Page 14 of A Festive Surprise

Had he read her mind? She remained in the garden as he opened his gate and drew level with her on the other side of the fence.

‘So, you stay, then?’

‘For a little while.’

His smile spread over his well-proportioned face, dimpling his cheeks. ‘Good. I make you some more food. I hear sprouts are popular this time of year.’

‘Oh, bugger off.’ She pushed his shoulder and he reeled back, laughing. With another cheeky wink, he hopped inside and shut the door.

Holly raked up her hair, lifting it high off her head and letting it float back down. What a tease. A delicious, sexy tease, but there was more to him than that. Through his cheer, she sensed a lingering sadness. He was alone here and needed a friend. That she could do. Easy. She returned to her own house. Time to work. But unholy thoughts of him showering next door were distracting.

‘I knew this would happen.’ She rapped her finger on the edge of her laptop. ‘He’s far too bloody gorgeous for his own good. And mine.’ Plus the lonely vibes he gave off resonated a bit too keenly. Lonely people always felt worse at Christmas – apparently. Maybe the festive effect was subconsciously filtering in, highlighting insecurities that didn’t normally bother her.

The breakfast bar-cum-table was the closest Holly had to a desk. She sat with her back to the living room to avoid having to view The Nightmare Before Christmas.

She composed an email to her prospective new client before she started working on her ongoing jobs. The Wi-Fi was acceptable, just as well because mobile phone signal was non-existent on this part of the island. A reply pinged in from her client and she read through it, her eyes narrowing. So much for their lucrative offer. This could turn sour very quickly. The job appeared interesting and challenging but a name flashed like a warning beacon. Gavin Sinclair. He was on the team of developers she’d be working with. Her blood cooled. What an unwelcome ghost from Christmas past.

‘Screw it.’ She threw her head into her hands. Would she never be free from him? They’d been at uni together, studied together, worked in the same field, dated, and so much more. For a while, he’d been her everything. And with him being in the same line as her, it was impossible to avoid him cropping up. She hunched over her laptop. Would the Gavin shitstorm ever blow over? Cold contact via emails was as much as she could handle. But working in a team with him? No. She shuddered like the Christmas tat was creeping up from behind ready to pounce on her. Or maybe it was him in his Christmas jumper, grabbing her and dangling mistletoe over her head, kissing her cheek and laughing, as he’d done on Christmas morning. The Christmas morning of that day.

With a sharp click, Holly minimised the email. This required thought. Working remotely would mean no face-to-face contact, but even calls could be tense. Ugh.

A message head popped up on her phone. A grinning face with large sunglasses filled the bubble. Her sister Alice.

ALICE: Where are you? You’ve gone AWOL again. Mum went round to your flat and says it looks deserted. We’ve called and called but it’s ringing out. I hope you’re ok! X

Holly pulled a side-pout. Oops. She’d ‘forgotten’, ahem, to tell her family what she was doing. Not that they needed to know urgently. Her last flat was in a pleasant part of Stirling and her parents lived miles away in the borders. After her father had retired from his job in the defence industry, they’d settled for the first time in years. If her mother had called round it was a fluke rather than design. Holly and Alice’s childhood had been nomadic. They’d rarely lived anywhere for over two or three years. Alice had moved to Wolverhampton when she got married and Holly occasionally drove south to meet her. But not at Christmas… Well, not since the Gavin Christmas.

She typed a quick reply.

ME: Sorry, I forgot to say. I moved out of the flat a few days ago. I’m living in a friend’s cottage on the Isle of Mull for a while. Not sure how long. I’ll catch up with everyone in the new year. Mobile reception is rubbish here but I’ll drive into Tobermory at some point and send a message to Mum. Unless you can get her to sign up to a messenger that uses Wi-Fi.

Not a chance. But she put it in anyway. As she hit send, the neighbouring door clunked shut. Was that Farid off to work? Her toes twitched, ready to leap across the room so she could look out the front window to see him driving off. Sighing, she stared at her screen. Living here was going to be a bitch. But for now, he was gone. Work called. She pottered away at her jobs, getting up every now and again to make a coffee. Georgia had left a Christmas hot chocolate selection box in the cupboard. ‘Is someone trying to make me leave?’ Holly flicked the switch on the kettle. Beyond the window, the tufty grass blew in the wind. A boat sailed serenely up the channel beyond.

The washer vibrated loudly. With a wind like that, she could risk hanging it up outside. Better than wet stuff hanging around the house when space for an airer was non-existent. Two steps into the garden and she was almost blown off her feet. Sharp gusts stung her cheeks and she battled around the gable end. A whirligig leaned precariously to one side. She started pegging out the clothes. As she pegged up a pair of burgundy lace knickers, a pickup pulled up at the front gate. Great timing. Farid was back already. Right on cue to see her hanging up her undies.

He jumped out and was about to go in his own gate when he glanced up and their eyes met. She waved from behind a flapping towel. He strolled over, raking his fingers through those glorious curls. Did he have to do that? He was handsome enough without having to rub it in.

‘How can I help you?’ She pegged up the last item. Farid tugged at the collar of his lumberjack shirt. How hot did he look? ‘Have you made some more pies? Or do you want to pull my Christmas cracker?’

His lip curled up. ‘I’m not sure what that is. It sounds both naughty and nice.’

‘Very seasonal then.’

‘I just come to say hi because you wave.’

‘Oh, my fault, is it?’

‘Ay, your fault. But you are still here. You hang out clothes, so you must be staying a bit, no?’

She folded her arms. ‘Well, that’s my forfeit for liking your cooking.’

‘Ay, that’s it.’ He held up his finger. ‘I can persuade you with my food.’

She arched an eyebrow. Right now, she didn’t need food. One smile from those lips and she’d do anything. ‘I thought I’d give it a whirl. See how I get on for a day or two.’

‘Oh. Look.’ He pointed to the sea. ‘Three boats. I think that’s a sign.’

‘What?’ She turned and shielded her eyes from the wind and the glare. Where she’d seen the boat shortly before, there were now three sailing in a row. A sign? More like another festive poke in the ribs. ‘It’s like that bloody Christmas song, “I Saw Three Ships”. And really, that proves what I was telling you before, because what in hell’s name have ships to do with Christmas?’

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