A Country Village Christmas

by Suzanne Snow

  * * *

  Tom didn’t have his phone glued to his hand quite like Olivia usually did and it was lying on the kitchen table the following morning. They’d gone to bed late after sharing cocktails to celebrate him finishing the first draft. Olivia had read aloud the second stave of A Christmas Carol and thoroughly enjoyed it.

  She had been nervous to begin with, reading to an actor of such experience and success after not having read aloud since Ellie was small. Olivia had faltered a couple of times and he’d offered encouragement, told her how great she sounded and that he appreciated being able to just listen, to enjoy the text. Tom had been stretched out on the sofa the whole time and they’d teased one another about his being asleep, though she knew he was anything but.

  He had nipped down to the shop to bring more milk just now and her attention was caught by a message on his phone that she saw was from her dad. She didn’t mean to read it, but the first two words were unmistakeable.

  Happy birthday, Tom. Sending you all my best, Hugh

  The message had Olivia hurriedly searching for Tom’s Wikipedia page on her own phone and she soon saw that her dad was right. Today was Tom’s birthday and her mind darted ahead to the day she had planned. There was some unavoidable work she needed to do before Christmas, then she’d intended to go shopping this morning and help Tom in the shop later.

  Interest in their Twitter Christmas reading choices was still growing, and they’d already had a decent number of visitors yesterday, all of whom had bought books. Tom had told her last night that he’d been recognised again, and Olivia managed to get out of him that people were interested to hear of his writing and had appreciated the chance to chat with him.

  He was soon back and putting the milk in the fridge. Olivia saw him glance at his phone as she pretended to be busy with hers and he picked it up, sliding it casually into a pocket. She’d already had an idea about how they might celebrate his birthday and it meant that she would need to shop on her own. She made an excuse to do with work and hurried off to change.

  Having settled in town in a little sushi restaurant, she caught up with business emails. Everything seemed to be running well and her assistant had copied her in on some correspondence that Olivia needed to be aware of. They’d had notice of a few properties possibly coming up for sale and she made appointments to view them straight after New Year. She always preferred to see a property in person if possible, before it came onto the open market.

  Tom was in the shop when she returned to Thorndale and she did her best to hide some of the ingredients she’d bought in the fridge, adding in a couple of large boxes of canapés that were for the gathering on Christmas Eve. She joined him in the shop but it was fairly quiet, so she excused herself and returned to the house after an hour or so.

  She knew Tom was planning to close up at five p.m. and she wanted to be ready, hoping he would not mind what she was doing for him. This evening could be another friendly one like those that had gone before, or it could change their relationship into something quite different.

  In the sitting room Olivia gathered everything she wanted for later and returned to the kitchen to prepare ingredients. She just had time to shower and change into a high-necked dress – navy with a simple floral pattern, an asymmetrical skirt and a small cut-out on the back that lifted it from the ordinary into something more chic.

  She was in the kitchen whisking olive oil with mustard powder and egg yolks to make mayonnaise when Tom rushed in, shoulders hunched against the cold, and he shut the back door with a sharp bang. He was barely inside the room before he stopped dead.

  ‘What’s all this?’ His look raced from her, standing at the range, to the table set for two, candles already lit, a playlist going. ‘Sorry, I think I must be in the wrong house. This looks amazing, should I go out and come back in again? Will I hear the ping of the microwave if I do?’

  ‘Ha ha.’ Olivia propped the whisk on the bowl and walked towards him. Saw him taking in her altered appearance, the dress, her heels, and she felt the anticipation of what she was doing for him dance across her skin, nerves fluttering in her stomach. What if he didn’t like it? Hated it?

  In front of him now, she didn’t hesitate, finding enough assurance for both of them. She kissed his cheek, rested a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Happy birthday.’ She drew back, feeling the imprint of the shadow of his stubble on her skin. ‘I thought it was my turn to cook something nice for you. Let me pour you a drink.’

