Page 6 of Miss Christmas


Font Size:

“Christ, she was my girlfriend inschool!”

“Exactly.” I exclaim as he shakes his head, exiting the car.

I follow suit but instantly slip onto my ass the minute my feet touch the slippery ground.

“Bloody hell, you’re a right city girl,” he mutters, dragging me up with difficulty, my feet still sliding on the invisible ice.

“I’m not—” I huff as he guides me to his front door. “I just have the wrong footwear on, that’s all.”

The door is a simple green painted wooden job, with a golden knocker on the front that’s faded significantly.

“Let me guess, you have a pair of sturdy snow boots in your car back there?” he says, his southern twang making my heart ache a little.

I’ve missed being here.

“Yes,” I lie, refusing to let him know how unprepared I am for this climate. I have my bunny slippers, but he’ll find that amusing.

The door swings open to reveal a rustic lodge-type living room to my right, with huge logs resting in the grate in the centre of the room. The thick wooden beams have been stripped back to their original beauty, and the two-seater sofa is covered with thick, soft blankets that I yearn to wrap around myself.

There’s no television and no photos anywhere. You wouldn’t know who lived here, that’s for sure. There’s a clothes horse in the corner of the room, and a few t-shirts and jumpers hang casually from it.

“Tea?” Dylan asks, heading through a door to my left.

“Do you have coffee?” I ask, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s Co-op’s own, no Starbucks here,” he says, and I nod.

“Great.”

He disappears into the tiny kitchen, and I stand awkwardly in the hallway.

“Grab a blanket from the sofa,” Dylan calls from the kitchen. “I’ll put the fire on in a mo.”

I nod gratefully, which is pointless as he can’t see me. I head into the living room, stealing the thickest blanket I can see, wrapping it around my shoulders before sinking to the soft sofa.

Moments later, Dylan is pressing a cup into my hand, and I inwardly grimace when I see the thick, dark liquid that has turned up with no milk or sugar.

I won’t ask. He’s been kind enough so far.

Dylan goes about setting the logs on fire, and I can’t help but watch as he does so, his broad frame apparent beneath his clothes, which he tugs off upon standing.

“You’ll soon be warm.” He smiles, tossing his jumper onto the arm of the sofa before joining me. A whiff of woodsy cologne greets me, and when he exhales, I’m swooning. Peppermint. He’s like a romance hero from one of my books.

“So, what happened?” Dylan asks bluntly, nodding at my hand.

I follow his gaze with confusion. “Sorry? What?”

“Your wedding ring. You’re not wearing it.”

The indentation on my finger has captured his attention, and I clear my throat.

Nowayam I getting into this.

“Can you try your friend again?” I ask crisply, and Dylan gazes at me, his cerulean eyes crinkling with intrigue.

He can be intrigued all he wants. There’s no way onEarthI’m discussing my failed marriage with Dylan Charmer.