Page 84 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
Sophie turned in his arms, and his gaze snagged hers, a slight furrow between his brows. She tried to think how to start; how she could possibly change the course of her life with a few, simple words. But then, before she’d uttered a single one, Harry kissed her. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to his bed, lowered her onto it and then followed, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands cupping her face as he kept kissing her, over and over.
Sophie let him claim her, let him take her breaths until she felt as if she had none left. She leant up on her elbows, then higher when he pulled the hem of her jumper, lifting it over her head.
‘Harry,’ she gasped, tugging at his shirt, roughly undoing the buttons, sliding it off his wide shoulders.
‘Shh.’ He hovered over her, feathering light kisses across her jaw and neck, down to her collarbone.
‘I don’t—’
‘Forget I asked,’ he urged. ‘Don’t say anything at all.’
Sophie nodded and looked into his eyes, saw the heat in them, a fervour he’d never shown her before. She gave herself up to her desire and his, let him kiss and touch her, overwhelm her with every part of him, and wondered if he’d been saying those words for her alone, or if he’d been saying them to himself, too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The final days before the festival opening were a whirlwind of bunting and lights, logistics and measurements, worries about too-soft grass and dramas with people signing up for then dropping out of the open mic; questions about whether the Rudolph Hoopla would be too loud, concerns over the visit from Santa Claus.
‘It has a hole in the leg, look.’ Harry held up the Santa suit, which was made of thick red wool and had a musty scent that made Sophie wrinkle her nose.
‘That’s what you get for going to the hire shop on the twentieth of December.’ But she got up to examine it with him. It was unusual to see Harry panic: he was normally so steadfast, so certain about everything. ‘Harry,’ she said with a laugh, ‘this hole is tiny. You sewed about ten miles of bunting not long ago.’
‘I can fix it,’ Harry said, ‘that’s not the point.’
‘What is the point?’ She looked up at him, her breath catching as it seemed to do every time their gazes held.
‘The point is that the shop shouldn’t rent something out in this condition, and it’s the first night of the festival tomorrow, and we have a hundred other things to do. Plus—’ he flung his arm at the study window, and the wind flung sleet back against the pane ‘—we didn’t get a grotto.’
‘We can rig something up in the village hall if we need to. There’s already a tree and fancy lights in there.’ Sophie slid her hand down his arm, hoping it would soothe him.
‘And your Decoration Station, and the bridge tournament, and space for the pot-luck dishes people are going to bring. There won’t be room for Santa Claus and his presents.’ He threw the trousers in the direction of his desk, and they knocked the leather pen pot onto the floor. Darkness, Terror, Clifton and Felix looked up from the rug in front of the fire, but it was only the goat that stayed interested, the others going back to their snoozing.
‘Harry, come on.’ Sophie dragged him over to the armchairs and pushed him gently into one. He went without resistance, and she climbed onto his lap, then tipped his chin up so he couldn’t help but look at her.
‘You’re going to tell me I’m being melodramatic,’ he grumbled. ‘I have never been accused of being melodramatic in my life.’
‘I’mgoingto tell you it will all be OK. We have mulled wine, Jason’s baked Alaska, Simon’s fish and chips and mince pies from Dex – not to mention the pot-luck dishes. So the refreshments are sorted, and when you’ve got food and alcohol, that’s half the battle won.
‘The oak tree is looking twinkly and festive, and we have the outdoor games from Annie and Jim, the open mic, which has been alotmore popular than I anticipated, andthe activities in the hall. Also, Birdie wants to do a candlelight blessing around the oak on Christmas Eve.’
‘What?’Harry tensed, and Sophie put a hand on his chest.
‘I think it’ll be beautiful. It’s completely non-religious, and it ties in perfectly with our wish and gratitude decorations. The candles will be tiny, and it’s far too damp for the tree to be at risk, anyway.’
‘That’s one good thing about this shit weather,’ Harry said.
‘Exactly.’ She kissed the tip of his nose. ‘It’ll be a wonderful way to end four incredible days. Everyone in the village is coming every evening from what I can tell—’
‘They are?’
‘Of course they are,’ Sophie said. ‘This is the Oak Fest. Hasn’t it always been the biggest Christmas tradition in Mistingham?’
‘It has,’ Harry agreed.
‘And, what?’ Sophie laughed gently. ‘You thought, becausewe’veorganized it, that nobody would come?’
‘It’s more that, because I vetoed the green and the oak last year, people might …’
‘Veto you?’ she finished.
