But that’s a thing we can both worry about later. Before we go our separate ways, I’ll offer to intervene with Belinda as a balm to my swift goodbye.
Because Iwillhave to say goodbye.
And swiftly.
I can already tell that more than one night with Emily Darling would have me feeling things that could become painful, considering there’s usually an ocean between us.
I don’t do long-distance relationships. I’m not the kind of person who can pull off that sort of thing without a pitiful amount of pining. I don’t fall often, but when I do, I fall hard.
But one night is fine.
Assuming Emily is interested in letting me make further amends in private…
I try my vest pocket and finally produce a handful of coins. “Here we go. Let’s give this place some proper holiday atmosphere, darling Darling. But please, do try not to injure yourself on the way to the jukebox.”
She winks. “I’ll try, but no promises.” She slides off her stool, hips swaying temptingly beneath her rumpled skirt as she crosses the pub.
I watch her lean over the machine, auburn curls falling forward as she studies the selections, wishing we were alone so I wouldn’t have to limit my admiration of her curves to a quick, cursory glance. A moment later, the first triumphant notes of “All I Want for Christmas” boom through the pub’s surprisingly fabulous speakers, and she turns back to me with a grin that’s a direct hit.
Damn, that smile…
And that’s it.
The moment I should have known that I was in trouble.
Bloody serious trouble…
Chapter Four
EMILY
I’m not this girl.
I’m really not.
I haven’t been on a date—not even a casual one—since Stephen broke up with me over WhatsApp last summer. I can’t remember the last time I stayed up past ten for anything but work, rarely drink, and have never, repeatnever, picked a man up at a bar.
I’m a “meet through friends” or on a dating app person. I like a guy who’s been vetted—either by mutual acquaintances or by me, via several days of intense texting and stalking of his social media.
But here I am, two beers in with a sexy British stranger with mischievous blue eyes and a panty-melting accent even better than Colin Firth’s. And not only am I allowing him to buy me a third beer before I beat him at another game of rummy, I’m pressing my knee against his under the table and hardly thinking about the nativity fiasco at all.
I’m even considering asking Olly back to my hotel for a nightcap when the pub closes, and I don’t even know his last name.
That therapist who thought I was too uptight and controlling would be so proud.
Or concerned.
Maybe both!
But for some reason, that suddenly feels exciting instead of terrifying.
“Gin,” I purr, laying my cards down with a flourish.
“Again?” Olly groans, but he’s smiling as he adds, “You’ve hustled me, haven’t you?”
“I don’t hustle,” I inform him primly. “I strategically withhold information about my card-playing abilities until it’s too late for my hapless opponent.” I grin as I scoop the small pile of coins into my hand. “Now, all your ten pence pieces are mine.”
“Diabolical,” he mutters. “How did you become such a beastly little card shark?”
