Page 86 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Sausage mission accepted,” he says, with a little salute that makes SJ beam.
“Hang on, I’ve got ten quid here somewhere,” I say automatically, fishing in my bag.
He just smiles, that calm, maddening smile. “I’ve got it.”
“Jasper—”
“Let me do something vaguely gallant,” he murmurs, nudging my hand away with the gentlest of gestures. “One festive meat product won’t break me.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugs upward. “Fine. But next round’s on me.”
“Sure.” And then he’s turning to Callum and Stella—who are bickering cheerfully over whether mulled wine counts as one of their five-a-day—and taking their order too.
SJ grabs Jasper’s sleeve. “I’ll help.”
“Excellent,” Jasper says solemnly. “I need a ketchup consultant.”
The two of them weave through the crowd toward the sausage stall, SJ walking like he’s on a covert operation and Jasper trailing behind like the world’s most affable bodyguard.
I watch them go and my heart does this little pitter-patter. Jasper doesn’t look back—which is probably for the best. If he did, he’d see the stupid smile I can’t seem to suppress.
It’s just a few dates. Amazing kisses. A warm bed and too much texting.
But somehow, he already feels… woven in. He just fits like he has always been part of my life.
“Want some wine?” Stella asks beside me, nudging her paper cup my way.
“God, yes.”
She hands it over just as I catch sight of SJ holding a wad of napkins like they’re state secrets, and Jasper pointing solemnly at the array of condiments like he’s walking him through military strategy.
The lights reflect off Jasper’s hair, that too-long bit at the front curling just enough to make me want to run my fingers through it. Which, of course, I can’t.
Not here.
Not yet.
I take a sip of mulled wine, savour the warmth, and watch them laughing in the queue—my son and the man I’m trying very hard not to fall for—and wonder, not for the first time, how I ever thought I had this whole thing under control.
Stella wanders off to inspect the handmade wreaths, leaving me and Callum awkwardly babysitting our mulled wine near the bandstand.
Across the green, I can see SJ bouncing excitedly at Jasper’s side, holding a sausage that’s about half the length of his arm. Jasper is pretending to listen with solemn intensity, though I’m fairly sure SJ’s just explained the entire Premier League table using condiments.
I take a sip of wine, trying not to smile like an idiot.
Callum follows my gaze, then glances back at me.
“I’ve known Jasper for years,” he says, tone easy, “but I’ve never seen him like this.”
My pulse skips. I force a small, confused-sounding laugh. “Like what?”
Callum raises an eyebrow, clearly not fooled. “Oh, come on.”
I attempt another sip of wine but find my cup suspiciously empty. Callum clinks his own against mine, smirking.
“Whatever’s going on,” he says, “good on you both.”
I barely register Callum’s toast before a hand finds the small of my back.
