Falling for Mr. December (13 page)

‘Pretty sure,' he said dryly. He wasn't going to tell his sister the circumstances. Some things weren't for sharing. ‘She was quite clear about it.'

‘I'm sorry. I really hoped...'

‘Yeah, I know.' So had he. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea.'

‘Except you're not going to even put out a single line, let alone a net.'

‘Hey. I have a great family, a job I love, and friends. I don't need anything more,' Nick said lightly.

And if he told himself that enough times, he'd believe it.

* * *

‘What do you mean, you've split up? You're telling us he turned out to be another Bryn?' Ashleigh said.

Sammy looked away.

‘You
did
tell him about your leg?' Claire asked.

‘No.'

‘So you dumped him without even talking about it?' Ashleigh asked, her voice filled with disbelief. ‘Sammy, are you nuts? You broke your three-dates rule for him. Which means he was special.'

‘He is.' Sammy bit her lip. ‘It was the right thing to do. Now he's got the chance to find someone without any complications.'

‘You mean, you were too much of a coward to give it a chance to work,' Claire said. When Sammy flinched, she continued, ‘And yes, Ash and I can tell it to you this straight, because we're your best friends and we love you, and you've just done the most stupid thing
ever
.'

‘Talk to him,' Ashleigh urged. ‘Tell him you made a mistake. Tell him everything.'

Sammy shook her head. ‘It's a bit late for that now.'

‘It's never too late,' Claire said. ‘Look, you've got the calendar launch next week. He's one of the models, so he's bound to be there. Talk to him then.'

* * *

Except Nick wasn't at the launch.

Xander, Ned and Mandy were there, but Mandy gave her a cool look and steered the boys away before they could talk to her.

And Sammy felt like the nastiest woman in the world.

She felt even worse when her phone pinged with a text from Xander.

You're not the Black Widow. You're one of the weasels.

He was absolutely right.

She went home on her own.

And then she cried herself to sleep all over again.

CHAPTER TEN

‘T
EA
?' G
ARY
SMILED
broadly at Nick and placed the mug on his desk. ‘Oh, and you might like to see this.' He handed over a press cutting. ‘It's about your calendar. Which is selling like hot cakes from the clerks' room, I might add. We're getting people from every set of chambers around here coming in to buy them.'

Nick rolled his eyes. ‘The next person to ask me if I'll strip off in the middle of their court case is going to get pushed into the nearest puddle.'

‘Hey.' Gary punched his arm awkwardly. ‘They're only teasing. What you did is pretty awesome. I'm not sure I'd have the guts to do it. Is your nephew doing OK?'

‘Yeah, he is. Thanks for asking.'

‘Are
you
OK?'

Nick gave his clerk a pointed look. ‘I will be, if people will let me get on with my job.'

‘Got it, boss.' Gary sketched a wry salute and left Nick's office.

Nick ignored the article for a while. But curiosity eventually won, and he picked it up to look at it.

It was pretty standard stuff: how a group of people connected with the oncology ward had stripped off for a charity calendar to raise money for new equipment and treatment. And it came with a montage of photographs from the calendar—including his own page. Mr December.

He was about to drop the cutting in the bin when something in the last paragraph caught his eye.

About the woman who'd photographed the calendar.

Who was a cancer survivor.

What the hell...?

He sat up, slapped the cutting back on his desk and read it more closely.

When he'd finished, he just stared at the page, stunned. He'd had absolutely no idea that Sammy had had osteosarcoma as a teen.

Why hadn't she told him? Especially when she knew that his nephew had the same condition? Did she really think it made any difference to the way he'd treat her?

The article implied that not everyone in Sammy's past had reacted well to her medical condition. OK, some people were ignorant. But, for pity's sake, she
knew
him. Surely she'd known that he wouldn't react badly? That he would never have pushed her away or made her feel ugly or anything less than beautiful? That for him, beauty was skin deep and that it was who you were rather than what you looked like that mattered?

Nick thought about it.

And then he thought some more.

He remembered that day in the park. He'd asked Sammy afterwards if she wanted children; and he'd told her that he wanted kids of his own.

According to the article, she'd had chemotherapy before and after the surgery. He didn't know that much about the side-effects of cancer treatment on women—thankfully none of the women in his life had been affected by it—but he was pretty sure that it could make having children difficult. A quick bit of research on the internet told him that, yes, fertility could be a problem, depending on whether or not she'd had some eggs frozen before the treatment.

It's not you, it's me.

