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“For being short with you. For being a downer.”

“Georgie, you’re allowed to be upset. I want you to share whatever you’re feeling with me.”

Butterflies swooped in her belly. My god, he’s just…ahhh! Not falling for this man was becoming more and more difficult. When he wasn’t heating up her fantasies, he was the calm in her chaos. A slow grin graced Georgie’s lips. “Get back soon, will ya? Call me when you land?”

“I will,” he replied, his voice buoyant. “Is Saturday morning still good? It’ll be early.”

“Hey, I’d gladly give up an hour’s sleep if it means we’ll be together sooner.” Georgie curled the phone cord around her index finger. “See you at Fran’s for six. Breakfast’s on me.”

TWENTY-SIX

GEORGIE

A month later, Friday, December 25, 1992

Leafs record: 13 wins, 15 losses, 5 ties (in overtime)

Despite best intentions and sleep deprived efforts, Oliver and Georgie had only seen each other four times following his New York City trip. Painfully early morning coffee dates to work on the presentation and stolen moments while she served pancakes on weekends were no match for Oliver’s conferences and arduous research deadlines or Georgie’s ‘Don’t say no’ approach to making amends at school.

Add in the harried run-up to Christmas, and the lack of time together was morphing into a long-distance relationship without the actual distance. But that was until Oliver flew to London for the holidays, and Georgie was gifted an advance preview of Christmas future: a clusterfuck of frustrating time zones, expensive daily phone calls, and no one to kiss under the mistletoe.

Not surprisingly, this sneak peek was going down as well as an expired carton of lumpy eggnog.

“Mum!” Georgie shouted over Nat King Cole’s “Deck the Halls” and the chugging whirr of their beleaguered blender. “I’m gonna…” Covering the kitchen phone’s mouthpiece with one hand, she pointed to the ceiling with the other.

With a nod, her mother Cecilia squeezed past Michael and Fleur and their swirling brew of Bailey’s, vanilla ice cream, and peppermint schnapps, and accepted the handset like she’d done hundreds of times before.

“Thanks!” Georgie fled upstairs to her childhood bedroom and grabbed her old donut-shaped Sculptura phone, a lifeline to many a teenage gossip session. “Got it, Mum!” she hollered.

“Okay,” said Cecilia. “Nice speaking with you, Oliver.”

“It was! Happy Christmas.”

A terse click on the line disconnected Georgie and Oliver from the festive chaos raging downstairs.

“Sorry about handing you off there.” Georgie closed the bedroom door. “Between Michael and his sister making peppermint mudslides and his family playing Scattergories, I couldn’t hear a thing.”

“Your mum’s lovely! I’d like to meet her properly sometime,” said Oliver.

“Yeah, for sure. She’s the best!” Georgie tugged a pinching pair of jingly felt antlers from her head and dropped onto the single bed, its cranky springs creaking beneath her. “Ahhh, Merry Christmas, holly jolly Ollie.” She grinned under the watchful gaze of Starsky & Hutch and the Bay City Rollers, their posters from the ’70s still adorning her walls. “How’s yours been?”

“Restful, cozy, delicious—the perks of living with a chef.” The low rasp in his voice pinched Georgie’s face.

“Oh, Oliver, you sound worse.”

“Yeah, turns out digging in the freezing Thames yesterday wasn’t my brightest idea.” He sniffed. “I’ve been eating cough drops like they’re sweets.”

Georgie hugged Candy Floss, her old wobbly-necked stuffed poodle, a beloved Christmas present gifted to her by Santa when she was seven. “I hate that you’re there and I’m here. I miss you.”

“Me too,” he sighed.

She curled the dog’s tattered ear around her finger. “I should be making you a hot toddy and keeping you warm with cuddles.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “I haven’t had a hot toddy in years.”

“My Orkney granny’s recipe would make you right as rain.”

“What’s in it?” he asked. “Rum, brandy?”