Aurelia Rowl - Christmas Is Cancelled

‘What the –’

‘I’m enjoying the view immensely but it’s killing my train of thought.’ Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of him and his admiration verged on embarrassingly obvious.

‘Oh!’ She slammed her glass onto the table with so much force, it almost smashed.

‘Maybe you’d like to pop upstairs and get changed? You’re welcome to use the shower.’

‘Good idea.’ She shuffled past him to get to the stairs.

‘Don’t forget your –’

Tilly took off so fast, he didn’t get chance to finish.

Dean waited for the sound of the bolt sliding across the bathroom door before he grabbed her forgotten suitcase. At the top of the stairs, he hesitated outside the bathroom before knocking.

‘Yes?’ she squealed, the sound coming from immediately behind the locked door.

‘The towels are in the cupboard next to the bath. I’ll put your suitcase in the spare room for you.’

‘Oh, right. Thank you.’ The roar of the shower cut off any further conversation.

Dean dropped off her luggage then went back to his own room and sank onto his bed, trying not to imagine the water cascading over her naked body. Once he’d finally got his mind out of the gutter, it dawned on him how nice it was to have somebody else in the house for a change, especially since that somebody else was none other than Tilly.

He hadn’t realised quite how much he’d missed her and Christmas would certainly be more bearable with her around, assuming he could keep his hands to himself, of course. Her plans had already been ruined, but, maybe with a bit of effort he could make it a better Christmas for both of them?

Chapter Three

Tilly stood beneath the shower and closed her eyes. Fierce jets of water bounced off her head and shoulders with the sharpness of a million needles. Twelve hours or so ago, she’d been doing the same thing, or trying to anyway under the poor excuse of a shower back home. Except she didn’t have a home any more.

Tears collected inside her eyelids, seeking a way out but Tilly scrunched her eyes tightly shut. Determined not to waste any more tears over Brian, she blinked the moisture back. The cheating bastard wasn’t worth it. Eyes stinging, she turned so the spray hit her full in the face. The powerhouse of a shower was exactly what she needed to wash away all trace of her old life. Dull and ordinary at its best, her entire adult life had been boring and humdrum at its worst. She imagined it running off her in black rivers, merging with her leftover makeup, before swirling down the plughole.

Unable to resist Dean’s expensive-looking toiletries, Tilly scrubbed at her skin with zealous abandon so that she didn’t even smell like herself by the time she’d finished. Finally shutting off the shower, she heard banging overhead and the sound of boxes being dragged across the ceiling. A few muffled curses echoed through the floorboards but then the banging stopped, replaced by shuffling out on the landing before footsteps clattered down the stairs only to come straight back up again.

Her curiosity piqued, Tilly tugged the towel tightly around her then inched open the door. She poked her head through the gap and found the landing empty. With no sign of Dean nor any clue of his activity, she left the safety of the locked bathroom and streaked across the landing. Heart racing, she ran straight into the spare room, slamming the door behind her. She let the towel drop to the floor and raided her suitcase, pulling out her favourite comfort clothes of yoga pants and a tie-front shirt.

After dressing in record time, she scraped her wet hair back into a twist then defiantly secured it with the tortoiseshell clip Brian had always loathed. Less than five minutes after jumping out of the shower, she followed Dean downstairs only to be confronted by the sight of him mid-fight with an artificial Christmas tree.

Almost as tall as him, the green monstrosity filled up the entire corner of the room with Dean on the losing side by the look of it. Not that it had dampened his enthusiasm in the slightest judging from his merrily hummed rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’.

‘Need a hand?’ she asked, struggling not to laugh.

Dean turned and threw her an outlandish grin, undermining her efforts. ‘I don’t suppose you have any body armour in that suitcase of yours?’

‘No, sorry.’ Her giggle leaped out of her throat.

‘Never mind. Now don’t just stand there; this is war.’ He dived back into the heart of the tree with a wild battle cry.

For some bizarre reason, the rakes in the historical romances her mum had always loved sprang to mind – those same ones Tilly had then ‘borrowed’ and read by torchlight at night. Only now did she understand why the heroines swooned at the rakes’ feet, having come face to face with such raw enthusiasm too contagious to resist.

Three hours later and down to the dregs of the second bottle, they high-fived triumphantly then collapsed back onto the sofa. The tree erected and decorated, its lights twinkled away in full multicolour glory despite looking ridiculously out of place in the stylish surroundings.

Her muscles aching from the impromptu workout and too much laughter, Tilly leaned back against the soft leather and admired their handiwork. ‘It’s bloody awful, but I love it.’ She darted a glance at her partner-in-crime but he kept his gaze fixed on the tree.

‘You will stay, won’t you?’ Dean spoke quietly, a hint of nervousness in his tone. He brushed his fingers over the back of her hand and sent shivers down her spine, turning the unfamiliar lightness in her soul into something much more thrilling, much deeper, and much more dangerous. ‘Not just tonight, but for the rest of Christmas?’

Would she?

The idea certainly appealed and given the choice of whom she’d rather spend Christmas with – between Brian, Phil, or Dean – she’d pick the same option every single time. No contest. If nothing else, Dean offered a roof over her head for a couple of days and the chance to forget her problems. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t still be there waiting for her, like a black hole in her peripheral vision, but time out to regroup could only be beneficial.

Perhaps the more pertinent question then was, should she?

Dean waited patiently for her answer, his gaze fixed on the tree. Even after he’d humiliated her all those years before by publicly rejecting her – turning her into a laughing stock in front of all of her friends at her own birthday party – she’d never fallen out of love with him. The damage had already been done. With Dean setting the benchmark, no other man stood a chance of capturing both her heart and her soul. Not even Brian.

Especially not Brian.

Truth be told, she’d gone out of her way to find Dean’s opposite; someone steady and reliable, responsible and financially viable. Basically all the things Phil would approve of but look where that had got her. Doing the safe thing hadn’t worked out for her, so maybe – just maybe – she should start taking some risks again. Dean already had her heart so by that reasoning she had nothing left to lose but if there was even a remote chance of something happening between them, then it had to be worth exploring, surely?

Decision made, she squeezed Dean’s hand and waited for him to turn to her, meeting his anxious gaze head on. ‘I’d love to.’

A beatific smile erupted on his face that warmed her from her head to her toes and everywhere in between. ‘Great!’ With equal enthusiasm, he tugged on her hand, pulling her across his lap then wrapping his arms around her for a hug.

Tilly’s breath caught in her throat but she embraced him back tightly. Drawn together like magnets, she tilted her head up and moved towards him. Dean dipped his head to meet her halfway. His eyes darkened and her heart galloped, his lips drawing tantalisingly near. Impossible to keep open, her eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation and she waited. Expectant. Except nothing happened.