Page 9 of Re-Writing Christmas

Heaving in a breath, I said, “Okay, fine.You handle things however you want to.But please don’t forget she’s still grieving.”

“Do you think I’m not?”

Considering he hadn’t made the effort to come back for the funeral, I wasn’t sure I knew the answer.

I guess he could be grieving for everything he missed out on.

Shaking my head because I had no intention of trying to second guess anything he was thinking, I sighed again.“I’m sure you are, but she lost the man she spent over fifty years with.And she’s facing her first Christmas without him, so cut her a little slack.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and then we began walking again, the Christmas music still loud and the scent of mulled wine getting stronger.

“Do you want a drink?”I asked him as we approached the wine stall.

“Yeah, why not?Can I interest you in a mince pie and some cream?”

I glanced at him sideways, and he was almost smiling, our heated words already brushed aside.

“I’m always interested in a mince pie.”

Donovan chuckled.“Me too.”

I paid for a cup of mulled wine for each of us, and Donovan went to the next stall along for our food.He came back carrying two paper plates, each with a mince pie and a generous helping of clotted cream on top, and two plastic forks.We locked eyes, trying to work out how to swap a cup and a plate each with our hands full, and I said, “Let’s go and sit down somewhere.”

We walked to the end of the street, then turned right onto The Lawn, which had a path running alongside it with some benches dotted at various intervals.With it being so cold, not many people were sitting, so it didn’t take us long to find a vacant seat.

Once we sat, we rested our treats down, and I instantly reached for the mulled wine to warm up my hands through my thin gloves.Conversely, Donovan went for the food first, pushing his fork into the pastry and cream before taking a bite.

He closed his eyes as he swallowed, as if savouring the taste, and I laughed before taking a drink of the wine.“I’m almost positive you didn’t like mince pies as a kid.”

Donovan smiled.“I didn’t.But after many years of not having them, I decided to try them again when I was back in Italy with my parents, and I wondered why I ever hated them.”

“What was it like?”I asked.“I mean… Christmases in different countries.It must have been strange, especially in Australia.”

“Yeah.My first Christmas in Australia was weird.Seeing people on the beach on Christmas Day and not having to be wrapped up in big jumpers was a shock to my system.But I’ve also spent Christmases in the Philippines and Thailand.And also a Thanksgiving and Christmas in Wisconsin.”

My eyes widened.“Why Wisconsin?”

“I like true crime documentaries.I was one of those people who got swept up inMaking a Murderer, and I was in Chicago when I watched it.So, I decided to swing over to Manitowoc County.”

“Oh my God,” I said, staring at him, amazed we might have something in common.“I love true crime documentaries.What was it like there?”

He told me a little about his experiences in Wisconsin, and I couldn’t stop looking at him as he spoke with such passion about his travels and what Thanksgiving was like.I decided I would look up his blog when I got home because if his writing was as passionate as his conversation, it was no surprise he was so popular.

“What?”he asked, and I realised I was staring at him.

Shaking my head, I said, “Sorry.I just… the way you talk about the things you’ve done.It’s really interesting.Maybe you should write a book.”

“I’ve considered it, but I don’t think I have much to say that I haven’t already said on my blog.Plus, I don’t know if I want people to know too much about my real experiences.I give away a lot to my readers, but it’s mostly surface stuff.Thoughts on places, but not as much about how I felt when I was there.Nothing about people I met or had friendships or relationships with.That’s just for me.Or for those I choose to tell.”

He was such a contradiction.Grumpy on the outside, but I’d seen flickers of emotion showing through occasionally.He was private, but he shared his travels.He was not totally happy about being in the UK, but he didn’t seem to have a really big problem with nostalgia because he liked talking about the things he’d done.

“Nova, you’re staring again.”

Heat flushed across my cheeks, and I laughed, seeing his smile.“Sorry… again.You have so many stories you could share.It’s mind-blowing to me.”

“Well, which countries have you been to?”

My answer was embarrassing compared to how many places he’d been to.“My parents and I went to Spain a few times when I was little.Barcelona, to be precise.Then I went to Greece before I started university with some friends, and to Paris after uni with a boyfriend.”

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