Her words took on a slightly different meaning now. Maybe she'd ended things between them not because she wasn't interested, but because she thought that having a family would be too complicated, she knew he wanted children, and she didn't want to stand in the way of his dreams. She'd pushed him away, but maybe she'd broken up with him as the ultimate in self-sacrifice rather than actually rejecting him.

She hadn't given him the chance to discuss it with her. But maybe, if she'd been hurt badly before, she found it difficult to trust. As difficult as he did.

Even though part of him was hurt and angry that she hadn't trusted him, a deeper part of him understood why. Maybe he should cut her some slack. Give her a chance to tell him herself.

When his session in court had ended, in the middle of the afternoon, Nick called her. The line went straight through to voicemail: meaning that she was busy, or she was avoiding him. He wasn't sure which. Either way, he'd leave a very clear message, so she'd be left in no doubt. ‘Sammy, it's Nick. I saw the article your friend wrote about the calendar. About you. If you don't call me back, I'll come and sit outside your flat until you get home, and I don't care if I have to sit there for a whole month before you turn up. Because we really, really need to talk.'

* * *

‘Answer it, you chicken,' Sammy told herself when she saw Nick's name on the screen of her mobile phone.

But she didn't quite have the nerve.

She listened to the voicemail he left her, though.

It seemed that Nick wanted to talk to her. And he wasn't planning to take no for an answer.

She dragged in a breath. He'd read the article, so he knew the truth about her now. She had absolutely no idea what was going through his head. But she knew that she owed him an explanation at the very least.

Time to be brave.

She picked up her phone and called him. ‘It's Sammy, returning your call,' she said, careful to keep her voice neutral.

‘We need to talk, and I'd rather not do this on the phone. Can we meet this evening?' he asked.

Sammy noticed that her hand was actually shaking. ‘I—um...'

‘A neutral place,' he said softly. ‘Remember that place where we had brunch, just off Fleet Street?'

‘Yes. I remember.'

‘Shall we meet there?'

‘OK. What time?'

‘Any time after six is good for me.'

‘Six, then,' she said. Better to get it over with as soon as possible than to wait and worry herself stupid about it.

‘I'll see you there at six.'

The phone went dead. Either he was busy, or he was seriously fed up with her. Or maybe both.

Sammy just about managed to focus on her work for the next couple of hours, and then she headed for the café where they'd met before. Nick was already there—and her heart skipped a beat when he met her gaze.

Seeing him again made her realise just how much she'd missed him.

But she'd messed this up big time.

This was going to be closure, and nothing more, she reminded herself. Don't think that this is fixable. Because it's not. Your role today is to apologise for not telling him, explain, and then walk away. Don't sit there vainly wishing and hoping for things you can't have.

‘Thank you for coming,' he said when she reached his table. ‘What would you like to drink? Wine? Coffee?'

‘Mint tea, please,' she said.

He ordered her a mint tea and himself a coffee.

Something about his message had really bugged her. ‘Would you really have sat outside my flat for a whole month?'

‘I would've camped on your doorstep,' he said. ‘I might not have been very fragrant if you'd kept me waiting for a whole month—but yes, I would've waited.'

For the first time since he'd called her, hope flickered in her heart. So was he saying they still had a chance?

The waiter brought their drinks over before she could ask. And then it wasn't appropriate to say anything. This was a discussion they needed to have in semi-private.

‘Why didn't you tell me?' he asked gently when the waiter had gone to look after another table of customers.

‘And you've seen the article?' It was a rhetorical question. She already knew he had. But she couldn't think of what to say, and it was the only thing that came into her head.

‘I've read it,' he confirmed. And she could hear the hurt in his voice. ‘Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I was going to.'

‘We almost made love, Sammy,' he said softly, ‘and you didn't tell me—but now I know why you never wear a short skirt unless you're also wearing thick opaque tights. Why you asked me to leave, instead of doing what we both really wanted to do.'

‘Yes.' And now she felt miserable and stupid. Why hadn't she been brave enough to tell him? They'd both missed out on something that could've been amazing. All because she'd been too scared.

‘You told me that your sister was your connection to the ward—that she was the one with cancer.'

She shook her head. ‘No. I told you that my sister donated her hair, the same as I do. You just assumed that she was the connection to the ward, not me.'

‘You obviously realised that, but you still didn't correct me.'

‘And a lie of omission is just as bad as a full-on lie, I guess.' She sighed.

‘Why didn't you tell me? That's what I don't understand.'

She shrugged slightly. ‘Because I've found that people treat me differently when they know.'

