Page 36 of Unexpected Company
Now it’s not only me and I want to make the twenty-fifth of December a day Roman will never forget. Something to remember me every year once we’ve gone our separate ways. Because we will when the real world catches up to us.
So that’s my plan. I’ll go all out. Decorate the entire place until it borders on tacky. Fill the lounge with the scent of real pine. Cook a feast enough for five.
“Thank you. I’ll pop there before I go buy groceries. Can you arrange for the cab to meet me at the store in an hour?”
She nods. “Sure thing.”
Cold air bites into my cheeks when I step out of the warm bakery and I sip on my coffee, grimacing when the scorching liquid burns my lip.
The store, aptly named Everything Christmas, cannot be missed. A four foot Santa statue stands outside holding a tray of foil wrapped chocolates. A small child, walking hand in hand with her mother, stops to take a handful, beaming at the treat. A snow machine blasts foamy bubbles onto the sidewalk, and the window display is so intricately designed it could rival some of the biggest department stores in London.
A bell jingles when I walk inside and I’m greeted with the scent of pine, cinnamon and nutmeg. I make a note to hunt down a candle with that very scent.
A young guy dressed as an elf hands me a shopping basket and I swivel in place, taking in the magnitude of decorations. If this is ‘slim pickings’, I would love to see a fully stocked store. I don’t know that they could fit much more in here.
My basket full, I head to the counter to pay. The same guy rings up all my items, placing them in huge, festive tote bags.
“Is there somewhere I can get a real tree?” I ask.
His smile is soft and apologetic as he shakes his head.
“‘Fraid we’re all out. Those get ordered mid November and are sold out by the second week in December.” He points to the back of the store. “We have a few artificial trees left.”
Pursing my lips, I consider the trees. Back when I was still welcome in my parents’ home, we always had an artificial tree. I want this year to be different.
“Is there somewhere else I could look?”
He takes out his phone, biting his bottom lip as his fingers slide over his screen. He holds it out to me.
“There’s a Christmas tree farm twenty miles south. Says on their website they are open until the twenty fourth.”
I pay for my shopping and thank him for his help, then make my way to the only grocery store in the small village.
By the time I’ve bought everything for Christmas lunch, as well as milk, tea, biscuits and a few other necessities, my hands are laden with bags. I stand outside the store, waiting for my cab to arrive. My eyes flit to the sky, taking in the grey clouds moving in and promising either more rain or possibly snow.
Wouldn’t a white Christmas be amazing?
The lyrics of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree being sung off-key greet me when I walk into the cottage. It’s still light out, but won’t be for much longer – the winter days cold and short – and I find that Roman’s draped twinkling fairy lights around the coat hooks and over the lampshades in the entrance hall.
Shutting out the flurry of snow that started falling as the cab pulled up outside, I drop the shopping near the door and follow Roman’s voice to the lounge.
He has the CD player set to full volume, the tinny speakers crackling as he dances around the small space, dressed in nothing but his long hoodie. From my position leaning against the doorframe, I can’t tell if he has anything on underneath. His bare legs are fair and hairless, a swirling tattoo running from the back of his knee down to his ankle, covering most of his left calf.
A string of gold tinsel glistens from where it’s hanging from one side of the window, stretching along the top to the other. Roman spins around, another piece of the glittering garland floating in his hand like a ribbon.
When he sees me, his face lights up and he shoots across the space, the ribbon of tinsel floating to the ground. I have a few moments to brace for impact before his smaller body leaps at me. I catch him, my arms circling his waist at the same time his legs wrap around my hips.
“Gare Bear,” he sighs. “You’re back!”
He nuzzles his head under my chin, his unruly blue hair smelling like apples and cinnamon.
“Told you I wouldn’t be long. What have you been doing since I left?”
Roman turns his head to face the lounge and I follow his gaze to the coffee table in front of the sofa. There’s a pack of cards, two of his books, a plate covered in crumbs, a mug of what I guess is tea, and his phone.
Whirling back to me he says, “I realised something when you left.”
“Yeah? What was it?”
