Page 42 of Re-Writing Christmas

He groaned as he took my hand and led me to the kitchen, adjusting his jeans with his free hand.“I might hold you to that.”

Set up at June’s kitchen table was an open laptop with a photo of Teignmouth beach inside a photo editing program, his camera, his phone, and a ring light, which I assumed he’d used to shoot a video before I arrived.I cast my eyes over the equipment, amused he owned a ring light; something I associated with teenage girls using TikTok.Donovan didn’t strike me as a guy who worried too much about being seen in the best light—in any aspect of the words—and he smirked as he saw me looking at it.

“Even bloggers want to look good on camera,” he said.“Don’t take the piss.”

Looking up at him, I said, “I didn’t say a word.It’s very....professional.”My lips twitched and he rolled his eyes, even though he was still smiling.

“Give me the pie.I’m starving.”

Within a few minutes, we’d cleared some space at the table to eat, chatting about our mornings as we polished off the food.Once we were finished and washed up, I made us both a cup of tea and then sat beside Donovan while he worked on his photo edit.

Watching him work, it was clear he was a perfectionist, and he cleaned up any flaws, anything that had snuck into the shot that could ruin it, undoing and redoing it until he was satisfied.

I’d kind of assumed blogging would be easy.Go to a place, take a photo or video, edit it if needed, write something, then post it.That itself took time, but it went way deeper for Donovan.He had TikTok, Instagram, a Facebook page, and a YouTube channel to manage too, as well as an actual website where his blog was.He’d put roughly twenty minutes of touching up just into one photo, let alone all the other things he had to do.

Once he was done with that, he saved the file.His folders were organised with a neatness that blew my mind.Each folder was labelled by year, then inside those, by month, and inside the month folders, by location.

“That is some high-level filing system you have there,” I said, staring at his screen.

“I know, but I hate having to look too hard for a particular shot or album.”He clicked out of the folder and turned to me.“I never expected to have a file with photos of England inside.”

“Why not?”I asked, genuinely curious.“You talk about travelling the world, but England is a part of that.”

Donovan nodded.“Yeah.It is.But I guess I thought because I spent some of my childhood here, it didn’t count as ‘travel’.It’s the same reason I have nothing about Italy on my blog either.Even though I’ve been there a few times over the years to see my parents, I never write about it.”

“Because it feels too familiar to you, or because it feels too personal?”

He paused for a moment as if thinking it over.“Both.I try hard not to let too much of me—the important, personal parts—get into the blog.Italy is where my mum and dad are, and I kind of like that nobody knows I grew up there.People know I am English, obviously, but up until I came back, I’d never said exactly where I was from.”

“What made you share it now?You said the post you wrote about Dawlish was more personal than you usually get.”

Another pause before he met my eye as he considered the question.“Honestly, I don’t know.But if I hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have written the list, and we probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Hmm,” I said, nodding.“That’s a fair point.”

And another point in favour of fate.Or maybe not fate, but something.If he hadn’t told me what he did, I wouldn’t have looked him up, and I wouldn’t have seen the post that had led to the re-writing of his Christmas.But by that same thought process, I could keep going down the road of ‘ifs’ forever.Whatever it was, it had brought us here.To this moment.

“Do you know when you’ll be leaving yet?”I asked the question as casually as I could manage, even though my gut clenched, awaiting his answer.

Donovan smirked.“Had enough of me already?”

Not even close.

Worryingly, I was beginning to think I would never be able to get enough of him.

Rolling my eyes, I teased, “Not yet.Give it a few days, though.”

He leaned forward, placing a hand on my cheek.“I’m still not sure when I’m leaving,” he said.“But it definitely won’t be this side of Christmas, so let’s not think about that for now.”

Looking into his eyes, crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me, my heart leapt just a little.He was so freaking beautiful it was unfair.As my heart rate picked up, I was sure its beat was saying,Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave.But I blocked it out as Donovan’s lips touched mine.I had to because what I wanted wasn’t possible.The only thing possible was to soak up every second I had with him.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of a key in the front door.I smiled as Donovan dropped his head then looked back up at me.June walked into the kitchen and dropped her handbag down by the kitchen table.

She smiled when she saw Donovan and me sitting together, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.“Are you okay?”Donovan asked, turning away from me to look at her.

June rubbed a weary hand across her forehead as her eyes shifted to the living room.“I am.Just...with it getting closer to Christmas it’s...”she trailed off with a sigh.“This time last year, Trevor and I were out together having lunch with friends, and now it’s just me.It’s lovely having you two here, but it’s just...different now.Sometimes, when I come home, I still hope there was some mistake and he’ll be sitting in his chair, reading the paper.This exact day last year, we’d had lunch with Annie and Reg, and when we got home, big child that he was, Trevor was sitting on the floor next to the Christmas tree, trying to figure out what his presents were.He nearly broke his bloody hip struggling to get up off the floor.”She gave a watery laugh at the memory, and I got up from my seat and crossed the room to her.

“I remember,” I said, wrapping my arm around her.“You called me to come and give you a hand getting him up.”

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