by Penny Wells
Chapter 3
True to his word, Liam did not seem to be home the next morning. Heather did not try the door that led further into the house, but she would have been willing to bet that it was locked. Either way, she heard no noises as she quickly readied herself and headed out for the day, moving somewhat gingerly with her tender bottom.
As it was Christmas Eve, Heather wasn’t sure what she expected to be open, but it turned out almost everything was operational. Sore and tired from so much walking the day before, Heather opted to take the bus and walk as little as possible. Though it saved her from walking, she felt every bump on her spanked backside, each jolt reminding her of Liam. After stopping for lunch, she did some shopping in the afternoon, and headed back toward her Airbnb around dinnertime. She stopped in at a curry place Liam had pointed out the day before and lingered over her meal, unwilling to return to the house. Eventually, she paid for her meal and left, walking home in the cold, her breath visible in the frozen air around her.
There were no lights on in the front of the house, nor around the side or back as Heather made her way to her entrance. Letting herself in, she changed into her pajamas and made herself comfortable before turning on a Christmas comedy movie. She fell asleep sometime during the flick and woke up later with her laptop open in her bed. Glancing at the door, she saw only darkness at the crack beneath it. The house was silent.
Christmas morning, Heather woke to a chilly room with cool, gray light filtering in through the windows. The house was still and silent around her and she sensed that Liam had never come home. Curled tight beneath the sheets, she felt a pang. Was it guilt, loneliness, or longing?
Sighing, she pushed herself up and padded to the shower. The hot water coursed over her while she contemplated how to spend her day. Given that it was a major holiday, everything was surely closed; she would have to spend her day alone in her Airbnb room, or else go for a walk, maybe to a park. Realizing her options made her feel like crying, which made her feel stupid. Heather had known she was booking her trip over Christmas. She had known her friends wouldn’t be in town for several days. Spending Christmas alone had been a conscious decision.
Knowing this did not help.
By the time she had toweled off and dressed, she was feeling very sorry for herself. Crawling back into bed, she reached for her phone and texted her family to see if they would be available to video call her later. After pressing send, she laid her phone on her bed and sat still, listening to how quiet the house was. It would be hours before they would be awake to respond. She wondered, unwillingly, where Liam was, and her eyes filled with tears.
Don’t be such an idiot, she thought. You only feel this way because you’re lonely and it’s Christmas, and because he’s the only person in the whole country that you know. This thought made her feel sadder, but also inexplicably like laughing. Heather shook her head sharply, as if to dislodge a fly. Her emotions were getting the better of her. She needed to think about something else.
Reaching again for her laptop, Heather decided to watch an old Claymation Christmas movie, hoping that the nostalgia would distract her. She made herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a pack of cookies while the opening credits played. Settling herself in, she started to feel calmer as the familiar storyline played out.
Knock, knock, knock!
Heather paused her movie and froze. The knock had not come from the door to the house, but the door to the back garden. Who on Earth would be knocking at that door?
Maybe it’s Agatha, Heather thought, setting her laptop at the foot of the bed and throwing back the covers. She felt uneasy, and very aware of her lack of makeup and wet hair. Crossing the room, she turned the lock and then the handle; she opened the door.
“Liam,” she said blankly. “What are you doing?”
Looking pale and distinctly rumpled, Liam stood outside the door, his arm full of flowers and a bag in his hand. “Merry Christmas,” he said, somewhat awkwardly.
Heather noticed then that there was a blanket of white all over his back garden. “It snowed,” she said in surprise.
“Yeah,” said Liam, sounding a little amused now. “It’s Scotland.”
“I’ve never seen a white Christmas,” said Heather. Her throat was constricted again with emotion. She blinked hard and willed herself not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” said Liam fervently.
His passion startled her and she took her focus from the sparkling ground back to his face.
“I should have been here this morning,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“I anticipated being alone when I booked my trip over Christmas,” said Heather stiffly.
He gave her a searching look. “I wanted to be with you,” he said quietly. “I should have been here,” he said again.
Heather felt her face flush. She didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth and then closed it.
“These are for you,” he said, holding out the flowers. “I’ll get a vase. There’s one in the living room.”
“Thank you,” she stammered, accepting the bouquet. The arrangement was red and white with greenery. “They’re lovely,” she said sincerely.
“I brought breakfast,” he said, holding up the bag. “Would you like to join me?”
Heather half-glanced over her shoulder. “In here?”
“I was thinking I would go around and you could come into the house,” he said.
“Oh. Okay,” she answered.
“Have you eaten already?”
“Not really. Just a couple of cookies,” she said with a slight shrug.
He smiled. “Good. I’ll just go around then,” he said. He looked at her a moment longer and then strode away, his feet leaving prints in the six inches of snow.
Heather watched him go, standing still in the doorway. His black coat was stark against the bright white of the snowy garden, even with the cloudy sky hiding the sun. The plastic wrapping around the flowers crinkled in her arms. Her breath hung in the glittering air. She shivered in the cold. The garden gate swung closed with a small clatter and Heather gave a small jump. Stepping back, she closed the door, her hand lingering on the door handle.
