‘It’s Hazelwood,’ I blurt out quickly before I lose my nerve. ‘But please, don’t google me.’
His jaw drops open. ‘Well, fuck me. That was quick. I was sure I was going to have to torture you for it. You must really want that trip to the States.’
‘What I really want is to be with you. Because the thought of you leaving, and not seeing you again, is one that I can’t bear.’
‘The feeling is mutual, believe me.’
To lighten the mood, I pinch the curve of his perfect ass. ‘Now, do we have anything to decorate this thing with?’
‘We certainly do. You should know by now, I don’t do things by halves.’
‘I have sort of noticed that, now you mention it.’ My gaze lingers on his crotch.
‘Behave. At least until we get to tick off another item from your Christmas wish list.’
My mind wanders. ‘Oh, believe me, Nate, you’re doing a stellar job of that.’
He goes out to his car to fetch the trimmings for the tree while I pull up a Christmas soundtrack on Spotify. Bing Crosby’s smooth voice echoes around the room while I heat some mulled wine. I’m not a huge fan of it, but the smell of it simmering in the kitchen adds to the evening’s atmosphere.
Nate returns, arms laden with boxes of fairy lights and multicoloured baubles. My mother would have a heart attack if she could see all the tacky clashing colours.
‘Is that mulled wine?’ Nate’s nose wrinkles as he sniffs the air.
‘Yes, do you want one?’
‘I suppose it is the season.’ He dumps the decorations on the sofa. ‘So, Hazelwood?’ A grin rips across his face. ‘Next you’ll be telling me your birthday, your home address, and your social security number.’
‘Now you’re starting to freak me out.’ I hand him a crystal goblet filled with wine. ‘I’m not joking when I said don’t ever google me.’
‘It can’t be that bad,’ he says teasingly, pulling his phone from his back pocket.
I snatch it out of his hands and stuff it down the front of my dress between my cleavage. ‘Oh, it is, believe me.’
‘If you’re hoping to distract me, it’s working.’ He palms my boobs through my dress.
‘Good.’ I’m increasingly aware that I’ll have to tell him soon. Have to confess that I am the laughingstock of the world right now and only for the dreadful intermittent network coverage in Ballybowen, I would have been laughed out of here too.
But the thought makes me want to shrivel up and die. Nate is so mature, sophisticated, and utterly composed. And for some crazy reason, he thinks I’m cool, smart, and funny. And I don’t want to ruin that.
But at some point very soon, I’m going to have to.
Is it better to rip the plaster off and see if the wound is one that we can plug?
His hands drop from my front, and he nods towards the tree. ‘Come on, let’s get this thing decorated. Crank up the tunes.’
We decorate the tree together, singing along toNow That’s What I Call Christmas. I hang a luscious, thick holly garland over Savannah’s stone mantelpiece. The open fire is roaring, but what really heats me from the inside out is a warm glow that comes from the man next to me. The man who’s not ready to call this a day after December, either.
Later, we lie together on the couch, limbs entwined as we admire our handiwork. Multicoloured lights twinkle, generating their own special brand of festive magic. Shiny metallic baubles glitter brightly back at us. A silver, diamante-embellished star crowns the very top of the tree.
‘I can’t believe you got me a real tree! It’s the most thoughtful thing any man has ever done for me.’ I swallow the stupid lump of emotion forming in my throat. ‘Well, that and the Advent calendar.’
‘That’s not all I got you.’ Nate nods towards his overnight bag, which he abandoned on the floor in the doorway.
‘Have a look in the front pocket.’ Curiosity is the only thing strong enough to lift my face from where it rests on the hard planes of Nate’s perfect pecs.
I dart across the room, eager to get back to my man. Ha. My man? He’s mine for now, at least. I’m under no illusion I’ll get to keep him forever.
Hooking my fingers inside, I find a small box. I open the lid as I zip back across to the couch.