‘Xander has the same condition. Did you see me treating him any differently from the way I treat Ned?'

‘No. Well, you're a bit more protective with him.'

‘Which is only natural.' He glanced at her. ‘Did Xander say that to you?'

‘I'd rather not answer that.'

Then another thought occurred to him. His sister had said that Xander's attitude to cancer had changed since he'd talked to Sammy. ‘Does Xander know about you?'

She nodded. ‘I asked him not to tell anyone.'

He frowned. ‘I don't get it. Why did you tell him and not me?'

‘Because I wanted him to see that there was hope on the other side of the op, and having osteosarcoma didn't mean that he'd end up never being able to do anything again. I wanted him to see that not being able to play football with his mates is just temporary, and having to rest would give him a chance to find other things he likes doing just as much.'

‘Mandy says he sees things differently, so obviously we have you to thank for that. I think you're right—he did need to hear something like that from someone who'd been through it,' Nick said, ‘but I still don't get why you think
I'd
treat you differently.'

‘I know you're not like my exes. Some of them walked away because even the word “cancer” brought them out into a cold sweat.' She paused for a moment. This wasn't something she found easy to talk about, but she knew she owed Nick the full truth now. ‘Except Bryn. He was the one I thought was different,' she said softly. ‘He was the one who asked me to marry him.'

Nick waited. Clearly he knew that trick too, she thought wryly.

‘Two years ago, I had a scare. I found a lump in my breast. Most people my age would've just assumed that it was probably a cyst and not worried themselves stupid from the time they discovered the lump until the time they got the results back, but once you've had osteosarcoma you have a different perspective,' she said. ‘Even though I had chemo before and after the surgery, it doesn't mean that they managed to zap every single bad cell. So there's always a chance that the cancer will come back somewhere else in my body. You need to understand that.'

‘But you have regular check-ups, yes?'

She nodded. ‘They're annual, now. I have my check-up in the morning; then, in the afternoon—if I'm clear—my sister Jenny and I go out for champagne to celebrate. Every other year, we have an appointment afterwards at a salon so we can donate our hair.'

Then he asked the crunch question, his voice so gentle that it made her want to cry. ‘And was the lump cancer?'

‘No. It was a cyst. I had a scan and the doctor took some fluid out of it, so they could tell me straight away it was benign. Obviously they tested the cells to make absolutely sure. But it went away by itself.'

‘That's good—right?' he asked.

She swallowed hard. ‘That's when Bryn broke our engagement—as soon as he knew I was OK. He didn't want to be the bad guy who dumped the woman who had cancer.'

Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘But it was fine to dump you when he was sure the cancer hadn't come back?'

She nodded. ‘He said he couldn't cope with the fear that it would come back in the future.'

Nick said something very pithy, and she flinched.

‘It's true,' he said, ‘and he wasn't good enough for you. He was one of the weasels and you had a lucky escape.'

‘Xander said I was a weasel,' she said miserably.

Nick frowned. ‘When?'

‘At the calendar launch. And he's right. I hurt you, and I'm sorry.'

‘You're not a weasel,' he said. ‘And Xander—'

‘—was covering your back,' she said. ‘Because he loves you and he knew I'd split up with you.'

‘I guess.' His frown deepened. ‘I'm still trying to get my head round the fact that you think I'd be as weak and selfish as your ex. You know how I feel about Mandy's ex walking out on them when Xander was diagnosed. I'd never, ever do that to anyone I loved.'

‘I know—and I panicked. I'm sorry,' she said again. ‘I know you're not like them. But I... I tend to push people away when I get scared. My family and my best friends yell at me all the time for being too independent. Claire—the one who made me the dress—says there's a fine line between being independent and being too stubborn.'

‘She has a point,' he said.

She bit her lip. ‘I know. I guess...' She sighed. ‘The men in my life either run for the hills or they wrap me in cotton wool, and that just makes me more stubborn and more independent. I'm sorry.'

‘You're not the only one to blame. I should've pushed you harder and not taken your silence for an answer. I let you walk out of my life because I thought I'd made the same mistake all over again, too,' he said. ‘That I felt more for you than you felt for me.'

She frowned. ‘But I broke my three-date rule for you. Doesn't that tell you something?'

‘What three-date rule?' he asked, looking surprised.

‘I never date anyone more than three times. Then I don't have to tell them about my past. I can pretend I'm normal. That I'm a real woman.'

He stared at her as if she'd just grown another head. ‘How do you work out that you're not a real woman? Because you look perfectly real to me.'