‘What about the day itself?’ I tip the cherries into the bowl, give it a quick stir, and start sifting the flour over them.
‘Taking enough painkillers and drinking enough mulled wine to wake up on December 27th?’
My hands still and the flour comes out in a whoosh, and I point my wooden spoon threateningly in his direction. ‘You had better be joking.’
He turns the gingerbread house and starts icing window frames and doesn’t say anything.
‘Do you still go to your parents’ on the “Big Day”?’
‘Of course. I visit as often as I can, but I’m always getting in the way. My dad’s still working – still trying to get the business in the best possible shape for me to take over.’
‘Come to me for Christmas Day,’ I blurt out.
‘I have to spend it with my family. It’s going to be my dad’s last—’ He can’t finish the sentence.
‘Is your dad still up to travelling? They can come too.’
‘You can’t …’ His voice catches and he stops himself and takes a few breaths before he speaks again. ‘It’s family time for you too. You don’t even know my family. You can’t seriously be inviting—’
‘It’s not right that you’re helping me with all this prep and then I won’t even see you on Christmas Day. Seriously, James, I’m cooking anyway; it’d be no trouble to add a bit of extra veg and put a couple more chairs out. It’d take pressure off your mum having to do anything, and I always cook enough to feed half the country.’
‘Nia, I …’
‘I’d love to have you here. And my family won’t mind at all. I could invite the local dog shelter and they wouldn’t care as long as Mum didn’t have to do the cooking.’
‘I would love that. Spending Christmas with you or the dog shelter, but mainly you.’ He puts the bag of icing down again and crosses the kitchen with a couple of long steps, and reaches out to take my hand, his fingers folding around mine.
My cheeks heat up. ‘Will you ask your parents if they want to?’
‘They don’t care about Christmas. They won’t mind what we do.’
‘So it’s settled then.’ He’s holding my left hand and I put down the wooden spoon that’s still in my right and let my fingers travel up to his shoulder and squeeze gently, feeling ridiculously happy about the prospect of spending Christmas with him. For the first time in a long while, the world feels like it’s spinning in the right direction again.
‘And after Christmas …’ I take a deep breath before I can chicken out. ‘There’ll be a ton of leftover cheese that I’ll need help eating, and there are always eleventy billion boxes of chocolates, and in that space between Christmas and new year, all the festive films are gone from the TV and they just play old musicals from the Fifties …’
Another deep breath. In for a penny and all that. ‘Come and have a break with me. I feel like you need a proper Christmas. The past couple of weeks have been all about trying to show you what Christmas should be like and it doesn’t just stop on the 25th.’ My fingers trail up and fiddle with the thick hair at the back of his head, the longer front bits pushed back by the headband, and I reach up and play with a felt-covered antler.
His eyes drift shut and he drops his head until his forehead is resting against mine, the reindeer antlers on his head tangling with the bow on mine. ‘Nia, you should know that if you don’t step back right this second, I’m not going to be able to stop myself kissing you.’
My arms tighten around his neck in response and he makes a noise from deep within his chest. Before I know it, his lips are … not on mine. Instead he kisses me right at the side of the mouth, softly and oh-so-slowly touching his lips to my skin, both infuriatingly slow and gorgeously gentle, and nowhere near enough, and I think it might be the sexiest way anyone’s ever kissed me.
I can feel his stubble with the skin of my lips, hear every shiver of his breath, my nails have started digging into his hand where he’s still holding mine and the fingertips still in his hair can feel every strand as my fingers tighten. It’s really nothing more than a peck, but it leaves no doubt about how incredible it would be to kiss him properly.
When he pulls back, I’m torn between holding on tighter so he stays, and feeling so overheated and flushy that I might swoon in his arms, which would do his injuries no good whatsoever. I reluctantly unfurl my hands from his body and try to furtively cling on to the edge of the counter to keep myself upright, and the half-dazed, half-seductive and ridiculously flirty look on his face lets me know that he knows exactly how much of an effect he’s having on me.
‘That was a yes, by the way.’ He goes back to his side of the unit and picks up the icing bag. ‘In case there was any doubt.’
I can’t help giggling. For once, there was no doubt. ‘I’ve never realised I could speak “kiss” before, but believe me, even I managed to translate that.’
‘You can literally lip-read.’ It’s an adorably terrible pun and his cheeks are fittingly red, but mainly I’m relieved to see his hand is shaking when he picks up the icing bag. I’m not the only one feeling something. And I’m suddenly really looking
