I chuckle. “It’s strange how it’s a different time all over the world.”
“Yeah. In some parts of the South Island it’s still 1950.”
That makes me laugh. I turn in his arms, and he smirks and kisses me. “Best Christmas ever,” he says. And I have to agree.
*
He stays for a while longer, and we watch a little TV and chat while we finish off our drinks. Then he helps me fill Max’s sack with presents, including the ones he brought for him, which touches me immensely. I didn’t expect him to buy my son anything.
We then take the sack into Max’s room and leave it leaning against the bottom of the bed. Cullen clicks his fingers and Ghost jumps down. We linger and look at Max, who’s dead to the world, lying on his front, his hair ruffled and his cheeks flushed from his day on the beach despite me slathering him in sun lotion and insisting he wears his hat all the time.
We go out, and I pull the door almost closed behind me. “He’ll be up at six,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Yeah, I’d better go. We’ve had a busy day.” Cullen follows me into the living room, and then we have another hug. “I’ve had a great day,” he says.
“Me too.”
“What time do you want me over tomorrow?”
“Oh, whenever you want. Eleven again? I really don’t mind.”
“Okay.” He presses his lips to mine again, and we exchange a long, lingering kiss that fills me with happiness. “See you tomorrow,” he says softly when he eventually moves back.
“Yeah, goodnight.”
He goes out of the door with Ghost, gives me a wave, and then heads up the path toward where he’s staying.
I lock the door and pull the curtains, then turn and look at the sofa. The rumpled duvet is still there.
After pouring myself half a glass of wine, I take it to the sofa and curl up on it, pulling the duvet over my legs. The Alastair Sim version ofA Christmas Carolis on, and I watch Scrooge dancing with delight as he awakes to find it’s Christmas morning, and the spirits did it all in one night.
We’re not through the woods yet. We still have the anniversary of Jack’s death to get through, and it’s possible that it might trigger Cullen’s feelings of guilt, and lead to him saying he can’t stay. I’m under no illusions that one instance of sex—as amazing and fantastic as it might have been—is enough to eliminate all his fears and doubts. But you never know. Perhaps it can be the catalyst to a better time for him.
I sip my wine, feeling like Scrooge—as if the future is no longer dark, and it holds the promise of better days to come.
Chapter Thirteen
Cullen
Christmas Day flies by much the same as Christmas Eve. When I arrive at the bach in the morning, Max has already opened his presents, and I’m touched when he throws his arms around my neck to say thank you for the jigsaw, plushie, and book.
Isla looks beautiful in a short summer dress with orange and yellow flowers. She gives me a bashful look when I first walk in, then laughs as I pull her into my arms and give her a big hug.
I intend to make sure I don’t keep kissing her in front of her son, but she lifts her arms around my neck and kisses me, and Max doesn’t bat an eyelash, so it doesn’t seem as if either of them are worried about it.
“I’ve got something for you,” she says, and turns to pick up a parcel from beneath the tree.
“Aw…” I take it from her. It’s about twelve inches square and an inch deep, and very light. I unwrap it carefully to reveal an artist’s canvas. I turn it over and discover that it’s a painting of Sunrise Bay, beautifully done, the sun just peeking over the horizon, so the whole picture is filled with the colors of the sunrise—oranges, purples, and golds. “Did you get this from the gallery?”
She shakes her head. “I did it.”
My jaw drops. “You painted this?”
“I dabble a bit, and I brought my paints with me. I took some photos at sunrise when I got here and painted from one of those. Do you like it?”
“Isla, it’s fantastic. I love it.” I hold it out at arm’s length, admiring the way she’s captured the beauty of the bay. “Wow, I didn’t know you painted.”
“I have many hidden talents.” She gives a girlish giggle.
