Page 96 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
The bracelet warms on my wrist; the album’s tucked under my arm; the drumhead still vibrates faintly from the tap of his fingers. I’m not sure which gift to thank him for first—so I kiss him instead.
“We’re not taking the bike, are we?” I eye the helmet on the hall table.
Teddy laughs. “Tempting photo op—my girl on the pillion, sack of gifts flapping—but no. Hired wheels.”
He palms a fob and, as we step out the back door, a midnight-blue Range Rover beeps awake in the mews.
I pull my seatbelt on, settling into the cocoon of a bucket seat with that new-leather smell.
Teddy fiddles around with the unfamiliar controls, checking indicators, demist buttons and the sound system.
“Nerves braced?” he asks.
“This beats freezing on the Triumph. Besides, a guy who can ride a motorbike can surely drive himself when needed. And Charlbury’s only—what—ninety minutes?”
“No—my driving is fine. It’s my lot that comes with a warning,” he says. “The Hart-Cosgrove tribe.”
“I’m up for it. They’ll allbe there?”
“Yes, Mum drove up from Cornwall on Tuesday with Dad and half a fruit-cake factory. Rowan’s driving in after the Santa shift with Tim and Elodie.”
My grin widens. “Can’t wait to see Ellie’s face when she opens up the pony toys. As long as she doesn’t start pestering Rowan for a real one.”
He shrugs, eyes on the road, but a smile sneaks in.“Hey, if Santa can manage a flying reindeer, one little pony’s hardly a stretch.”
“And Briar?”
“She had a show last night, so she’ll barrel up today, still wearing stage glitter.”
The twist in my gut is as sharp as the memory of Briar blocking the door, and the sick drop in my stomach when I thought Teddy was playing me. He must feel me stiffen because he slides a hand over mine.
“She’s nervous too,” he says quietly. “And apologetic. Dumping that abusive arsehole the day before didn’t put her in the best head-space.”
“That’s the past,” I murmur. “Anyone who loves you that fiercely gets a second chance.”
He kisses my knuckles. “She’s sworn off toxic blokes for good—the only drama she wants is onstage.”
“Good plan.”
“Then we’ve got Juniper, her husband Charles, and the junior football squad—George, Martin, Ashton. Junie’s buzzing to meet you. Rowan’s been teasing her. Saying she’s already collected selfie proof with my ‘famous girlfriend.’”
I snort. “Fifteen seconds of fame, I think. Next week I’m just another partner in some London legal firm, nothing special.”
Teddy’s smile softens. “Partner and all, you’re still special to me.”
“Full house then?”
“Exactly. And I need you to meet every last one of them. List item number five—introduce me to your family, proper introduction at a Christmas gathering.“ He quotes the words back at me exactly. “Can’t have the other party say I haven’t fully met all the terms and conditions.”
“You’re already in compliance,” I laugh, squeezing his hand. “But I’m still keen to meet them.”
He threads our fingers together. “Good—because after today there’s no ‘pause’ button left to press.”
Juniper’s house is all Charlbury charm—butter-coloured stone, slate roof, and a tidy garden with holly bushes guarding the path. Before Teddy’s even cut the engine, we’re under siege. A rabble of children, who look like they’re already riding a Christmas candy high, pours into the front yard screaming, “Uncle Dory! Uncle Dory!”
I glance over. “Dory? I’ve been meaning to ask—where did that come from?”
Teddy unbuckles his seatbelt, grinning. “Briar’s fault. Dad christened me Theodore and dug his heels in. Mum needed three months to win him over to Teddy. In the gap, four-year-old Briar shortened Theodore to her favourite cartoon fish—easier to say. She’s called me Dory ever since, and when these monsters arrived—” He nods at the bouncing niece and nephews. “She made sure the nickname stuck.”
