Once Upon A Christmas. Jennifer Joyce
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a few steps and then retreated as a wave splashed him. Holly watched Jack as he threw himself face down onto the board and paddled hard, ducking as huge breakers crashed over him and disappearing completely, only to reappear seconds later on the other side of the wave, still paddling. Now she had identified him, she stood and watched. He was good. Even she could see that.
He and a few other black dots bobbed around about a hundred yards from the beach until the right wave came along. She saw him try for one, miss it, wait some more and then suddenly paddle for all he was worth and catch a big roller. As the wave took the board, he jumped to his feet, crouching forward, perfectly balanced. He skimmed across the face of the wave from right to left until, at just the right moment, he spun round and came back in the opposite direction. Finally, as the wave disintegrated, he threw himself backwards into the sea and started the process all over again.
There was little doubt in Holly’s mind that she liked Jack a lot. She knew very little about him and he was not very forthcoming about his past history, but she was pretty sure that he was well educated but had decided, for whatever reason, to opt out and settle for the rural life. In comparison to Justin, or any of her previous boyfriends, he was very different. She couldn’t imagine Justin wandering round with holes in his socks and she found her face breaking into a smile at the thought. Similarly, none of her previous man friends, although many of them had boasted impressive gym-developed muscles, would be likely to stack logs for a living. Even so, she couldn’t miss the attraction she was feeling for Jack, and not just because of his fit looking body and tough lifestyle. Did this maybe mean that something was changing inside her, she wondered.
Holly went back up to the car and located the dog’s water bowl and biscuit as well as the hot chocolate. She checked the photos she had taken and felt particularly pleased with one of them where Jack was turning slightly to his right and the sunlight picked out the outline of his body particularly well. She sent it to Julia, along with a brief text message. At the beach. Look what I’ve caught.
A reply arrived almost immediately. It, too, was short and to the point. F***ing hell, Hol! Followed by several very smiley faces.
Holly was leaning on the bonnet, sipping a mug of cocoa when she saw Jack coming back up from the beach, the board under his arm, the leash still clamped to his ankle. Stirling also spotted him and charged off to greet him, bouncing around excitedly as they approached the Land Rover. After a full hour’s walk and run on the beach, the dog still looked full of energy. She dug out the other mug and poured Jack some hot chocolate. He stood the board up against the side of the car and came across to her, ripping his neoprene hood off as he did so. Water sprayed across the bonnet as he shook his mass of black hair like a dog. His face was bright red and, amazingly, he looked hot.
‘Thanks.’ He took the mug and sipped it. ‘Excellent. God, I’m hot.’ He set the mug down and turned his back towards her. ‘You couldn’t just unzip me, could you?’
Holly grasped the ribbon hanging in the middle of his back and tugged, opening the suit to his waist. The neoprene gaped open, revealing a muscular back. He tugged the top of the suit off his shoulders, releasing his arms, and let it hang round his waist. He gave her a grin as he picked up his mug again. ‘Seems crazy to you, I expect. Temperature’s only just a few degrees above zero and I’m boiling hot.’
Hot was an adjective that had already crossed Holly’s mind. He had a terrific body; not over-muscled like some bodybuilders, but just a strong, powerful chest and an impressive run of firm stomach muscles. A light covering of hair extended up from his stomach and split into a Y shape as it reached his chest. Yes, she had to admit he did indeed look hot. Doing her best to sound nonchalant, she replied. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m quite warm too, but probably not quite warm enough to want to strip to the waist.’
‘We live in hope.’ He grinned again. Although he had to be a few years older than her, when he smiled he looked like a youngster. Once again, Holly found herself marvelling at having found two hunky men in such a tiny village in so many days.
‘So where’s lunch?’ There appeared to be no shortage of cafés, pubs and restaurants in the area.
‘The dudes will all be going to the Thatch, I imagine, but I won’t inflict that on you. A bunch of blokes all talking about waves, boards and sex wax isn’t what you signed up for. We’ll go somewhere a bit quieter.’
‘Sex wax?’
He pointed to a sticker on his board, alongside the one that read Al Merrick. Sure enough, it advertised Sex Wax. ‘We all use it. It keeps your feet glued to the board. At least, that’s the theory.’ He swallowed the last of his drink. ‘And now, if you want to avert your eyes in maidenly fashion, I’ll just go round the back of the Land Rover and get out of this gear.’
Jack took her to an unpretentious little café at the side of the road on the way back along the coast. It was an unprepossessing bungalow with absolutely no architectural value whatsoever, but she soon saw why he had chosen it. It had spectacular views. They were the only people in there and they had their pick of the Formica top tables. They chose one by a huge picture window, from where they could see across the confused jumble of grass-covered sand dunes to the sea. With the road hidden from view behind them, it felt like they were all alone in the middle of the dunes. It was lovely and warm in there and, with the sunshine outside, it almost felt like summer.
He ordered an all-day breakfast while she opted for a mushroom omelette. Both of them chose tea and he asked for a glass of water. He was still looking red in the face, and Holly could feel her own cheeks glowing after just being out on the beach. All this fresh air was definitely doing her good. Beside them the dog lay stretched out, finally too tired even to register the arrival of sausage, bacon and eggs in front of Jack.
While she waited for her omelette, Holly got Jack to exchange mobile numbers with her and sent him one of the less stimulating photos of him on the beach with Stirling. The one with the sun shining across his body, she kept to herself. The omelette arrived with a mountain of chips so she paced herself, trying to take her time and not eat too much. She looked across the table at him.
‘So, Jack, I now know you’re a dude, but I don’t know much more about you. Anything you feel you’d like to tell me – like why you deliver logs by day and read history books by night?’
He picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth as he swallowed a piece of fried bread. ‘Erm, my name is James Tyler Nelson, but I answer to Jack. I was born in a little village just outside Bristol thirty-eight years ago.’ If he spotted Holly’s eyebrows raise, he gave no sign. ‘From time to time I help Bob Cookson, our local farmer, with various jobs including log deliveries when his even older Land Rover won’t start – which is nearly always. I read history books because the TV reception in Brookford’s crap and there’s not much worth watching anyway. Right, I’ve shown you mine. Now you have to show me yours.’ He cut off a piece of sausage, dipped it in a fried egg and popped it into his mouth.
Holly was bright enough to realise that he hadn’t really told her anything she didn’t already know, but she didn’t press the issue. ‘Mmh, interesting about the farmer’s truck. Maybe I should take a look at Mr Cookson’s Land Rover for him.’
‘Now that would be a very good way of guaranteeing yourself free firewood. Excellent idea.’
He stripped the rind off a piece of bacon and handed it down to the dog who opened an eye, did a double-take and then swallowed it with an expression of disbelief. Holly finished her omelette while Jack cleared his plate and attacked the toast, butter and jam that had come with it. After a while, he took a mouthful of tea and sat back.
‘So, your turn. I’m afraid I already know your place and date of birth from your dad, so your age is not a secret to me. Because of him, I know he divorced your mother, but what about you? He knew next to nothing about you so neither do I. What do you do, where do you live, is there a Mr Holly? Come on, spill the beans.’ He chose that moment to take a forkful of baked beans from his plate.
Holly told him about her job, her flat in London and her love of cars. She didn’t mention men, but he could draw his