Sit for a while. I’ll make you a nice cup of sweet tea to get your blood sugar back up.”
He sat with his back against the wall, and Star sat down next to him, their knees touching.
“I’m wearing your coat,” he said.
“I didn’t want you to catch cold.”
He looked down at his bandaged hand. “You fixed me.”
“It’s no big deal.” She smiled. “It’ll smart for a few days, but the splinter came out clean. I can come to the pub and change your dressing for you in the morning before you go to your sister’s for Sunday lunch.”
“You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
“You might be delirious; I only got a splinter out.” She laughed. But before she could say another word, Duncan leaned over and kissed her, long and sweet. His lips were as soft as she’d imagined, and when he deepened the kiss, Star wondered if she might faint. When they parted, she was indeed light-headed.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you,” he said quietly.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I wasn’t sure that someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”
“What? Why?” She laughed. “I’m nobody . . .”
Duncan put his finger to her lips. “Don’t do that,” he said. “You always put yourself down. You are fascinating. You only ever have to be told a thing once and you understand it and remember it like you’ve known it for years. You’re kind and you’re always thinking about other people, putting yourself in their place and seeing things from their perspective. Nothing fazes you. Not even giant fainting men. You laugh all the time, and it sounds like sunshine, and when you smile the freckles at the edge of your right eye line up to form a leaf shape.”
No one had ever said anything like that to her before. She tried to speak around the finger pressed to her mouth but found she had no words.
“You have become somebody very special to me, Star North,” he said. And he kissed her again.
They left the pyre to manage itself, and after a cup of strong sweet tea each, Star and Duncan took each other on their first official date, to the Stag and Hound.
33
Verity was holding court in the greengrocer’s. Last night she had performed as a singing pomegranate in the school play, and the praise had gone to her head. It had also marked the last day of school, which only added to her high spirits. She was more than happy to recite her lines this Saturday afternoon for any customers who confessed they hadn’t been fortunate enough to see her play.
“Aunty Simone, what did you like best about the play?”
Maggie had asked her not to indulge her daughter’s ego, but Simone couldn’t resist. Why shouldn’t Verity be proud of herself?
“Definitely your pomegranate scenes. I have never heard such an eloquent fruit.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. Verity smiled, satisfied, and continued making multicolored pom-poms from the basket of wool donated to the cause by the Cussing Crocheters. As she finished each one, she dropped them into a box at Simone’s feet. She was grateful that her niece was so open to embracing her presence.
Simone was perched on a crate, tying pine cones, pom-poms, and crochet poinsettia flowers into long garlands of twisted spruce and ivy. The church flower association had kindly made the garlands yesterday, and Anita and Sonja had dropped them into Maggie’s shop this morning for embellishments, ready for the marquee to go up on Monday. They took up a third of the shop’s floor space, coiled like giant green anacondas, so Maggie had to keep stepping over them to reach her produce.
“How many of these are there?” Simone looked at the snaking pile, wondering if she was going to give herself a repetitive strain injury from tying knots.
“About seventy,” Maggie said, sitting on a crate next to her and picking up a garland. “They’ve got to stretch widthwise along the length of the marquee.”
“Shit the bed!” she exclaimed. “We’ll be at this till kingdom come.”
“Uh! That’s a swear! Mama, Aunty Simone said ‘shit’!”
“Thank you, Verity.”
“Sorry, Verity,” said Simone humbly. “I meant poop the bed.”
The bell jangled, and Doreen blustered in carrying a large cardboard box, which she dropped next to the garlands.
“There’s a load more pom-poms for you,” she said. “I see young Verity is doing a cracking job of making them as well.”
Verity looked pleased. “Did you see my school play?”
“I did. Never was there a more holy pomegranate in all of Rowan Thorp.”
Verity beamed.
“Thanks for those, Doreen. The garlands are going to look great.” Simone was surprising herself with her amiability.
“Ellen’s going to drop in another batch of poinsettia in a bit. We’re working at full capacity to get the rest of the decorations ready for Monday.”
“Thank you so much!” Maggie gushed.
“Well, we all benefit from the festival. The decorations will last, the crochet ones at least, and we can add to what we’ve got year on year. This year is only the start. Just saw your boy with Harini’s granddaughter, by the way. What’s going on there, then?”