He’s laughing as the carollers gather again and start walking back towards the other end of the lane, the tune fading as they disappear from view.
Among all the carollers, I haven’t noticed Carmen appear, but when I look round, she’s up two rungs on the ladder behind us and leaning over to hang a fresh bunch of mistletoe from the lamppost we’re standing under.
‘From the florist.’ She winks at us. ‘One on every lamppost, like there used to be.’
I follow the line of lampposts on either side of the lane and realise I’ve been so distracted by James that I’ve missed the fact we’re not the only people working on the decorating. Mrs Brissett has just come into view and is wrapping tinsel around the post on the corner, and the florist is dragging a step between each one and hanging up a bunch of mistletoe, the stems wrapped with twine, although it’s obvious Carmen has come to this particular lamppost for a reason.
She nods down at James and I. ‘Go on, it would be rude not to.’
He catches my eyes and smiles his Flynn Rider smile as he steps closer and ducks towards me, aiming for my cheek.
My eyes close automatically as his lips touch my skin, and the green earthy scent of the fresh mistletoe above us is overpowered by his aftershave. He smells like the spices you’d use to make mulled wine, orange and star anise and fresh cinnamon curls with a hint of fiery ginger, his usual stubble freshly shaven this morning and his jaw smooth against my skin.
It’s nothing more than a press of his lips, but it’s slow and intense and somehow feels even more intimate than if he’d kissed me on the mouth. I can feel every tiny movement of his lips, leaving me in no doubt about what it would be like to kiss him properly. My fingernails make crescent shapes in my palms as I try to stop myself touching him because I’ve never wanted anything more than to curl my hands into the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine.
My knees feel shaky and I don’t realise I’m holding my breath until my lungs start to burn, and even though it lasts for a matter of seconds, it feels like time has slowed down and seconds have stretched out to eternity.
The tip of his nose rubs against my skin as he pulls back, drawing the closeness out for even longer, and I don’t open my eyes as I try to hang on to the moment, even though I’m pretty sure I’ll still be able to feel the imprint of his lips on my skin next March.
‘Mistletoe is something we’ve been sorely missing around here,’ Carmen announces.
I’ve completely lost myself and have to blink for a few moments to remember where I am. I swallow before I can get any words out. ‘I hope you and Hubert will be testing it out for yourselves soon.’ My voice is so breathy and stuttery that she must be able to tell. How can a peck on the cheek have that much of an effect on me?
She waggles her eyebrows. ‘Oh, we already have, Nia.’
James shakes himself out of the daze and offers his hand to help her down from the ladder. ‘Oh, you are a gent. And I saw what you did for that boy.’ She lets go of his hand and reaches out to pat his arm. ‘You’re a good lad, James. I wasn’t sure at first, but you’re really one of us.’
He looks touched by that and a soft look crosses his face, but he quickly squares his shoulders and clears his throat. ‘I’m really not. I hate Christmas. Nothing will change my mind.’
She ignores him. ‘I best get back. Those decorations won’t put themselves up. You two have fun, and remember, every lamppost.’ She points to the mistletoe again and gives us a wink, and waves over her shoulder as she goes back to help Mrs Brissett.
But his harsh words are a sharp reminder to me. He’s leaving as soon as his shop shuts, and he’ll never give Nutcracker Lane another thought again. I try to force it out of my mind, but it stays like flames licking in the background. He’s never going to care about this place the way I do. ‘We should do that more often.’
‘Stand under mistletoe?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I completely agree.’
‘No … Well, that too, but I meant grant wishes. That was really special, James. With a tiny bit of effort and no cost other than one of many nutcrackers from your stock, you made that little boy feel important. You cheered him up and made his day. We could do that more often.’
‘I can spare a nutcracker or two, but I don’t know about a family trip to Disneyland or the latest thirty-gear mountain bike under someone’s tree …’
He’s certainly got a point there. People will wish for expensive things. On the minuscule budget Scrooge has allocated us this year, we couldn’t even manage a miniature bike under a doll’s house tree. ‘It doesn’t have to be about money. In fact, it shouldn’t be about it. Everything’s been about money lately on Nutcracker Lane. Scrooge and his budget, can’t afford this, can’t afford that, cuts cuts cuts everywhere. The wish-granting when I was younger was about giving people something relatively valueless that made them feel like they mattered. Like someone was listening to them. It made people feel seen, like you did for that little boy.’
‘Yeah, but how? Not everyone is going to want a Christmas decoration.’
‘I don’t know, but it’s not about money. It’s about feeling. Making people feel something. Giving them that heart-warming feeling that Christmas is all about. Letting them know that someone cares. We could start listening
