Page 7 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

‘I’m taking the kids to kindergarten,’ Gus told her, his voice low and determined. ‘I’ll be about forty minutes. I want you out by the time I get back.’

His statement was not unexpected. After all, she’d been drunk, and definitely disorderly, on his lawn the night before. She was lucky he’d brought her inside and allowed her to sleep on his sofa. He could’ve woken her up and sent her on her way. She might’ve ended up sleeping in a hedgerow and dealing with hypothermia this morning.

Or adjusting to being dead.

Sutton nodded her head. Fair enough. ‘Yeah, I’ll get out of your hair.’

He opened his mouth to say something, shut it quickly and nodded. Picking up a leather and sheepskin bomber jacket from the back of the chair he’d occupied, he strode into the hall, calmly issuing orders.

‘No, youcan’tkiss Pig goodbye, Rosie, he’s outside. I’ll deal with him when I get back.’

‘Is the lady going to be here when we get home from school, Dad?’

He stood on the other side of the wide-open French doors and his eyes slammed into hers. Sutton felt pinned to her seat by the intensity of his hard blue gaze. ‘She most certainly willnot. If she is, she’ll be in more trouble than she already is.’ Gus scowled at her. ‘Don’t piss me off further by stealing anything.’

Huh! She managed a what-the-hell scowl. She was broke, in a stupidly tight spot, but she wasn’t a thief. Sutton considered defending herself but decided she didn’t have the energy. She simply prayed Jason’s uncle’s house, the house she had planned on temporarily, secretly, occupying for the next three weeks, was a lot further down the road from this one, preferably out of sight.

She had no intention of running into Hot Guy and his Cherubs again.

The front door opened, and Gus ushered his kids outside. The door slammed shut and Sutton cocked her head, waiting to hear his car reversing down the drive before pushing herself off the couch. Every muscle screamed in protest and a million fire ants started snacking on her brain. She wouldn’t go looking for cash or steal the silver, but shewouldraid a bathroom cabinet for aspirin.

Feeling the room spin, she decided to lie down for five more minutes.

* * *

After making sure that the twins were safely buckled into their car seats, Gus reversed down his driveway, his mind on the blonde on his couch.

He had ablondeon hiscouch. For the first time in three years, he’d had another woman who wasn’t his wife in his house.

Gus had no idea how to feel about that.

Because he kept an eye on Will and Eli’s house, he crawled past their too-sweet, too-charming cottage, not noticing anything amiss. There was minimal crime in this part of the country, but he’d seen enough of the crappier side of life to know that an empty house, even in a rural setting, was an attractive prospect for thieves or squatters.

His neighbours would be back today, and Gus let out a sigh of relief. When Will and Eli were home, he had a fraction more freedom than he usually did, as the boys were always happy to have the kids over.

It also meant he could go down to the pub or go into Kestell for a hook-up without asking Moira to babysit. Kate had been dead for a few years, but it still felt tacky to ask her mum to babysit his kids when he wanted some naked action.

He did it, but it wasn’t something he enjoyed.

Gus swung his SUV into the High Street, crawling along behind the other cars heading for the kids’ school on the outskirts of the village. The twins spent the bulk of the day there, and he normally collected them around five, unless he had to keep the shop open for a bus full of tourists.

Kate’s Christmas Shop was his shop, open all year round. It did a fair trade in summer when you couldn’t move for tourists in the Lake District, but many people, locals and tourists alike, flocked to the shop in December. They spent more at this time of the year too, carried away by the festive spirit and charmed by the free hot cocoa and shortbread biscuits he provided.

He came to the intersection, and looked left, as he always did.Kate’s Christmas Shop.The sign was old fashioned, curly red writing on a white shingles board, as was the shop with its two bay windows, a fat, highly decorated Christmas tree in each. The premises for his adventure tour company were right next door, and he moved between the two businesses through an interconnecting door in the storerooms. For most of the year, he and his guides provided adventure activities for the tourists. Rock climbing, hiking, kayaking and SUP-ing for groups and individuals. But in December, when only the hardiest outdoor adventurers wanted to be out on the fells in the wind, rain and snow, the indoor climbing wall picked up but adventure business slowed down, and he switched his attention to Kate’s Christmas Shop.

It had been Kate’s idea to open the year-round shop, and she’d planned it, as she had planned everything, with meticulous detail. She’d been a week away from opening when she died in a car accident outside Manchester – she’d been on a buying trip, acquiring the last of her stock so that she could be ready for the grand opening the following Saturday. Nobody in the village could believe it when they heard that their beloved Katie skidded off the road and hit a barrier. The twins were a year old when she died, and he was left with two babies and two businesses to run.

And a broken heart. And, although no one else knew it, a broken marriage.

He heard the twins arguing about something and decided it wasn’t vociferous or ugly enough for him to intervene. Pulling off, he lifted his hand to wave at Jim, who ran their village shop, and smiled at old Miss Porter’s dachshund trying to keep up with her long-legged stride.

Conningworth, this tiny village situated between his beloved fells and the always lovely Lake Conningworth – yeah, his wife’s family once ownedeverythingaround here – was home and had been since he met Kate, the Baroness of Conningworth.

‘Daddy, why was that lady on our couch? And why did she have an owie on her cheek?’ Rosie asked.

And he was back full circle to the blonde on the couch.

‘She fell over last night, baby, and hurt her face.’

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