  Olivia saw his astonishment shift into a delighted recognition of what she was doing for him, and already knew her surprise was a success from the gleam in his eyes. She turned, about to fill the glasses she had left ready.

  ‘Thank you.’ Tom gently caught her hand, delaying her. ‘How did you know it was my birthday?’

  ‘As your wife and publicist, I would’ve thought it was obvious.’ Her hand was still wrapped inside his. ‘Actually I have to confess my dad texted you and I was there when the message popped up on your phone. I didn’t mean to read it on purpose, I just saw those first words.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. What are you piercing the film on for us tonight?’ Tom’s amused gaze was wandering round the room, searching for the ready meal they both knew he wouldn’t find.

  ‘You’re going to have find a new joke to flog to death after tonight. Would you like that drink or not?’ Olivia shook his hand lightly, reminding him they were still fixed together.

  ‘Can you give me ten minutes or so? You look wonderful and I’d like to change. I look like a scruffy writer who’s spent the day shifting old books around.’

  ‘Of course.’ She finally freed her hand from his. ‘I’ll be down here, slaving over a hot stove. Good start, by the way. The compliment.’

  ‘Just don’t set fire to anything whilst I’m gone. Then I’d love that drink.’

  ‘And then you say that.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Olivia was still smiling as she finished the mayonnaise she was preparing and when Tom re-joined her, she poured two glasses of champagne and passed him one.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Are we celebrating?’

  ‘Of course we are.’ She clinked her glass against his. ‘It’s your birthday and birthdays should always be special.’

  She took in his outfit, appreciating how the white shirt with its pattern of tiny blue spots printed onto the cotton highlighted his eyes. His hair was still damp from a shower he must have taken at lightning speed. Pretty cold too if she knew anything about the hot water system in this house. An awareness of the change in atmosphere in the kitchen – the room in which they’d spent so much time together – thrummed through her. The candles she had stuffed in empty wine bottles were flickering gently, the air heavy with an intimacy they had shared only once before.

  ‘It’s been a while since I celebrated mine. I’ve forgotten how, I suppose.’

  ‘Then I’m even more glad that we’re having a party tonight.’

  ‘A party?’ Tom’s glance shot around the room again. ‘What kind of party? Who else have you invited?’

  ‘The surprise kind.’ At least, Olivia was aiming for surprise, remembering his comment from their snowball fight about never having been much into games. A childhood spent caring for a sick parent must have put paid to much of that. She hoped he wouldn’t find her plans upsetting or boring. ‘I’m not telling you anything else and don’t go into the sitting room until we’ve eaten. And it’s just us.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’ Tom brought his glass of champagne over to her at the range. She already had ingredients prepared: fries ready to go in, mussels cleaned and closed, white wine measured for the dish and parsley chopped. ‘What are you making?’

  ‘Checking up on me?’

  ‘No.’ He was behind her, his head peeking over her shoulder, glass in one hand. ‘Just curious.’

  ‘You could stand beside me.’ She was distracted now, breathing in the ginger and cinnamon cologne on his
skin, the one he’d worn once before. The minutes he’d spent upstairs hadn’t allowed for shaving and she felt the brush of his stubble against her cheek again. ‘Not behind.’

  ‘I could.’ He didn’t move. His mouth was dangerously close to her ear and she felt his breath fluttering across her neck. ‘Which would you prefer?’

  This was the moment, the decision they had been building up to these past weeks, had been good at avoiding. They’d tried to keep things uncomplicated when they’d always been anything but, since that very first evening when they’d flirted their way through a time they would never have shared had it not been for the storm. Olivia also knew that planning a party such as this for Tom’s birthday – with champagne, candles and the food she had chosen to make him – was a step into something much less simple and one they both wanted to take.

  She turned around. Saw his eyes narrow, watching hers moving to his mouth, to the lips which had captured hers once before and knew already how to arouse her. She heard the change in his breathing, the way hers shortened to match it. But she wasn’t going to rush this, to make it something and maybe nothing, over before the evening had barely begun. She reached up to cup his face with her hand, smoothing the roughened skin as his lips widened into a lazy smile.

