Page 9 of A Festive Surprise

Chapter Five

Farid

If looks could kill, Farid would be lying at the bottom of the ocean. Holly’s steely eyes had him in a grip lock. She was as prickly as the plant she took her name from. He squared his shoulders. Pull back? Let her go? Raw desire scorched him like a flaming ember.

The door swung forward. Farid put out his hand to stop it from closing. ‘I don’t understand. You want to leave because you don’t like my pies?’ He pulled up an eyebrow.

She glared for a second, then the iron look softened. ‘It’s nothing to do with the pies. I just don’t like Christmas.’ She glanced at the box. ‘I haven’t had mince pies for years.’

‘These pies are not what you think. They aren’t the odd things you have here. I make these from an old Syrian recipe but I like the idea of the holly on top. So, I cut it. Then I hear your name is Holly and I think of you. So, I come back and get them.’

‘Ok.’ Slowly she prised open the box lid again and peered inside, a slight frown creasing her smooth brow. ‘What’s in them then?’

‘It’s beef with spice, some pomegranate juice and…’ He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. ‘A little magic.’

Her lips quirked. The movement messed with his brain, scrambling his thoughts and rerouting messages to places not used to receiving them. Or dealing with them. Keep cool.

‘All right, I’ll let you off. They sound interesting. Thank you for thinking of me.’

He’d thought of nothing else for the last hour. Those sad eyes, her powerful stare.

His experience with women was negligible. Back home, hooking up and dating weren’t easy, not in his family, where they stuck to traditional values. After he’d fled, relationships went too. Getting from place to place and surviving was enough. And now? Here, he was alone, isolated. Did he have to be? Looking was surely ok? And kindness cost nothing. How often he’d begged for crumbs of friendly conversation over the last year. Being looked down on as the scum of the earth as people rushed past, too busy to even notice yet another homeless refugee at their feet.

‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked. ‘We could eat these together.’

‘Yes. That, I like.’

She stepped back and he followed her inside.

‘Oh.’ He blinked as he entered the living room, identical in size and shape to his, but bedecked with winter foliage and twinkling lights. Like something from a shopfront, television, or one of the glossy magazines he’d seen in Georgia’s house. ‘I guess this is not good for you.’

‘Not really.’

Farid lifted a reindeer cushion from the sofa. ‘Cute, no?’

She cocked her head with another slaying look.

‘It’s a nice cushion.’ He stroked the deer. ‘And cuddly too.’

‘It’s horrible if you ask me.’

‘You worry about the strangest things. You don’t like the elf and my red hat or this sweet little cushion.’

‘Oh jeez. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s silly when you put it like that.’

‘It’s ok.’

‘No, it isn’t.’ She slumped onto the sofa and picked up one of the red tartan cushions, holding it close to her chest. ‘Sit down.’ Tilting her head, she indicated he should take the space next to her.

Over familiar, much? They’d just met an hour ago but smouldering flames whipped him forward. Warmth seeped into every pore as he sank down beside her.

‘Tell me about yourself.’

He wove his fingers together. ‘Nothing to say. I am what you see.’

‘Your English is very good.’

‘I learned at school and my father worked in oil. He talked to the British and Americans a lot. I picked things up and when I start working, I use it sometimes too.’

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