Liz Fielding: Fairytale Christmas: Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto / Her Holiday Prince Charming / A Princess by Christmas

‘Are we done?’ he said before he completely lost it and did in reality what he’d imagined in his head a dozen times: kiss her senseless. Or maybe that was him. The one without any sense. ‘Is it big enough?’

‘Not it. She. Lily.’

‘A girl snowman?’

She added two handfuls of snow, patting it into shape, giving her curves.

‘She is now.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Equal opportunities for all. Fairy godmothers. Santas. Snowmen. I wish we’d brought some dressing up clothes for her.’

He removed the pull-on fleece hat he was wearing and tucked it onto Lily’s head.

‘Oh, cute,’ she said and draped the scarf she was wearing around her like a stole. Then she took her phone from her pocket and took a picture.

‘Give it to me. I’ll take a picture of both of you.’

She crouched down, her arm around the snow lady, and gave him a hundred watt smile. Then she said, ‘No, wait, you should be in it, too. A reminder of how much trouble you can get into when you catch a stranger on the stairs.’

‘You think?’ he said, folding himself up beside her, holding the phone at arm’s length. ‘Closer,’ he said, putting his arm around her, pulling her close so that her cheek was pressed against his and he could feel her giggling.

‘We must look like a couple of Michelin men.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ he said, turning to look at her. Her eyes were shining, lit up, her mouth just inches from his own in a rerun of that moment on the stairs when the world went away.

Had it ever come back?

He fired off the flash before he forgot all his good intentions.

‘How’s that?’ he said, showing her.

‘Perfect,’ she said, looking over his arm. ‘Can I send them to my diary?’

‘As a reminder of a crazy moment in the snow?’

‘As a reminder that not all men are mendacious rats,’ she said. ‘That once in a while Prince Charming is the real deal.’

‘No…’ Not him. Wrong fairy tale. He was the Beast, woken by Beauty from a long darkness of the soul.

But she had fallen back in the snow, laughing as she swept her arms up and down to make a snow angel.

‘Come on. You too,’ she urged, laughing, and he joined in, sweeping his arms up and down until their gloved hands met. He looked across at her, lying in the snow, golden curls peeping out from beneath her hat, laughing as the huge flakes settled over her face, licking them from her lips.

‘What do they taste of?’ he asked.

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Happiness.’ And then she looked at him. ‘Want to share?’

She didn’t wait for his answer, but rolled over so that her body bumped into his, her face above him.

There were moments—rare moments, perfect moments—when the world seemed to pause on its axis, giving you an extra heartbeat of time.

It had happened when he’d caught her on the stairs and, as her laughing lips touched his, a simple gift, and cold, wet, minty-sweet happiness seeped through him, warming him with her passionate grasp on life, it happened again, more, much more than any imagined kiss.

The world stood still and he seized the moment, lifting his hands to cradle her head, slanting his mouth against hers as the warmth became an inferno hot enough to touch the permafrost that had invaded his soul.

Her kitten eyes were more gold than green as she raised her lids. Then touched her lips to his cheek, tasted them with her tongue.

‘One of us is crying,’ she said.

He rubbed a gloved thumb over her cheek. ‘Maybe we both are.’

‘With happiness,’ she declared.

‘Or maybe it’s just our eyes watering with the cold. I need to stand up before my butt freezes to the ground.’ And, before he could change his mind, he lifted her aside, stood up.

‘I’ve messed up your snow angel,’ she said as he reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

‘That’s okay. I’m no angel,’ he said.

‘Who is?’

‘If I had a Christmas tree, I’d put you on top of it,’ he said and, beyond helping himself, he touched his knuckles to her cheek, kissed her again. Just a touch, but somehow more intense for its sweetness. A promise…‘Do you want a picture of your angel?’ he asked, forcing himself to take a step back.

‘Please.’ Then, as if she, too, needed to distract herself from the intensity of the moment, ‘I don’t suppose you have such a thing as a piece of paper?’

He searched through his pockets, found an envelope. ‘Will this do?’

‘Perfect.’ And, using a lipstick, she wrote in big block capitals: LUCYB WOZ HERE!

She propped it on the front of the snow lady, put out her hand for the phone and took a snap.

‘Great. Tweet time, I think,’ she said, pulling off her glove with her teeth and, struggling with cold fingers, keyed in a message.

Thanks for the good vibes, tweeps. Here’s a tweetpic, just to let you know that I’m safe. #findLucyB LucyB, Wed 1 Dec 22:43

Lucy lifted the phone, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘What do you think? Will that have them all running around in the snow?’

‘Is that the plan?’ he asked as she pressed ‘send’.

‘I don’t have a plan,’ she said, lifting her hand to his cheek, pressing her lips against it. Then, as she looked up at him the smile died, ‘Thank you, Nathaniel.’

‘I should be thanking you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be inside going through the daily sales figures instead of finding my inner child.’

‘Inside in the warm,’ she said, turning away to give the snow lady a hug. ‘Stay cool, Lily.’ Then she looked up. ‘It’s stopped snowing.’

‘I told you. It’ll all be gone by tomorrow. Everything will be back to normal.’

‘Will it?’

She sounded less than happy at the prospect. Which made two of them.

‘We’ve still got tonight. Are you hungry?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Absolutely starving.’

Diary update: Fun and frolics in the park with Nathaniel. I didn’t see that coming and neither, I suspect, did he. I have to admit that making a snowman — snow lady — in the park at ten o’clock at night in a blizzard is probably not the most sensible thing I’ve ever done. And it’s getting hard to top the stupid ones I’ve done today.

And then he kissed me. No, wait, I kissed him. We kissed each other. Lying in the snow.

‘I know what this is all about, you know.’ Lucy gave him a sideways grin as they stood on the Embankment overlooking the river, tucking into hot dogs. ‘Why we’re having hot dogs. You just don’t want all that nasty bright yellow eggy, cheesy stuff in your kitchen.’

‘It’s not that.’

Nat took out his phone and snapped her as she sucked a piece of onion into her mouth.

‘Hey, not fair!’

‘One more for your fans,’ he said, lifting it out of reach as she made a grab for it. ‘The truth of the matter, Lucy B, is that I couldn’t make an omelette to save my life.’

For some reason she seemed to think that was funny.

They’d laughed a lot.

She’d laughed at a couple of outrageous Santa incidents he’d shared from way back in the history of the store. He’d laughed at her stories about a day-care nursery where she’d worked. It was obvious how much she loved the children she’d worked with. From a momentary wistfulness in her look, how much she missed them.

As she’d talked, laughed, all the strain had seeped out of her limbs and her face and she’d told him enough about her character—far more than she realised—to reassure him that she was on the level.

‘Actually, this is great. Crazy perfect.’ She bumped shoulders with him. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, wanting to keep her close. And it was. Golden curls peeped out from beneath her hat, framing a face lit up, almost translucent in the lamplight.