  ‘I can’t cook whilst you’re standing right there.’ She moved her thumb to his mouth, traced the outline of his lips, saw the pulse pounding in his throat. ‘Go away.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to.’ His voice was low and she heard the unevenness in it, knew he liked what they were doing as much as she did. ‘I’m not used to putting myself in someone else’s hands and I’m beginning to discover how much fun it can be. Maybe you need some help?’

  ‘Actually, yes.’ Olivia turned around, ignoring him on purpose, acutely aware of him placing the glass on the worktop. He rested his hands on her shoulders before sliding them unhurriedly down her back to her waist, drawing her against him with an ease that felt intimate and tender all at once. ‘If you want to eat then you could let go of me. Because you doing this is definitely not helping. With the meal at least.’

  She was finding it nearly impossible now to remember the recipe she wanted to cook for him, especially when his reply was a brief kiss he dropped on her neck below her ear. He leant against the table to watch, glass back in hand, eyes intense and urgent whenever they found hers. Despite their teasing, she was a perfectly competent cook, and they were sitting down with candlelight and moules-frites within twenty minutes.

  Tom topped up their champagne, reaching for her hand across the table and lifting it to kiss her fingers. ‘Thank you. This birthday is turning out to be unforgettable.’

  ‘I hope for all the right reasons.’

  ‘Oh, I think so.’

  Olivia held up her glass to him. ‘Here’s to surprise parties, rediscovering birthdays and you, Tom. And your book. May it fly off every shelf it ever sits on.’

  ‘That’s something to hope for.’ He was staring at her and she saw the emotion hovering in his eyes, the wonder of what she was doing for him. ‘And you, Liv, for this. For thinking of me.’ His gaze swept over the table, the champagne, the candles, before landing back on hers, and she laughed. ‘What?’

  ‘You called me Liv. Only my family and a few friends call me that.’

  ‘It’s how I think of you.’ Tom was still holding her hand. ‘Olivia suits you but Liv is softer, more like the real you.’

  ‘Softer?’ She slipped her hand free. Much as she liked holding his, drinking champagne and eating were trickier with just the one. She loved watching Tom tuck into the meal she had prepared for him, discarding mussel shells into a bowl. ‘Don’t let anyone else hear you saying that or my reputation as a tough career woman will be gone in a second.’

  ‘You’re only tough when you need to be.’ He dunked a few fries in the mayonnaise, held them out to her. ‘And if I’d known you could cook like this I’d never have gone near the kitchen.’

  ‘Why do you think I didn’t let on,’ Olivia replied smoothly as she took them. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’

  ‘That’s the last thing I would have used to describe you.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’ She chucked one of her fries at him and it landed on the floor, just missing his shirt.

  ‘I meant, Olivia’ – she smiled at the emphasis Tom placed on her name – ‘that you’re one of the smartest and most striking people I’ve ever met.’

  ‘You think?’ She didn’t bother trying to dismiss the pleasure his comment brought. ‘You were an actor for years, think of all those fabulous co-stars you must have had. And I like it when you call me Liv.’

  ‘Good, because I want to carry on.’

  ‘Does that mean I can call you Harrington?’

  ‘Depends on whether you want me to answer or not.’

  ‘Not. I don’t always need you to be talking, even though I do love your voice.’ Oh, she’d said that out loud and she laughed, swallowing a fizzing mouthful of champagne that made her blink.

  ‘You do?’ Tom was pleased and Olivia’s pulse leapt again at the look in his eyes. ‘Good, because it’s my turn to read to you tonight. Stave three of A Christmas Carol or had you forgotten?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t.’ They’d finished eating and she stood up, waved away Tom’s offer of help as she dumped their plates in the sink. ‘But first we have more of your party to enjoy.’

  ‘Oh? That sounds interesting. If that was our main course, what do you have for dessert?’