Laying the flowers on the table, she proceeded to the bathroom where she threw on a base layer of makeup and a quick flick of mascara. It was very natural looking and made her feel a little more presentable. Running her fingers through her still-damp hair, she reentered the bedroom as she heard a soft knock on the inside door.
“Heather?” Liam called. “I was going to unlock the door, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, that’s fine.” She picked the flowers back up.
The door opened and Heather giggled. Having shed his coat, Liam wore a bright red sweater with a Christmas tree in the middle, bedecked with sequins and puffs, flanked by a snowman and a reindeer. His hair, usually well groomed, had been haphazardly flattened. His cheeks and nose were still ruddy with cold. He glanced down at his outfit. “Ah, it’s from the Christmas party I went to last night,” he explained.
“Was it an ugly sweater party?”
“Excuse you,” he said, grinning. “This jumper happens to be the height of fashion.” He ran a hand ruefully over his hair. “I could, uh, use a shower though,” he said regretfully. “I came straight to your door as soon as I got home.” He started to walk deeper into the house. “Sorry for the delay,” he told her, glancing back as she followed him down the hall. “I thought it might be nice to make the room cozy for Christmas.”
“Cozy?” she repeated as they walked past the dining room where they had shared a pizza. She glanced into the room; it looked the same as before.
“Yeah, I thought you might like—” he broke off, stopping in the doorway of a room Heather had not seen and gesturing for her to enter.
The back wall of the room was a solid window with a sliding door, full of bright white light reflected off the snow outside. Heather blinked as her eyes adjusted and looked around. To the left, a l
arge television had been mounted on the wall with a Christmas tree standing in the corner between the screen and the window. To the far right, a couch was pushed against the opposite wall. Opposite the window was a fireplace and mantle. A small fire with fresh firewood crackled inside it. A large, plush rug covered most of the floor and a coffee table laid with food and drink stood within reach of the couch.
“I built a fire,” he finished lamely. “It took a minute.”
Heather looked up at him. “It’s lovely. Cozy is just the word,” she said, smiling.
“And the breakfast is already on the table,” he said, pointing. “There’s coffee brewing in the kitchen.”
Warmth spread through Heather’s chest. “This is so thoughtful,” she said, her voice soft.
“Come on,” he said, leading the way to the sofa. Just as she joined him on the couch, he jumped up. “One more thing,” he said, hurrying away. She heard him in the kitchen moving around and the clinking of glass. He returned to the living room with two champagne flutes, a bottle of prosecco, and some orange juice.
“Wow!” she said. He grinned at her and popped the bottle open, pouring a measure of prosecco into each glass and then topping them off with orange juice. He handed her a glass and then lifted his own. “Merry Christmas, Heather,” he said, his eyes on hers.
“Merry Christmas,” she echoed and toasted him. They each took a sip. The flavors were bright in her mouth as she savored the fizz on her tongue. “This is really, really nice, Liam,” she said, replacing the glass on the table. “Tell me what we’ve got here,” she said, looking at the table.
“I picked up a couple of chocolate éclairs, some feta and spinach croissants, and a pomegranate,” he told her, indicating each item.
“You got a pomegranate?” she laughed, picking up the fruit from the table.
“For something fresh,” he said with a shrug.
“I see. Well, shall we open it?”
“Sure.” He stood. “After you,” he said, extending an arm toward the door.
Heather took the pomegranate into the kitchen and Liam pulled out a bowl, cutting board and knife. “Shall I?” he asked, holding out his hand for the fruit. Heather passed it to him and he began cutting it open.
“I can help,” she said, “Pass me some sections and I’ll pull the seeds out.”
“These always remind me of church,” he confessed, handing her a section.
“What? Why?”
“Song of Solomon,” he said. “It’s sort of dirty for scripture, isn’t it?”
Heather laughed. “I suppose. I’m not too familiar with it.”
“It’s a love poem, I think. But he describes a woman’s body and his desire for his lover.”
Heather was unsure what to think of his biblical reference. “Are you very religious?”
“I was raised Catholic,” he said with a half shrug. “I still go sometimes, mostly when I’m home in Aberdeen. My mother likes us all to go.”
“It’s sweet of you to humor her,” said Heather, taking another section of pomegranate to open.
“What about you? Are you very religious?”
“Not really. My family went sporadically to church when I was a kid and I still go sometimes, mostly for holidays.”
“Like Christmas?” he teased.
“Yes, I’m very religious on Christmas,” she said, smiling. “Though I’ll admit the study on Song of Solomon is a Christmas sermon I haven’t heard before.”
Liam laughed as he cut into the pomegranate and a spurt of dark red juice splattered down his sweater.
“Oh no!” said Heather, as he laid down the knife to examine his sweater. “You’d better put it in the wash soon so it doesn’t stain,” she advised.
“Good idea,” he said, stripping off the jumper. “Would you mind finishing up here?”
