ALEX
Coming home is usually a sad, lonely affair, with only the smell of Blanche’s cooking warming in the oven for me. But today, I couldn’t wait to get back here to see Merryssa and have someone to share an evening meal with.
Walking into my house, the aroma of home cooking floats through the air along with the sound of Christmas music playing in the distance. I’m surprised Blanche is still here at this time. I stroll into the kitchen, shrugging off my jacket, and pause at the sight.
Merryssa, bent over in my kitchen, her green dress pulled tight against her round ass jiggling to some Christmas song playing through the home sound system.
I stand back, admiring the view. Visualising my ex-wife is something I shouldn’t do, but having her here in my home, it’s hard not to think about how she’d look in my bed, or bent over this counter with her dress pulled up, a handprint on her big ass.
She pulls a dish from the oven and spins around, still dancing, swishing her curvy hips from side to side. Placing thedish of what looks like a casserole onto the worktop, her gaze floats up to meet mine.
“How long have you been there?” Her smile widens as if she’s happy to see me.
“A few minutes. Where’s Blanche?” I fold my jacket over the back of the stool at the breakfast bar.
Merry waves a hand in the air. “I gave her the rest of the day off.”
“You gave my housekeeper time off?”
“Yes, it was her grandson’s birthday. I told her to go enjoy the day.”
“So, does that mean that you’ve cooked this meal?” It looks delicious, but Merry was never the best cook.
“Yes, don’t look so surprised. I’ve learnt a lot of skills in the past twenty years.” She unties the apron that saysbaking memories.
“I hope so. I’m starving.”
She hands me a bottle of eggnog. “Table’s all set in the dining room. I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure if you used the dining room to eat, but it’s a beautiful room with the view of the ocean?—”
“It doesn’t get used much, but this is a special occasion. I mean, you’ve cooked, so that has to be something worth celebrating.” I chuckle to myself.
She swats the oven glove at my chest. “Watch it or I might add an extra ingredient to your dish.”
“I don’t mind extra spice.”
She glares. “I meant cyanide.”
With another chuckle, I carry the chilled eggnog through into the dining room, but halt in the doorway, sucking in a lungful of air. The room’s been transformed into a Christmas village.
“Hot stuff coming through,” Merry says, carrying the casserole behind me.
“Don’t I know it,” I mumble as I step aside, allowing her to enter the dining room with all her deliciousness—and I don’t mean the food. “When did you do all this?” My hand waves around the room, pointing at the Christmas tree in the corner.
“Blanche and Celeste helped. We did a little shopping after the dress fitting and I mentioned that you wouldn’t know it was Christmas at your home.” She places the dish in the centre of the dining table. “I’ve invited everyone over for dinner on Christmas Day, by the way. I’m not sure what your plans were, but thought it would be cosy.”
As I walk around the dining room to the head of the table, my fingers glide along the red velvet stockings that have obviously been hung with care.
She points to the mantle. “I thought we could fill them with some after-dinner gifts. You know something funny. Maybe a few games. I couldn’t find any Christmas crackers for the table, though.”
“We don’t have those pull-open Christmas crackers here. I think that’s just a Brit thing.” My brow knits as I count the stockings again. “So, who is the seventh guest?” I hate entertaining at best, though if it means I’ll get to spend Christmas with my family, then so be it, but knowing Merry, she’s probably invited a homeless guy she ran into or maybe it’s Blanche, though I’m sure she said she was spending Christmas with her daughter.
Merry steps towards me and slips her hands into the stocking, pulling out a tiny pair of white booties.
Something stutters in my chest. I search her face for confirmation. “Shelly?”
The smile reaching her eyes tells me I’m going to be a grandfather. I don’t think I’m ready for that. I was never ready to be a father thirty years ago. I don’t think anyone can ever be fullyprepared for these things, but I’m going to do everything I can to be a better grandparent than I was a father.
“It’s not confirmed yet. It’s just a feeling Shelly had today when she couldn’t fit into her dress. She’s going to tell Finn and do a test.” Merry pours the eggnog into our glasses and hands me one. “You look like you need something stronger than this.”