  ‘Wait and see. Give me a few minutes and then join me in the sitting room? And no washing-up, this time it will have to keep until tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll refill our glasses.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Olivia had already lit the fire in the sitting room so it was lovely and cosy, the lights on the Christmas tree shimmering between the two windows. Tom had joined her by the time she had spread everything she wanted on the floor. She kicked her heels off, surrounded by battered old boxes she’d unearthed from a cupboard.

  ‘Games?’ He dropped down beside her. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Absolutely, I thought they’d be fun. But only if you want to.’ She pointed to the boxes. ‘Which one would you like to play first? Operation, Cluedo or Buckaroo?’

  Tom’s reply came with a shrug, a shake of his head. ‘I’ve never played any of them before.’

  ‘Really?’ Olivia’s hand found his and held it. ‘We don’t have to if you’d rather not.’ She paused. ‘I was just trying to give you some fun.’

  ‘I know that.’ He shuffled up until his arm was against hers. ‘It’s brilliant, it really is. Maybe you should choose for us? And obviously let me win as it’s my birthday.’

  ‘Buckaroo, then.’ She started to unpack the game from its box. ‘It’s easy, we just take it in turns to load the donkey until he bucks everything off. But there’s no way I’m going to let you win because it’s your birthday. I’ve played loads of times before, so I’m bound to be better than you.’

  ‘You think?’ Tom’s voice lowered as he moved away.

  ‘Definitely.’

  She wasn’t. He beat her three times in a row until she was protesting and accusing him of cheating, a claim she could not back up when he demanded evidence. She reached for Operation instead and he was winning until their fourth go, finally making a mistake that set off the buzzer. Olivia yelled with excitement, knocking the box over in the process.

  ‘We haven’t finished yet, I’m going to thrash you at Cluedo.’ She was triumphant as she gathered the pieces of the game before they were lost and put them away.

  ‘Oh, now this you’re definitely not. I might not have played before but as you have pointed out previously, I’m about to be a bestselling novelist and solving murders is my speciality.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’

  She set the game up, a newer version enabling them to play with just two instead of the usual three players required. She won and when Tom demanded a rema
tch, she won that one as well and he accused her of cheating and trying to ruin his career before it even got underway. They had to agree to disagree and packed the games away, devouring the macarons Olivia had bought for dessert, laughing over her decision not to produce a pudding she had made from scratch.

  Her phone was nearby and she reached for it when she saw a message flash up on the screen. She’d turned her email notifications off for tonight. ‘Sorry, bad habit, I know. Just catching up with Ellie, I keep forgetting she’s four hours behind us.’

  ‘How are they doing? Tobago must be a wonderful place to spend Christmas.’

  ‘They’re great, let me show you.’ Olivia slid across the floor to settle beside Tom. ‘Her dad’s already taken them out hiking in the rainforest and they’re going diving on Christmas Eve. Perfect for Ellie, she’ll never want to come home.’

  ‘Are you okay, Liv? Not missing her too much?’

  Olivia relished the solid feel of Tom beside her, the warmth of his body against hers. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I suppose I’m used to it.’ His arm was in the way and he lifted it, tucking it around her to draw her close as she swiped through the images Ellie had sent. Olivia felt his fingers lightly stroking her shoulder, all the more distracting for his gentleness and understanding.

  She put the phone down. She had one final surprise and reached around the sofa to bring it from its hiding place, passing him the gift-wrapped box. ‘Happy birthday. Again.’

  ‘You got me a gift?’ Tom took the box, and she was delighted she had managed to surprise him once more.

  ‘Yes. It’s not very original, I’m afraid; I didn’t have much time. Had I really been your wife I would’ve been much better prepared but considering I only found out about your birthday this morning I think I’m not doing too badly.’

  ‘I think you’re doing perfectly.’ Tom shrugged; his thanks caught somewhere amongst his amazement. He undid the box and lifted out a bottle of bourbon, staring at it appreciatively. ‘Thank you, it’s a favourite.’