Page 77 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“Are you still sad?”
“No. Now I’m livid. Want to have sex?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
They collided in an explosion of hungry kisses. Harriet pulled James back in through the front door, and he kicked it shut. Fast hands pulled and pawed at clothes, tearing them off as though they were on fire.
“Jesus! How many cardigans are you wearing?” he mumbled, tugging at layer after knitted layer.
“I’m not sure Jesus is wearing any,” she gasped as he kissed her throat. “But I’ve got three on.”
“Smarty pants,” he breathed, nipping at her shoulder.
She scooted the snow globe to one side as James liftedher onto the table and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their breaths coming hard, bodies pressing and arching, their need to be joined a vital emergency.
They never made it as far as the bedroom. But that night she slept better than she had in a long time.
Twenty-one
The gallery to which Harrietand Emma were headed was in the nearby market town of Penrith. The snow had been causing problems on some of the smaller country lanes, but luckily the roads between Little Beck Foss and Penrith were an arterial route and had been well gritted. All the same, Pete—a cluckier hen than either Emma or Harriet—had made them stow blankets, snacks, and two thermoses of hot chocolate in the back of the car just in case. It wasn’t unheard of for drivers to become stranded when the Cumbrian winter weather did its worst.
“Argh, what is wrong with me! My stomach is all squiggled up about leaving the kids at the theater.”
“It’s not like you left them alone—they’ve got like fifty adults chaperoning them,” said Emma. She was hugging the steering wheel, so close to the windscreen that her breath kept leaving misty circles on the glass, which Harriet would lean across and wipe away with a chamois sponge, as though she were a surgeon’s assistant. “Wipe!”
Harriet leaned forward to do the honors.
“Yeah, but you know, they can be tricky.”
“So can the grown-ups, from what you’ve said. Won’t the sexy solicitor be there to referee?”
“No, he’s late-night Christmas shopping, apparently.”
“Speaking of the C-word, are you still set on sulkingon Christmas Day rather than spending it with us?” Emma asked. “Wipe!”
“Ah, I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
“You’ve changed your mind? Seen the light? Realized that Christmas without my children fighting is no Christmas at all?”
“No.”
“Bollocks.”
“I still want to spend it by myself but not because I’m sulking anymore.”
“So you admit that you were sulking.”
“Oh yeah, one hundred percent. But now…I feel like I need to do this, I want to. I’m going to cook a fabulous three-course Christmas dinner for one because I deserve to make an effort for myself.”
“Wow, one evening of having your brains shagged out by James and you’ve found inner self-appreciation. I need to meet this guy so that I can shake him by the hand.”
“It wasn’t the sex. At least it wasn’t only the sex, I won’t say it wasn’t good for my ego. It was Evaline too.”
“Wait, you had a threesome with Evaline? Do you want me to drive this car into a snowbank? Wipe!”
Harriet laughed and leaned forward to clear the screen again.
“No! Idiot. She was telling me the other day about her risotto and how she makes an effort for herself. And then last night, before the sex, while James was kind of forcing me to decorate the flat, I realized that I need to prove to myself that I’m enough when I’m not being a mother or a mentor or a friend. I must teach myself that I am worth creating joy for, because otherwise I’m just a vessel for holding other people’s happiness…does that make sense?”
