Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEBASTIAN
For the first three days of December, forty Christmas trees fill Walmsley square for the annual Christmas Tree Festival.
Local businesses and families each decorate a tree, and visitors vote for their favourite. There’s no prize apart from a mention in the local newspaper, something I’ve never fully understood, but whatever. I’m not one to question Walmsley and its quirks.
Since I moved back home five years ago, this event has become one of my and Charlie’s favourite Christmas traditions. We bundle up, drink hot chocolate to keep warm, and work together to decorate a tree, a Nordmann fir usually, because they’re the tallest. Afterwards, I buy us a giant pretzel from one of the food carts, which we share between us on the drive back home to watch a Christmas movie.
I still love it, but Charlotte’s excitement has waned as she gets older, so I’m hoping Sasha’s presence injects a bit of fun into it, making something new out of something old.
Besides, there’s nothing like a bit of healthy competition.
“Are you ready for this?”
Sasha sends me a look that says puh-lease and tosses her scarf over her shoulder with enough force it flaps in my face.
“I’m insulted you felt the need to ask, Sebastian. I was born ready. I was raised in the Christmas trenches for this.”
I grin at her beside me. She looks beautiful today—although there’s not a day when she doesn’t—wearing a dark green wool coat and matching hat because, according to her, “If we’re gonna act like we’re in a Christmas Hallmark movie, we have to always wear red or green.” It hides all of my favourite lush and curvy parts of her, but makes the red of her hair even more striking, which I didn’t think was possible.
We’ve only been here half an hour, but twice already I’ve resisted the urge to brush a wind-mussed curl away from her face or tighten her scarf because she’s shivering with cold. Crazy thoughts. But those are the kinds of things dating couples do, so it’s all perfectly normal and part of the plan to reach out and do just that, nudging a curl out of her eyes and weaving her scarf into a loose knot to stop it unravelling in the bitter breeze.
There is nothing fake about the way she blinks up at me in response though. Fuck.
“Sorry, it looked like it was annoying you,” I tell her.
“Oh, uh, thanks.”
Her neck shifts as she swallows, so I know she’s affected by me in some way, but I also know she doesn’t want to be, which is probably a good thing. This situation isn’t permanent, and it’s best if we both try to remember that.
Me most of all.
It’s hard though. The more time we spend together, the more I discover how much I like Sasha Smith, and it’s rare that I like anyone.
“Here you go, Sasha,” Charlotte calls out, her bright pink bobble hat bobbing through the crowd. Each step is slow so she doesn’t spill a drop from the two steaming cups of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and whipped cream.
Sasha gratefully accepts the offering, and they clink their disposable cups together, much to Charlotte’s giggly delight.
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Sorry, Dad, but I only have two hands, and they’re not spades like yours.”
Sasha snort laughs into her cup, and her nose comes away dotted with whipped cream.
“You have a bit of…” I gesture at my nose to explain.
“Oh.” Sasha laughs, wipes the cream away and then licks it clear off the tip of her finger. “Thanks.”
It’s not meant to be sexual, but my dick doesn’t get the message. It’s impossible not to imagine her licking and sucking other things, and my jeans tighten at the mere sight of her tongue. It’s undeniable and a little pathetic. What am I, fifteen?
I need to get a fucking grip, and not the one I’d like on my dick right now.
Now it’s my turn to swallow thickly. “No problem.”
The Christmas music blaring through the speakers lowers a few decibels, and a crackle rings out across the square.
“Welcome to Walmsley’s annual Christmas Tree Festival!” Angela booms through the megaphone she always has hanging around her neck at events like these. “You now have two hours to decorate your trees. May the best tree win. On your marks, get set, go!”
A couple of whoops and cheers drift up above the crowd.
From her tree adjacent to ours, Sasha smacks her gloved hands together, a gesture of let’s do this , and digs around in the massive box of decorations at her feet.
Charlotte dives straight for the gold tinsel in our own big laundry bag of decorations. “We’re gonna beat you, Sasha!”
“Ha! You wish.”
“No cavorting with the enemy, Charlie. Come on.”
“Is that what I am? I thought I was the competition.”
“Potato, po-tah-to.”
Sasha grins at that, and there’s no denying the kick I get out of making her smile.
We work for the next hour, chatting and laughing every now and then when we forget we’re enemies. At some point, I lift Charlotte in the air to decorate the top half of the tree, and laugh when Sasha pouts and props her hands on her hips. I can almost taste the way she’s thinking ‘ that’s not fair’ , and I laugh harder when she disappears, only to return five minutes later with a stepladder and a smug smile.
She makes a show of snapping it in place and there’s a sign of anything you can do I can do better as she stomps up each step.
I shake my head, still grinning, deeply entertained by our little game of I don’t even know what.
By the way Sasha’s cheek lifts, I can tell she’s amused too.
“Shit!”
Her shriek sends my pulse rate skittering, and pure instinct has me dashing forward to catch her as the ladder wobbles beneath her feet.
I fist the material at her waist in one hand and palm her hips with the other, holding her steady until the ladder stops shifting. We’re at a more even height like this, and Sasha clutches at my shoulders, breathless, staring at me with wide, startled eyes. After a moment her body loosens and the panic recedes, but I’m not quite ready to let her go yet. This is the first time I’ve held her like this, since our hug the other night, and given this second chance to memorise the shape of her in my arms, I’m struck with the strange, unsettling sensation that this is where she’s supposed to be.
