Page 6 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

‘You couldn’t walk in a straight line, so I picked you up and tossed you over my shoulder. You reached for the star on one of the potted Christmas trees and somehow managed to pull it, decorations and all, out of its container. I brought you inside, in the dark, because fuses blew when you tripped over the electric cables.’

She bit her bottom lip. ‘Anything else?’ She pushed the words over her thick tongue.

‘You sang lullabies and kept assuring me everything would be all right.’

The blood drained from her head. Dots appeared in front of her eyes, and she swayed. A hard, strong hand on her shoulder kept her from toppling sideways.

Trying to ignore the heat from his hand, she stared down at her fingers tapping her dirt-stained jeans. When she was younger and looking after her siblings, on those nights when times were tight, her mum was short of work and they were in danger of being evicted she recalled the songs her real dad sang to her before he left, trying to find comfort and strength in the few memories she had of him. Thinking of him, singing those lullabies, comforted and reassured her. She, in turn, sang them to her younger brothers when they felt scared, or when they picked up on her or her mum’s stress.

Talking about kids…

‘The twins are yours?’ she asked. She already knew the answer. They both looked like him, although the girl had lighter hair and a rosebud mouth.

‘Yeah. They’re four,’ he replied curtly. ‘Felix and Rosie.’

Cute names. Very English. ‘I’m Sutton.’

‘You told me last night. Sutton Alsop, born in Cape Town, almost twenty-nine years old.’ Did he have to loom over her?

‘So I got myself tangled up in the electrical cables, stumbled and tripped, cracked my cheek on a piece of paving, wrecked a Christmas tree, blew the fuses to your house and passed out on your couch. Anything else?’

‘I think that covers it.’

She dimly, somewhere back in the fog of last night, remembered him cursing a blue streak. ‘You swear pretty well.’

And creatively. If only she could remember some of his more colourful phrases. They might come in handy one day.

‘It’s amazing what you can learn in the army,’ he drily replied.

Sutton cocked her head and tried to nod, but stopped before her chin hit her chest because…ow. Yes, she could see him as a soldier, he had the don’t-fuck-with-me-or-I’ll-fuck-you-right-up vibe down to a tee. Man, he was breathtakingly, panty-meltingly good-looking.

She felt battered and more than a little blue, her head was on the point of exploding and she’d been an absolute muppet, but she wouldn’t mind seeing this man naked. He’d be glorious…

Sutton fought the urge to lie down again. Nauseous and dizzy, she leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his long legs and big feet. He was taller than she’d thought, maybe six-three or six-four. A good foot taller than her.

Where was Mrs Hot Guy? Was she out of town? Were they divorced and it was his week to have the kids?

He raked his hand through his hair and threw an impatient glance at his watch. ‘Twins! We’re leaving!’ he bellowed.

Sutton clutched her head. Fu-fudging-fuck. Was he trying to kill her? She swallowed her moan. Every sound was amplified and even the clatter of tiny feet in the hall hurt her bruised brain. God, she felt rough.

‘Dad, I can’t find my shoes!’ Male Cherub, or baby devil, shouted.

‘Daddy, my ribbon is falling out of my hair. I need to kiss Pepper. Felix, where’s Pig?’

‘I let him out. He told me he needed to go pee.’

Sutton heard Gus’s deep groan and saw him tip his head up to the ceiling and close his eyes. Dark, stubby eyelashes lay against his skin. ‘Daddy’s going to yell at you,’ Rosie told her brother, sounding gleeful. ‘Daddy, Pig is in the garden.’

‘Fuck.’

Sutton’s eyes shot up at his just audible curse. He slapped his hands on his hips. ‘Felix, how many times have I told you not to let him out? Am I just talking to myself?’ he demanded, his raised voice taking on a hard edge.

Felix popped his head around the door, his expression angelic. ‘We’ve got a cake sale at school today,’ he said, in an obvious ploy to change the subject. ‘Can I have some money?’

‘Pepper, give me a kiss!’ Rose shouted.

‘This house is a shitshow this morning. To be fair, it’s a shitshow most mornings.’Hot Guy – Gus – slipped his phone into the back pocket of his dark jeans and snagged a set of car keys out of the shallow dish on the coffee table. The dish also held a half-eaten tennis ball, a pair of kid’s sunglasses and a plastic medicine spoon, as well as a gas bill. Sutton counted about five pounds in coins in there as well.

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