Page 43 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museum

‘Sorry, dears, I’d have left you to it but walking up those steps isn’t for the faint of heart at my age and I couldn’t face coming back again later.

’ The elderly lady is leaning on a walking stick, looking red in the face, although whether it’s tiredness or embarrassment because of walking in on that is anyone’s guess.

Warren rushes over to turn the music back down to a non-offensive level and smooths his mussed-up hair out, his chest heaving, and I race back behind the desk as she hobbles over and pays her entrance fee.

My hands are shaking as I hand her a map postcard, and try not to die of mortification. At least she’s alone and doesn’t have any impressionable young children with her.

I decide to face it head on. ‘Sorry about that. We’re not usually so unprofessional first thing in the morning. Mitigating, er, circumstances.’

‘Yes, very mitigating.’ She gives Warren an appreciative look as he comes back over.

‘I was the same when I was your age and I met my husband. Thirty years later and he still steals an unexpected kiss now and then. You two enjoy yourselves while you’re young enough not to have to worry about certain positions flaring up sciatica and being able to enjoy yourselves like that without pulling a muscle! ’

Warren and I both laugh marginally deranged laughs, and the lady is still leaning on her walking stick and looking out of breath, and he hits on an excuse to get himself out of this cringeworthy situation. ‘Water! I’ll get you a glass of water! Be right back!’

The lady reaches over to pat my hand. ‘You make the most of it, my love. It’s not every day you find one like that.’

‘No, it’s not.’ I glance up the stairs after him.

It’s really not.

* * *

If it’s not every day you find a man like Warren Berrington, it’s certainly easy enough to lose him.

After quite a few visitors this morning, Warren has made himself scarce.

He disappeared into the garden ages ago, and now it’s lunchtime and he still hasn’t come back.

I stand at the top of the steps and survey Ever After Street, but it’s quiet enough that I can justify closing the door and putting the ‘gone for lunch’ sign out, and I venture round the side of the building and into the garden, unsure if he’s avoiding me after what happened this morning.

He’s sitting on one of the log benches with his legs stretched out in front of him, his head leaning back against the tree trunk, his eyes closed and the low autumn sun streaming onto his face.

I step between him and the sunlight, casting a shadow that makes him open his eyes and look at me. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Listening to birdsong. I can hear birdsong, Liss. I didn’t realise…

’ His voice catches and he has to stop and take a breath.

‘I didn’t realise how long it had been since I heard a bird singing.

I forgot how much I was missing. There’s so much I’ve let pass me by and I hadn’t realised until you pushed me to. ’

He closes his eyes and shifts until the sun hits his face again, basking in it, and it makes me wonder how much time he spends outside in his day-to-day job, because I get the impression it mainly involves staring at the four walls of an office.

‘I’m in love. With this place. With how I feel when I’m here. With…’ His eyes open and fall on me, but he doesn’t complete the sentence, but the look he gives me makes those butterflies take flight again, except this time, they’re joined by a million more and they’re all outrageously fluttery.

‘I thought you might be avoiding me.’

‘No. Why on earth would I be avoiding you? I guess you could say I’m avoiding the temptation to do something inappropriate in front of visitors…

That was a close call this morning. I forgot where we were, lost my mind, took leave of my senses.

I’ve never done anything so unprofessional in my life before then…

and I loved every bloody minute of it,’ he says with a naughty grin and waggling eyebrows.

The throwback to his words in the middle of the kiss makes my stomach flutter and I go hot all over, and the temptation to simply dive on him and snog him senseless again has to be stamped down hard.

I try to keep my sensible hat firmly on. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. The whole thing. I shouldn’t have been so bold when I didn’t know for certain it was reciprocated.’

‘Don’t apologise for being brave. I’ve wanted to do that for weeks now and it’s been impossible to hide. I’m glad you were braver than me. You kissed me out of sheer joy at seeing me trying to accept my issues – that makes me the luckiest man alive.’

The words and the infinite smile on his face makes the butterflies swoop inside me again, and he opens his arms, inviting me to straddle his lap and do it again and I can’t get down there fast enough.