This is how it’s supposed to feel.
But that can’t be right, can it?
“What is it with you and ladders?” I say gruffly. “You okay?”
Sasha nods, briefly distracted by something behind me. She takes a second to lick her lips, and I frown as she leans forward to kiss my cheek. It’s barely a kiss, but the sensation lingers as hot as a burn.
“What was that for?”
“People are watching. Angela was watching,” she specifies, running her fingers through my hair now, and I need her to stop, even if I very much don’t want her to.
“And you’re supposed to be my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she adds. “Boyfriends who rescue girlfriends get kisses.”
All this talk of kisses makes it hard to look away from her mouth, the shiny pink of her lower lip. It’s full and lush and I want to bite on it. Tug it with my teeth.
“Is that so?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Well then.” I kiss her cheek, smiling at the way her breath catches, and lift her off the ladder to set her back on her feet. “Be more careful next time. I mean it.”
“Or what?” she asks boldly.
I can’t stop the slow rise of my smile. “I guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”
Back at our tree, Charlotte stares at me over her shoulder, mid-stretch on tiptoe to shove a snowflake-shaped bauble on a higher branch.
“Look at you, Dad! A knight in shining armour.”
“Yep. That’s me. I’m practically Sir Galahad.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” I cast a sneaky glance at Sasha and notice her struggle not to smile.
An hour or so later, I admire our finished tree. We’ve always decorated for the fun of it all rather than the aesthetic, so it’s a clash of mismatched colours and sparkles, and every bauble we could find. It’s nothing like the fancy decorations Gran insists upon in the manor, which is probably why we like it.
“What do you think, Charlie?”
Charlotte hums, distracted by her phone. “Oh, Sara’s here. I’m just gonna say hello.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Never mind.” I give up with a sigh. “Just go, but don’t go wandering off please.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not five anymore, remember?”
“How could I ever forget?” I mutter under my breath.
Thanks to my height, I have a pretty clear vantage point, and I watch my daughter weave through the crowd, only turning away once she’s safe in Sara’s company. Her mother waves and I nod in acknowledgement, unsettled and a tiny bit annoyed.
This is supposed to be our day.
“There, all done!” Sasha props a sign that says ‘Decorated by Mistletoe & Mine’ at the bottom of her tree, then steps back to admire the complete look.
She might’ve lost her Christmas joy, but her tree says otherwise. There are giant candy canes nestled between branches, matching giant lollipops, and an array of different sized baubles in matching colours of red, white and green. It’s the most professional-looking tree across the square, and Sasha gives a satisfied little nod that says she knows it.
“Are you feeling Christmassy yet?” I ask her.
“Hmm. Maybe a little. I need one of those Christmas spirit Clausometers like the one from the movie Elf . Just to be certain of course.”
“Oh, of course. Makes sense.”
We smile at each other, and there’s no denying the softening between us, a thaw in whatever froze our relationship two years ago. Turns out all you need to do to become friends is spend time together and talk.
Who knew?
“Thanks for today,” Sasha says, whether to fill the electrified silence between us or because she genuinely means it, I have no idea.
“I enjoyed myself,” she adds. “You were right.”
“Can you say that again, and will you let me record it?”
She grins and gives me a nudge. “No and no.”
“Shame.”
“Dad!” Charlotte rushes back over and tugs on my coat sleeve. “Dad, Sara’s mum said she’d drive us to the cinema in Cheltenham to see the new Chris Evans Christmas movie. Can I go please? Can I?”
“Oh.” It’s hard not to keep the disappointment out of my tone. “We usually grab some food and watch a Christmas movie at home.”
“I know, but we do that every year. Please? I want to hang out with my friends. Sara’s mum will be there the whole time, I promise.”
Sasha’s gaze burns the side of my face, curious about my reaction.
“You know, I’d be happy to grab some food and watch a Christmas movie if you want some company,” she says, patting her stomach. “I’m pretty hungry actually, and I haven’t checked out the food carts yet.”
It’s sweet what she’s doing, especially when Charlotte lights up, anticipation making her bounce by my side.
“Fine,” I relent. “Send me a text with Sara’s mum’s number on the way though.”
“Yay, thanks, Dad!”
“And text me when you’re on your way home.”
“Duh, I’m not stupid.”
I pull her close and give her a squeeze, embarrassing dad be damned. “Go, get out of here.”
“Bye! Bye, Sasha!”
“Have fun!” Sasha grins, and waits until Charlotte is out of hearing distance to say, “So you’re stuck with me now.”
“It’s fine, Sasha. I get it.”
“Good. So we’re on the same page. What food cart is best?”
“What?”
“I’m hungry and I’m finally ready to watch my first Christmas movie of the year. You should be honoured.”
I huff out a laugh. “Honoured?”
“Yes, I could crawl back to my Grinch cave and sit in the dark, crying ‘bah humbug’, and I’ve chosen not to. Just for you.”
“I don’t need your pity date.”
“Are you sure?” she teases.
I glance over to the narrow street that leads into the village and catch sight of Charlotte laughing as she climbs into Sara’s family car.
“Maybe just this once.”