Free Snowflake Kisses by Marianne Evans

clutch and extracted a business card. “Here’s my contact information. Why don’t we get together, soon, say for tea, or lunch? Let’s get acquainted.”
    “You’re very kind to a blubbering stranger.”
    “We’ve all been there. No worries at all. Plus, you’re a friend to my family’s firm, correct?”
    Oblivious to the somewhat leading angle of that question, Tamara dabbed her eyes with a tissue she pulled from the pocket of her coat. She studied Vanessa’s business card for a second. “You work at Harrods? A personal shopper? What fun.”
    “Mmm. I get to spend other people’s money on fabulous things for their wardrobes or their homes.”
    “Sounds fantastic.”
    “Most days, but it has its moments.” She considered the attempted heist and fought a ghost-driven tremor. “Let’s plan to meet soon. Please give me a ring.”
    “I’d enjoy that very much. Thank you.”
    Needing to conclude this unexpected meeting, Vanessa stood, offered a parting squeeze of Tamara’s hand. “Call when you know you’re available.”
    Tamara didn’t offer a business card in return, but that didn’t mean much. After all, she was overwhelmed, and in her favor, she didn’t seem eager to rage on about Jackson or his business dealings. Again, Vanessa’s curiosity spiked then settled. After all, the next move, if embraced, had to come from Tamara.
    At that point, what would be revealed—the storm of a woman scorned, or something deeper?
     
    ****
     
    Vanessa claimed a window seat at St. Stephen’s, relishing the warmth of the pub, the buzzy waves of conversation and laughter. Most of all, she relished the view. The Houses of Parliament were framed in the window.
    “I can’t remember a snowier Christmas season. The tourists will be delirious.”
    Vanessa tossed the comment, unwinding her bright yellow scarf and draping it against the back of her chair. Jackson drew a chair close and she promptly leaned against him, absorbing his warmth and the pleasure of his presence.
    “Speaking on behalf of said tourists, I have to agree with that assumption.” Jackson looked around. “This place is incredible.”
    “There are lots of cozy nooks and crannies, which I love, and you’re hardly a tourist. You’re more like a business maestro.”
    Jackson laughed at that and helped her slide free of her coat. “Well, thanks to you and Peter running interference, Tamara wasn’t even an issue tonight. What a relief. The guests were well-tended and seemed to leave feeling quite spoiled.”
    The issue of Tamara pricked at Vanessa’s skin like pins, but she moved past the reaction. “I love coming to St. Stephens when Parliament’s in session. It’s fascinating, really.” She leaned toward him, gesturing toward the bar not far away. “When it’s time for a vote, they sound a division bell, giving MP’s precisely eight minutes to return to division lobby and cast their votes.”
    “If these walls could talk, eh?”
    “Indeed.”
    Ever a proud Brit, Vanessa loved the way he soaked in the atmosphere. They placed orders for chamomile tea to warm away winter’s chill along with a plate of potato wedges and smoked salmon tarts.
    Jackson continued to study his surroundings, taking in framed portraits of Britain’s more famous politicians before he observed, “I’m sorry Peter and Alexa couldn’t join us. Seems they were eager to get home.”
    “More like eager to get back to CC. As often as they say they crave adult companionship, Christopher Louis Colby has them wrapped around his little finger. It’s adorable. I think it’s wonderful the way they get on together, and spread that love to their baby. I go on at times, and I love to tease my brother, but truth is, I thoroughly enjoy watching the three of them together. It gives me hope.”
    “Hope in the truest form of happily-ever-after.”
    Vanessa’s hands rested against the tabletop; Jackson wove his fingertips through hers and stared at the connection. Sadness,