I take his face in my hands and let my fingers brush gently over his ears and into his hair, and he makes a wanton noise in the back of his throat and pushes up until his mouth crashes into mine, and it’s such a relief to know that we both want this and I haven’t been second-guessing his signals or misinterpreting whatever it is I’m feeling towards him, and it all floods out into an impassioned kiss that leaves us both panting for breath and really, really uncomfortable.

Who knew that fallen log benches weren’t designed for fevered kissing?

When the pain spearing through my knees wins, I sit down beside him instead and he drops an arm around me, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me tight against his side, and we drift into slow and lazy sunshine kisses, my hands stroking his thigh, running over his chest, a gentle feeling of relief because it’s been building up for months and now it’s out there, in the open, and everything feels right with the world for a moment.

Contented quietness has fallen over the garden.

My head is against his shoulder, his chin resting on it, moving only to drop occasional kisses on my forehead, and his hand is inside my mass of colourful curls, his fingers running up and down my back, and I could quite happily fall asleep right here.

‘Is the well significantly older than the rest of the building?’ He sounds like he could too, and when I lift my head far enough to see his face, he’s smiling softly and looking at the wishing well.

‘I have no idea. Why?’

‘Just wondering. The crumbling stonework below and the difference in style between that and the rest of the basement makes me think it was here long before the museum was.’

‘I don’t know. Never thought about it. Witt might know. He’s a history buff and his father owned the castle…’

‘Liss?’ After a few minutes of silence, he shifts so his mouth is against my forehead and makes sure I’m listening to him. ‘If anything goes wrong… If anything doesn’t go to plan with what we’re trying to do here… Look into that well.’

‘What, and make a wish?’

‘Something like that,’ he mumbles in response.

‘Not quite the “unsafe hazard that someone’s strung lights on” it once was then?’ I paraphrase what he said on the first day.

‘Are you sure I said exactly that? It wasn’t more along the lines of, “Ooh, a wishing well, how delightfully charming and magical!”’ When I giggle, he leans down to kiss me again.

‘No wonder you called me an evil soulless gerbil. That feels like a lifetime ago, like that man was a stranger. Thinking about that is like an out-of-body experience, like I’m watching someone else, but that man wasn’t me at all.

I don’t think I’ve been myself for years now. ’

I think I already understood that, on some level, but there’s something about hearing him admit it to himself that feels significant.

‘While I’ve been out here, a mum with two kids came to look around, and I could see the wonder this garden inspired.

The little girl was holding a Belle doll and had found a place where she belonged.

They said hello to me, the mum asked if I worked here, and when I said yes, both the kids gasped and told me how lucky I am.

’ His head is resting against mine, but his eyes are on the wishing well.

‘And a little boy went to write a wish, and then he came over and asked me if I knew why the things in the museum kept getting out, and I said it was magic, and he just accepted it, and I envied him. How lovely it would have been at that age to believe in the impossible.’

‘You don’t need to be a child to believe in magic.

There’s magic everywhere, in all the little moments of every day.

In patches of wildflowers where fairies dance, in dandelion clocks and falling sycamore seeds, in sunrises and sunsets and chance meetings with people you run into along the way.

’ I let my hand run over his jaw until I can pull him down for another kiss.

‘In unexpected connections with the most unlikely people.’

‘It made me so proud to be a part of this.’ He sounds raw and emotional and I hold him closer and he lets out a long breath against my hair. ‘And no one mentioned the hearing aid.’

‘No one would. I’m not trying to downplay your feelings, but it’s so much more noticeable to you than it is to anyone else.

It’s a part of you, no different to your nose or your collarbones or your shoulders.

It doesn’t define you.’ I let my hand drift up until it gently covers his left ear, and then push myself up so I can murmur into his right ear.

‘This does not make you any less of a person.’

We’re pressed so closely together that I can feel his breathing stutter, and he takes a few deep breaths before he speaks again. ‘A person with a problem.’