“I have to ask you something.”
“Sounds serious.” Cara twisted towards him. They were lying side by side on her bed under about three blankets, her laptop propped on George’s knees with the credits of Jingle All The Way rolling.
“Is it too weird if I get you a present? For Christmas? I mean, I know I said the other week about you meeting my parents, but you can back out of that easy with some excuse about work and I wouldn’t even know if you made it up or not.”
Cara wondered who’d made him so cynical about relationships.
She’d also never been so relieved to find a guy who didn’t mind tackling head-on the kind of questions she worried about herself.
“I’ll outdo you on the weird serious question front,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. “Do I get to call you my boyfriend yet, or do we have to go through some weird phase of casual-yet-exclusive dating for a few more weeks before that?”
George laughed so warmly that she felt she already knew the answer. It gave her the same warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach as she got whenever she watched Love Actually.
“I think we can skip that phase, don’t you?”
“Skip it all,” she deadpanned, waving a hand. “I’ll expect a Tiffany ring for Christmas. June wedding. Kids by October.”
“Steady on. It’ll have to be a winter wedding. My step-mum will murder me if she’s stuffed up with hay fever in all the wedding photos. You think your parents would mind a child out of wedlock?”
“Hmm, not sure. Or we could just elope.”
“Las Vegas at New Year? Elvis can officiate.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Well, thank you very much, little lady, thank you very much,” he said, in possibly the worst impression of Elvis she’d ever heard.
Cara broke into peals of laughter and George set the laptop safely to one side before rolling on top of her, propped up on his elbows and kissing her softly. Cara sighed, leaning up into it, smiling against his lips.
“I can’t stay too late,” he murmured, breaking away with a groan and pushing his forehead against her cheek. “Early start.”
“Or you could just … stay here.” Cara felt herself blushing furiously. Even though they’d had sex (after date number six) they hadn’t actually spent the night with each other. “I’ve got a spare toothbrush in a drawer.”
George laughed. “Well, that was the deal breaker.”
Clearly she’d done something right to get on Santa’s Good List this year, because George was utterly perfect.
Fourteen days till Christmas
She could do this. Only a few more days of school to go until they broke up for the holidays, and then – then she’d never have to go through another run of that bloody nativity again.
If Eloise had to hear Away in a Manger or Don’t Stop Me Now again any time soon, she’d scream. They’d been playing on a constant loop all day while the children did full run-throughs. And much as Eloise loved seeing them so happy and so full of Christmas spirit, it was driving her a little nuts.
Pouring herself a generous glass of white wine, she’d never been so glad to sink into her sofa. She FaceTimed Cara, but the call cut off before it was answered and she got a text instead.
Still in work and going straight to meet George. I’ll try to call you later xxx
PS How’s the nativity going? On the vino yet?
Eloise couldn’t help but feel disappointed, even as she typed out upbeat replies filled with emojis. It was gone six and she knew from Cara’s Instagrammed coffee at 7.32 a.m. that morning that she’d been in work early.
At school and at uni, Eloise always thought they’d both worked as hard as each other. They’d both fallen in love with Birmingham, and had lived in the same halls and house share throughout their degrees. Eloise wasn’t finding it hard to be away from Cara lately so much as she found it hard to just talk to her sister. Especially with all this promotion stuff going on. Cara worked too bloody hard.
So bloody hard she was even skipping Christmas and had encouraged their parents to do the same.
Eloise fired off the last few wine glass emojis to Cara and a Snapchat to match, then set her phone aside. “Humbug,” she muttered.
And giggled. A half-glass of wine and she was already tipsy. She probably should’ve eaten something before opening the bottle.
By the time she’d finished her glass, a movie had started on one of the TV channels and she left it to play, snuggling into her woolly cardigan and snapping off the lamp beside her. The Christmas tree and the fairy lights were all on, and she’d lit a cinnamon sugar-scented candle, so the room was lit with a warm, festive glow.
Bliss.
Lonely bliss, but still some kind of bliss.
Wryly, she thought this was probably more festive than Christmas morning would be.
Cara’s fault.
She’d barely settled in with the movie when there was a knock on her door.
Eloise sat up, muted the TV. Cocked her head and listened.
Another knock. Definitely her door.
She didn’t understand who it would be. Someone in the block, surely. You had to have a key to get into the building, or a special code for the intercom. If someone wanted to actually, physically knock her door, they had to get into the building first.
Another knock, this one harder, more insistent.
Eloise clambered up from the sofa, staggering a little as the wine hit her, and giggling while she steadied herself. Once she got to the door (which took at least three times as long as usual) she peered through the peep-hole.
Jamie knocked again, hammering his fist against the door. “I saw your lights on from outside, Eloise. I can hear you moving around.”
She undid the chain and opened the door. She lifted her chin primly, pursing her lips. “Can I help you?”
She hiccupped.
Giggled again, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her whole face felt warm.
Jamie raised an eyebrow, but then went back to looking sullen and moody. Brooding, maybe. Brooding was a word that suited him. In a very Jon Snow-esque way. And ooh, he was wearing glasses. She’d never seen him in glasses before. Rectangular, black frames. They suited him. A lot. He cleared his throat, distracting her from looking at him. (And she really was only looking, definitely not staring. Not at all.) “I, um, I need a favour.”
“Do you need more wrapping paper?”
He’d knocked on her door two days ago, needing paper to wrap a Secret Santa gift for someone in work. He’d laughed at her collection of ribbons and bows and tags, but taken some anyway, smirking when she told him he’d picked the wrong ones to match the paper.
“No. I, um …” Jamie cleared his throat and stood up straighter, which was when she realised he’d been slouching. He was so much taller than her when he didn’t slouch, and she wasn’t in her usual heeled boots. His cheeks reddened. “I locked myself out. I went to take the recycling out and just … I forgot my keys. Obviously I can get into the building, but … not my flat. I tried the estate agent for a spare key, but