‘Impromptu night-time activities?’ he supplied, with a wicked smile that curled her toes.
The morning hours swept by and she could almost see the magical motes of happiness fleck the air. Magic infused them both—brought laughter and warmth, enabled Ethan to dance round the kitchen disco-style whilst she sang along into a wooden spoon in lieu of a microphone.
Even the fondue worked—the mixture of Emmental, Gruyère and Comté provided a tang that burst onto their tastebuds, and the consistency of the bubbling cheese and wine was neither too thick nor too thin. Perfect for dunking cubes of baguette.
‘Ruby, that was awesome. I am truly replete. Why don’t you relax by the fire and I’ll wash up?’
‘You wash. I’ll dry. You did help cook.’
‘That’s a generous interpretation of grating cheese.’
‘You did an excellent job of stirring as well.’
Ruby looked over her shoulder as she carried their plates towards the kitchen area and glanced at the clock. A sudden sense of panic touched her. Tick-tock.
Stop it, Ruby.
This was an interlude—it couldn’t go on for ever and she wouldn’t want it to. Work was way too important, along with her goals and her future life. A future in which Ethan would only feature in a professional sense.
‘Anyway, we’d best get this cleared up quick—the carriage will be back to take us into town for the Boxing Day market, followed by a mountain ascent.’
‘Sounds brilliant.’
Maybe Ethan was right—the key was to keep moving, garner the maximum number of precious memories from this time capsule.
The hustle and bustle of the town square soothed her. It was littered with stalls, and the air was alight with chatter, wafting with a cluster of glorious scents. As she stood and inhaled the tang of gingerbread, the scent of the pine so evocative of the Christmas Day just gone, her qualms faded away along with the concern they had created.
This was all about a magical interlude and for once she was in control. There was no question of delusions or false dreams or hopes. This fling had been her idea, entered into with the knowledge that Ethan wouldn’t change, and she was good with that.
She opened her eyes to find Ethan’s grey-blue eyes fixed on her and she smiled at him, drank in the craggy features, the breadth of his shoulders, his aura of strength. Desire lodged deep in the hollow of her tummy—this freaking gorgeous man was hers. For now... And that was enough. For now she would live in the moment.
‘This is such a wonderful place,’ she said. ‘I’d come on holiday for the market alone.’
The fresh produce was enough to make her tastebuds explode in anticipation. Cheeses abounded, bowls heaped with olives glistened, dried meats and saucissons hung in tempting displays.
‘Shall I buy ingredients for dinner tonight?’ she asked, the words so deliciously intimate. The idea of the evening ahead enticed her: cosy in the chalet, preparing dinner, a glass of wine, music in the background, smooth conversation, the exchange of a kiss here and there...
Purchases made, she espied the Christmas stalls, still piled high with festive adornments. Wooden gifts, bright wrapping paper, carved toys and gaudy sweets. Simple carved Christmas decorations, eac
h one chunky and unique. One of the reindeer looked back at her, its antlers glistening in the afternoon sun.
Surprise laced her as Ethan picked it up and studied it. Then he nodded at the stallholder. ‘I’ll take one of each.’
‘What are you doing? We did Christmas already. Anyway, I thought you weren’t into decorations.’
‘They’re for you. To keep for your perfect Christmas. I know it’ll happen for you.’
Tears prickled the back of her eyes. ‘Thank you.’
A vision strobed in her mind. But it was wrong... Because there was Ethan, standing by a Christmas tree as he helped a small brown-haired boy hang the decorations. Around the other side of a tree a slightly older dark-haired girl was being helped by a teenager to thread a garland of tinsel.
Squeezing her nails into the palms of her hands, she erased the imaginary scene and shoved it firmly into her brain’s ‘Deleted’ file. Time to concentrate on the moment, on the here and now. On the imposing grandeur of Mont Blanc as it towered over the town...on the fact that she was about to ascend a high mountain peak with this gorgeous man.
The stallholder handed her the bag and she smiled. ‘They are perfect. Now, we had better get going—before we miss the ascent.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ETHAN STRODE DOWN the street, an unfamiliar warmth heating his chest. It was as if this bubble of time theory had freed him to...to what? To feel? A soupçon of worry trickled through the fuzzy feel-good haze. Feelings netted nothing but pain and loss.