Snowed In For Christmas. Caroline Anderson
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of presents inside one of the practically empty cupboards, and he pulled it out and turned to find her looking around, studying the wardrobes minutely.
‘Useful. Really useful. What sensible storage. They’re great.’
‘They are. How anybody managed with that little cupboard in the bedroom I have no idea.’
‘Maybe they didn’t have as many clothes. Or maybe they just used it to play hide and seek?’ she said lightly.
She was bending over the presents as he held them, and he stared down at the top of her head and tried to work out what was going on in there. Why had she said that? Why chuck something so contentious into the mix?
Although it was him that had raised the subject of the cupboard in the first place...
He had to get out of there. Now.
‘Right, why don’t I leave you to sort out what you want to bring down, and I’ll go and get on. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up before tomorrow. Just stick them back in the cupboard when you’re done.’
And he handed her the bag and left. Swiftly, before he gave in to the temptation to grab her by the shoulders, haul her up straight and kiss her senseless.
* * *
‘Here. This is the train set stuff. Did you want to wrap yours in different paper?’
She put the boxes down on the kitchen table and he studied them thoughtfully. ‘Does it matter if they’re the same?’
‘Not necessarily.’
He gave a slight smile. ‘I’ll do whatever, but I have to say my wrapping paper doesn’t really compete with little trains being driven by Santas.’
She smiled back. ‘Probably not. And he won’t think about the fact that they’re the same. He’ll just want to unwrap them. He knows what presents are now, having just had a birthday.’
‘When was his birthday?’
‘Three days after yours.’
His eyebrows crunched briefly together again in another little frown, and she wondered what she’d said this time. Was it because she remembered his birthday? Unlikely. She’d always remembered everyone’s birthdays. That was what she did. Remembered stuff. It was her forte, just as his was making money.
She gave up trying to work him out.
‘So, lunch tomorrow or whenever we’re having it. Are we going for lunchtime, or mid-afternoon, or evening, or what?’
He turned his hands palm up and shrugged. ‘Look, this is all for Josh. I don’t care what time we eat, so long as we eat. I’m sure we’ll manage whenever it is. Just do whatever you think will suit him best.’
‘Lunch, probably, if that’s OK? What veg do you have? And actually, where is the goose? It’s not in the fridge so I hope it’s not still frozen.’
‘It’s in the larder.’
‘Larder?’ The kitchen had been so derelict she hadn’t even realised it’d had a larder. Or maybe he’d created one?
He walked across to what she’d assumed was a broom cupboard or something, and opened the door. A light came on automatically, illuminating the small room, and she saw stone shelves laden with food. So much food.
‘Wow. And this was just for you and your family?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I told you my PA had gone mad.’
Not that mad, she thought, studying the shelves. Yes, there was a lot of food, but much of it would keep and it was only the goose and the fresh vegetables that might struggle.
She shivered. ‘It’s chilly in here. Ideal storage. I didn’t even know it existed. Was it here?’
‘Yes. It had one slate shelf and I had the others put in, and it’s got a vent to the outside and faces north, which keeps it cool.’
‘Which is why it feels like a fridge.’
He smiled. ‘Indeed. Perfect for the days when fridges didn’t exist. So—there you are. Feel free to indulge us with anything you can find.’
‘Oh, I will.’
She ran her eye over it all again, mentally planning the menu, then shut the door behind them and sat back down at the table to write a list.
‘Do you really want Brussels sprouts?’
‘Definitely. Christmas isn’t Christmas without sprouts.’
‘And burnt holly.’
‘And burnt holly,’ he said with a grin.
She bit down on the smile and added sprouts to the list, then looked up as he set a glass of wine down on the table in front of her.
‘Here, Cookie. To get you into the festive spirit.’
‘Thank you. And talking of Cookie, are you about to cook, by any chance, or was that a hint for me?’
‘I’ve done it. There’s a pizza in the oven and some salad, and we could have fruit or icecream to follow. I thought I’d let you off the hook, seeing as you’ll be doing quite enough tomorrow.’
‘How noble of you.’ She sipped her wine and glanced at her list. ‘Is the goose stuffed already?’
‘So I was told. Ready to go straight in the oven. It says four hours.’
‘I thought you didn’t know how to cook it?’ she asked drily, and he smiled, his eyes dancing with mischief.
‘I didn’t want to do you out of the pleasure—and this way you get all the glory.’
‘What glory?’
‘The glory of basking in my adoration,’ he murmured, and she wasn’t sure but there seemed to be a mildly flirtatious tone in his voice.
She held his eyes for a startled moment, then gave a slightly strained little laugh and looked away. ‘Always assuming I don’t burn it.’
‘You won’t. I’ll make sure of that. Right, let’s label that present with a new tag, and you go and stick them under the tree and I’ll dish up.’
But what to write? His pen hovered for a moment over the tag he’d found. Did it matter? The child couldn’t read.
‘To Josh from Sebastian’ would do.
But he put love in there, just because it seemed right. Weirdly right.
‘OK, that’s done, we need to eat or the pizza will be ruined.’
He slid the box across the table to her, pushed back his chair and made himself busy. So busy he didn’t have time to think about what he’d written.
Or why.
She put the presents under the tree while he dished up, and then after they’d eaten and cleared away they peeled sprouts and potatoes and parsnips and carrots, until finally he called a halt.
‘Enough,’ he said firmly, took the knife out of her hand, replaced it with her wine glass and ushered her through to the sitting room.
The fire was low, the embers glowing, and they sat there with just the faint glow of the fairy lights and the occasional spark from the fire, his arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, his head turned towards her as they talked about the timetable for tomorrow.
If he moved his fingers just a millimetre—
‘Tell me about the renovations,’ she said then, and shifted, settling further into the corner, and he reached for his glass and pulled his arm back a little, out of temptation, and as he told her about the house and what he’d had done to it, he watched her and wondered just how much he was going to miss her when she left...
* * *
Josh