Page 122 of Kiss Me at Christmas
The call ended, and Harriet had a little sob into one of her Christmas tea towels, but it was only brief, and in another moment, she was back to basting her parsnips.
By four p.m., she was nodding off on the sofa, the remnants of a most delicious dinner cleared away and the dishes drying on the drainer.
She had eaten her three-course dinner—pan-fried scallops to start, full turkey dinner with all the trimmings for main, and Christmas pudding with brandy butter and clotted cream ice cream for dessert—on a tray, on the sofa, with her feet up andDie Hard 2on the TV. She had never before eaten Christmas dinner in front of the telly.
Today had been decadent: decadent because she had permitted herself to accept that she, Harriet Smith, all by herself, was worthy of good things. Next year, bedlam would reign once again as their two households collided, and maybe James would even join them. Maybe. She had no expectations on that front, she was simply happy to see where life might lead them.
But today she had celebrated her own Christmas, just for herself, and it had been good.
Thirty-two
At half past four, thedoor buzzer jerked her out of a snooze. She wiped the dribble off her chin, checked her face in the hall mirror, and answered the intercom.
“It’s James. Merry Christmas. Now if you’re about done doing Christmas for yourself, get your coat on and come down here.” His voice was fuzzy through the speaker.
She wasn’t done, really, but her heart had skipped several beats at the sound of his voice and she always got excited when he used his most stern voice on her.
“Merry Christmas to you too. Why do you need me to come down there?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
If he wanted her to come downstairs, it was unlikely that he had postprandial ravishing in mind.More’s the pity.
“Could you bring the surprise up here?”
“Afraid not,” came the crackling response.
She sighed, but aside from binge-watchingDownton Abbeyand eating her own weight in honey-roasted cashew nuts, her plans this evening were pretty fluid, so she pressed the speak button on the intercom and said, “Give me three minutes.”
“Roger that.”
I wish you’d roger me!she thought, but then her stomach gurgled; she’d take coitus off the menu for today.
Five minutes later—scented candles snuffed and hair zhooshed—she was sat in the passenger side of James’s car. He leaned over and kissed her, and she wished she’d been less liberal with the garlic in her stuffing.
“You smell good enough to eat,” he said.
“Garlic. Sorry about that.”
“No, that’s not it, you smell like cinnamon buns.”
“Ah, that’ll be my Christmas candles.”
“You mean you finally unboxed the fanciest candles?” He pulled a shocked face.
“And lit them.”
“Now that’s a Christmas miracle!” He smiled.
After stealing another kiss that made her rethink her sex embargo, James started the engine, and they pulled out onto the empty road.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said, smiling smugly. “Did you enjoy your day of solitary decadence?”
She sighed contentedly. “I certainly did.”
“I’m glad.”
