Page 58 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
The banter flows back and forth between the guys. Garrett’s getting a hard time about his upcoming thirty-fourth birthday with Teddy’s cheeky suggestion Santa might deliver him a Zimmer frame.
He rolls his eyes. “Fine—so long as it’s racing green. At least I’m not driving a Canary Cab.” He turns a grin on Ollie. “How’s life in the high-vis Porsche? Do traffic cones salute you?”
Ollie lifts his glass. “It’s called visibility. Also joy. Try it sometime.”
Christian tips his head at Teddy. “And how’s the motorbike in December? Still pretending helmet hair is a style?”
Teddy grins. “Warm gloves, good roads, no parking dramas.”
“Unlike you,” Ollie butts in, “in your dad-spec Range Rover. You got a National Trust sticker yet?”
Christian doesn’t blink. “It carries the amps, three dogs and a Christmas tree without breaking a sweat. You can keep your banana.”
Their laughter rumbles across the table. The rhythm is easy; the bond between them obvious. Bandmates first, now friends. This is how they navigate this abnormal life their music’s led them to: strong together, whatever the outside world throws at them. Liv and Haley too, closer than ever this year. I suppose no one else can fully understand what it’s like to love a rock star unless you’re living it as well. If—still a very big if—I agreed to see Teddy beyond this week, I’d need them.
It’s so tempting. All evening I keep pinching myself at the sweet, funny, attentive man by my side. He tells me my hands are cold and makes me warm them around his mug; nicks one of my pigs in blankets; and dishes me up seconds of sherry trifle. Out of all the girls Teddy could summon without even a snap of his fingers, for now, in this little snow-globe of time, he’s chosen me.
“Mine, yeah?” His voice is low, a rasp. Everyone’s heading for bed, and we’re twin rocks in a stream, the rest flowing around us, too highon wedding talk and Christmas cocktails to notice us pause at the foot of the stairs.
“Give me half an hour,” I whisper back. “Let this lot get settled for the night.”
The hallways are empty; the house hushed except for the sound of soft music from behind Garrett and Liv’s door, as I slip into Teddy’s room.
He lounges against the pillows, bare chest, hairs picked out in rose gold by the lamplight. He puts down a battered Kerouac and peels back the covers in silent invitation.
“High-brow bedtime reading,” I tease, brushing the cracked spine before my dressing gown pools at my feet.
“Mum’s recommended reading list,” he says with a wry grin.
I raise an eyebrow. “Moved on from Dr. Seuss then, have we?”
“Trying to impress a girl I like.” His grin softens at the edges.
This—the honest, faintly shy soul tucked behind Teddy Hargrove’s cocky public veneer—is the man I’m falling for. I slip beneath the covers, cool cotton brushing my legs, and let the rhythm of his heartbeat soothe any anxious thoughts.
Tomorrow I’ll stand beside him while we watch our friends’ love story begin. Tonight he folds me close and, for the first time in a couple of months, I dare to hope I might get one too.
Chapter 20
Everyonetriestostartthe day normally, a breath of calm before the chaos begins. Teddy and I take Bodie and Solly for a ride, watching the wisps of fog pull back around us and slivers of sun push through. We halt at the end of the meadow, letting the horses tug at frost-tipped grass. Christian and Garrett thud past on a head-clearing run. Liv sleeps in. Haley and Sam surface just in time for hair and make-up under theShe Said Yesspotlight.
Fortified by glasses of fizz and Loreena’s steadying hand, we make it to the ceremony two minutes fashionably late. Haley hovers just out of sight at the top of the stairs. In our green dresses, bouquets trailing, Sam, Liv, and I pause on the landing and take it all in.
At the front of the ballroom, the guys wait with shiny shoes, neat bow ties, and rock-star manes tamed. Next to them, is Bethany, the celebrant. Friend to Haley, Christian and Loreena, and famous for wearing only shades of black; today her choice is one that under the ballroom lights wavers towards green, a sly concession to thewedding party. Her usual punk-spiked hair is teased into something almost sensible.
Our decorated trees stand proud, tasteful, and a quiet tribute to friends working with, not against, each other. They flank an arch dressed in ruby satin, bursts of red and white flowers, and twisting winter greenery. It’s the Christmas wedding Haley has always wanted; every garland and twinkling light hitting Pinterest perfection.
A red-carpeted aisle lined with poinsettias marks our path, guests on either side swivelling with expectant smiles. I follow a step behind Sam, my pace measured. I’ve never walked down a wedding aisle before. I used to look forward to it—first today, Haley’s day, and then my own. Later I dreaded it, wondering how it would feel to be the not-bride at my friend’s wedding. Today I’m calm. I’m glad Pierre and I never reached the altar; better the truth before vows we couldn’t have kept.
As I near the front, I feel every gaze on me, but only one catches. It isn’t wedding nerves; Teddy’s smile tips my stomach into a spin. “Beautiful,” he mouths, and my heart soars. I’ve been told it before, but something in the way he says it makes me feel seen, not just the dress, the hair, the makeup—but all the parts underneath.
Behind us, small gasps ripple—Haley has appeared on the landing. No one expected anything but white. She steps out in winter-berry velvet; the gown hugging her curves before spilling into a train that trails like a fae queen on Solstice night. Her dark hair is threaded with seed pearls; her eyes, green and bright, find Christian and light up. She pauses, and the room seems to hold its breath. The perfect Christmas bride.
She takes the first step to the string quartet’s soft spell, and the crowd exhales as one.
Haley’s only halfway down the aisle when disaster strikes. Kona, the big dog, senses Ollie’s inattention—he’s grinning across at Sam and then back to his sister—and makes a break for it. His trailing lead catches on a small potted Christmas tree. The pot skids, fairy lights slithering after it, and the whole arrangement judders up the aisle in Kona’s wake, straight towards Haley.
She stops dead, eyes wide. Guests gasp. The string quartet plays on. They must be the only ones in the room oblivious.
