Page 45 of Christmas Romance Galore!
When I got home, the flat was dark and quiet — Holly wasn’t home yet. I switched the Christmas tree lights to a cool mood setting, then flicked on the others before adding some candles to the mix. Then I selected a chilled playlist on Spotify and set all the food out ready on the counter. I wanted Holly to know I’d made an effort, even if actually cooking the food was a little beyond my skillset.
The next thing I knew, Holly was gently shaking me awake — wine at lunchtime always made me sleepy.
“Hey,” she said, her hand on my shoulder. “Are you trying to burn the place down? Because I really don’t think we need Nicola Sheen coming over again this evening, do you?”
I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “Agreed, we definitely don’t want that.” I yawned and stretched both arms above my head, my groan timed with a train rumbling by outside. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Holly replied. She looked around. “Is this all for me?”
I nodded. “I was trying to make it...” The word romantic popped into my head, but that didn’t seem right. Or did it? “Relaxing.” Definitely a better choice of word.
“I’m honoured.” Holly paused. “Let me dump my bags and I’ll be right out.”
I stood up, brushing myself down in an attempt to shake the sleep from my system. I checked my watch — I’d been out for nearly an hour. Shit, I really could have burned the place down. Note to self: must take steps to try not to become a serial arsonist.
I put the oven on and was piercing film lids when Holly reappeared. She was wearing jeans and a distressed black T-shirt that sat just so on her body as if she’d been dressed by Tyra Banks. That’s what comes of being so tall — clothes just work on you. For Holly, the biggest gripe was women’s tops being too short and not covering her stomach. As she often pointed out, crop tops were never a good look on anyone, let alone accidental versions.
“So you’re cooking me dinner to apologise for being a crap friend, is that right?” Holly was leaning against the counter and grinning at me. “And when I say cooking, I mean it in the loosest sense of the word,” she added.
I glanced at her, my knife poised above a container of tenderstem broccoli. “Hey, nothing screams ‘I’m sorry!’ like an M&S meal deal. Fact.” I waved the knife around. “Look it up on the internet, it’ll totally say so.”
Holly crossed her arms, an amused smile playing on her lips. “So what’s for dinner, MasterChef?”
“Well,” I said, tapping the black plastic containers. “For mains, we’ve got duck breast fillets with soy, honey and ginger, and I bought some chips as an extra side.”
“An extra side? You’re really pushing the boat out.” Holly paused. “And what’s for dessert? Have you ordered burlesque dancers followed by high-class escorts and cocaine?”
I clicked my fingers together. “Damn, I knew there was something I forgot — gimme two ticks and I’ll go order the cocaine.”
Holly laughed as I put the food in the oven.
“Should take about 20 minutes,” I said. “Beer to start?”
“Beer would be perfect.” She paused. “Did you buy those too?”
“No, you did.” I passed her a beer and we sat on the sofa, facing each other.
“So you’re keeping up this beer drinking thing then?”
I nodded, taking a swig. “See, I didn’t even wince then, did I?” There was jubilation in my voice.
“You did not,” Holly replied. “Well done, I think?” She paused. “How’s your mum?”
I nodded. “Really good. Excited about Christmas and she’s got me even more excited about it now, too.”
Holly pulled a face. “Glad someone is — we’re rapidly approaching one of the most anti-climactic weeks of my year. Christmas and my birthday in one, and every year my parents choose to celebrate it by arguing. Happy holidays!” Holly bent a leg up on the sofa and hugged it to her chest.
I wanted to make it all better for her, but knew I couldn’t.
“My mum invited you to ours — you’ve done it before, remember? Maybe you should do it this year too? Reclaim Christmas and your birthday and make them your own.”
Holly gave me a tepid smile. “A nice plan, but I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it if I did that, and then I’d just have to deal with warring parents on the phone rather than in my face.”
“But wouldn’t that be better?”
Holly shrugged. “They’d find a way to ruin it, whatever.”
“Just think about it — for me?” I pulled my extra-special pout, the one Holly could never turn down.