Heather felt a jolt of desire as she saw his naked torso. Liam was trim, his body curving smoothly over rippling muscles. Light freckles kissed his shoulders and continued down his arms, which were toned and strong. She could see the indication of his abdominal muscles, not quite a six-pack, but certainly defined.
“Heather?”
She jumped, her eyes leaping up to his and her face flushed. He had caught her staring. What had he last said? “Yeah,” she said, now looking anywhere but at him. “I can finish with the pomegranate.”
“I think I’m going to take a quick shower as well,” he said. “Is that all right?”
“Of course.
She glanced over at him, her gaze sweeping down his body. “Go get cleaned up,” she said. He left and Heather paused, leaning against the counter and aware of her heart beating in her chest. Had he done that on purpose? Would she mind if he had? He was beautiful and sweet, pulling together a breakfast for her on Christmas morning. She was still confused about his reaction when they kissed, but on the other hand he seemed to genuinely feel bad for his previous behavior. Did his sexy shirt-off-in-the-kitchen mean he didn’t regret kissing her after all?
Heather finished preparing the pomegranate, rinsed the dishes, and left them in the sink. She took the bowl of fruit and fresh coffee to the living room, grateful for the fire and the heat it provided to the cold house. Still unsure of how she was supposed to feel, she took a large gulp of her mimosa and wandered to the window, staring out at the sparkling snow. It was surreal and romantic to be standing there, looking out at the first white Christmas morning she had ever seen, blanketing a beautiful city she had been exploring with a handsome stranger. The fire crackled behind her, a perfect soundtrack, as she sipped on her mimosa and soaked in the moment.
“Is everything okay?”
Heather jumped again and turned from the window. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“You’ve finished your drink,” he noted with amusement, looking at the empty glass in her hand. “Would you like some more?”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Her tone was playful.
He grinned. “I just want you to enjoy yourself,” he said evasively.
“I think I’ll eat something first,” she said. “The bubbles seem to be going straight to my head.”
“You haven’t eaten yet?” he asked, striding over to the couch.
“I was waiting for you.”
“Ah, you didn’t have to do that,” he said. “But I’m here now.”
Heather joined him on the couch and they ate in silence for a moment. “Is this what you normally do for Christmas?” said Heather after a while. “Pick up breakfast and make a fire?”
“Not really,” he said. “I usually try to spend it with friends. My work always has a big do on Christmas Eve, like we did last night. I usually get drunk, stay the night there, and spend the day with my friends.”
Heather smirked. “Are you hung over, then?”
“Nah.”
“You didn’t get drunk?”
“No, I did.”
“But you’re not hung over?”
“Nah,” he said again. “I’m Scottish. The ability to drink vast amounts with little consequence is my birthright.”
Heather laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “How nice for you.”
“It is nice. It’s like a superpower,” he said. “What superpowers do you have?”
Heather thought for a moment, chewing her éclair. “Well, none that are my birthright, but I can fold my tongue into a clover shape.”
Liam looked at her with delighted surprise. “Really? Show me.”
She took a drink of coffee and swallowed to make sure there was no leftover éclair on her tongue. Opening her mouth, she rolled her tongue into a tube and then folded it in half, tucking it into her bottom lip so that it made three folds.
“Ah, I see, it looks like a three-leaf clover,” he said nodding and reaching for his mimosa.
“Some superpower, huh?” she said.
“Tongue dexterity can only be a good thing,” he said, his eyes staring into hers as he took a drink of his mimosa.
Gi
ggling, Heather’s face flushed again and she reached for her empty champagne flute. “Can I get a top up, now that I’ve eaten?”
“Of course.” He poured her another measure of prosecco and orange juice.
“So, what now?” said Heather quietly. “Breakfast is over.”
He smiled. “I think you’ll find that Santa came by and left something for you under the tree,” he said.
“What?” said Heather, sitting up straighter on the couch. “What do you mean?”
“Go take a look,” he said, jerking his head toward the tree.
Heather set her glass down and crossed the room, bending down to check the packages under the Christmas tree. Sure enough, there was a small package with her name on it. It was very light when she picked it up. “What?” she stammered. “What is this?”
“Come open it,” he said.
Heather returned to the couch full of nervous excitement. She perched near the edge of the couch with her body angled toward Liam, her knees just brushing his. Glancing up at him, she pulled the ribbon and started unwrapping the gift. “You’re quite the gift-wrapping expert,” she commented. The ribbon was striped red and white and the paper was dark gold with sparkly snowflakes printed on it.
“I had help,” he confessed.
Lifting the lid and pulling away the tissue paper, she gave a little gasp. Nestled in the paper was one of the delicate spun glass ornaments she had seen at the Christmas market. It was swirled with red and white, and strung with a glittery silver ribbon. Carefully, she lifted it from the box and admired it in the light.
“That’s the one you liked, isn’t it?” he asked, a note of anxiety in his voice.
Nodding, her eyes still on the ornament, she said, “Yes, this is it. It’s so beautiful.” She tucked it back in the box and looked at him. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, sounding a little relieved. “I went back for it yesterday. I wanted you to have something to open today.”