Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SEBASTIAN
After a light breakfast and a couple of glasses of Bucks fizz, the fire crackles and The Muppet Christmas Carol plays on TV. We muted it a while ago to focus on opening presents, and now the living room floor is covered in mounds of wrapping paper and ribbon, and stacked piles of gifts.
The scent of roasting turkey floats through the house, and the world outside seems so quiet. It snowed a few more inches overnight, hiding all the hedges and bushes in the gardens until it looks like a sea of white.
“This is for you.”
Sasha peers up at me in surprise as I hand her another gift. She glances at the presents already at her feet and shakes her head in disbelief.
“This is too much now. How many more are there?”
“Just this one.”
She seems embarrassed by the weight of three gazes watching her eagerly as she tears at the wrapping, but all that falls away the moment she sees what’s inside.
“Sebastian,” she gasps, her voice wobbly as her fingertips trace the glass. “How?”
The picture of her grandparents outside Mistletoe & Mine sits inside a vintage silver frame. It’s one of my gran’s copies, so not exactly the same as the one she has taped behind the cash register. This one holds a different smile, a snapshot of a different laugh to memorise now, and it’s in full colour.
“Charlotte helped me do it. She downloaded a special app and everything.”
“Yeah, Dad was useless without me.”
“Thanks for that, Charlie.”
Charlotte shrugs and grins.
“This is amazing.” Sasha squeezes Charlotte’s knee in silent thanks and cradles the frame to her chest. “Thank you. Both of you. I’m gonna treasure it.”
I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I tilt into the press of her kiss against my cheek, the euphoria not unlike how I used to feel running across the rugby pitch, the wind rushing in my ears, the raw display of all that muscular power.
I feel on top of the whole fucking world, making the woman I love happy, and it’s something I’ll chase for the rest of my life, if she lets me.
“Now, this one is for both of you,” I say, pulling one last gift from behind my back.
“I thought you said there was no more.”
“I lied.”
Sasha and Charlotte share a look of confusion before they snuggle close on the sofa so they can open it together.
“You can do the honours,” Sasha says.
Never one to say no to opening presents, Charlotte tears open the box, throws the shredded tissue paper behind her, and lets out a glass-cracking scream that makes Gran wince and stare in horror.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Taylor Swift tickets!”
She dives on top of Sasha, who falls back with a laugh, then leaps up at me. I grin, spinning her around, grateful for the sound of her joy, especially at Christmas. If we stick to our usual custody arrangement, it’s likely Charlotte will be spending Christmas with her mum next year, so I want to stock up on her happiness while I still can, save all these memories for later.
“This is gonna be so amazing!” She squeals and jumps, her excitement too big to be contained. “Can I go text Sara to let her know?”
“Sure. But hurry back. It’s almost time for my yearly tradition of beating you at Scrabble.”
“As if!”
With that she rushes from the room, and we all chuckle at the sound of her booming, hurried stomps up the stairs.
“I think you won the award for best present giver,” Sasha says, curling up close as I retake my seat beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
“Do I win a trophy or anything?”
“Yes.” She bites her lip and flutters her eyes, teasing when she says, “Me.”
We grin at that and snuggle closer. I dot kisses against her hair, inhaling the citrus scent, blissed out and content.
“You both look very happy,” Gran says then.
‘We are,” Sasha answers for us both.
Happy as a word doesn’t feel strong enough.
“What about you, Gran? Are you happy?”
“Of course. I got everything I wanted.”
“Good thing you’re not dying then.”
“Sebastian!” Sasha whisper-shouts, giving me a nudge and a smack on the chest for good measure.
My grandmother lifts her chin. “Look at me. I’m stronger than ever. The heart of an ox and a fifty year old, so the doctor said.”
I catch Sasha’s gaze all alight with amusement and joy, and we both laugh quietly, our hands twined on top of my thigh.
“Alright, Gran. If you say so.”
“I do, thank you. Now, pour me a sherry, will you. I’m parched.”
Following a round of Scrabble and a two-course Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, we leave Gran napping in the armchair by the fire, throw on our coats and wellington boots, and head outside.
The snow is mostly undisturbed apart from the occasional animal paw print, and our boots crunch an ugly path in the beauty of all that fresh white snowfall until we find the best spot.
“Right, you can both start on the body.” Charlotte crouches to the ground, cupping handfuls of snow. “I’m going to work on the head.”
“I haven’t built a snowman in years,” Sasha says, rubbing her gloved hands together against the blistery cold.
“We do this every year it snows, well, every year I’m not with my mum.”
“Well, I’m honoured to be part of your tradition today.”
“You have to do it next year too, Sash. Even if I’m not here. It’s a family tradition and you’re family now.”
Sasha’s arms flop to her sides. “Oh.”
“Right, Dad?”
I hold Sasha’s gaze with all the intensity I can muster. “That’s right.”
Forty minutes later, we’re all pink with cold and chilled to the bone, but Sally the Snowwoman, or so she’s christened, stands proud a few feet away from the front door.
“Now that’s done,” I begin, dusting the snow off my gloves. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
My daughter peers up at me, curious about my seriousness.
“Were you in on Gran’s plan to get me and Sasha together?” I ask her.
Charlotte blinks for barely five seconds before her grin rises slowly, all Cheshire Cat smile and a little too wicked for my liking.
“How did you find out?”
“Gran kept saying ‘we’ when she explained herself. At first I thought she misspoke, but then I remembered exactly who my daughter is and of course you were in on it.”
Charlotte shrugs, her grin still smug.
“You really wanted us together this whole time?” Sasha asks in shock.
“Duh.”
I shake my head in amusement, thinking about the look of horror on her face that day at breakfast. “You gave an Oscar-winning performance, that’s for sure.”
“I’ve been thinking about becoming an actress actually.”
“You’ll be brilliant at it.”
“I know.”
I squeeze her tighter, grinning against her hair. “I love you, Charlie.”
“I know, Dad,” she placates, the eye roll clear in her tone. “I’m gonna go get a carrot for Sally’s nose now. Be right back!” She takes two steps before crunching to a halt and spinning back around. “I’m so glad you’re here, Sash.” She beams at her for a moment, then rushes forward, throwing her arms around her as best she can.
Sasha makes a little “Oooof” noise at the fierceness of her hug, surprise dancing across her face. I shrug and smile, and Sasha melts, squeezing back until she laughs.
Charlotte’s voice is all muffled in the depths of Sasha’s coat when she says, “You’re squishing me!”
“Oh!” Sasha immediately lets go, brushing her hand down the side of Charlotte’s face. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I liked it. You give good hugs.”
She rushes off inside then, presumably to grab everything we need to complete our snowwoman, and we both laugh, drifting back towards the porch to take a bit of shelter from the icy breeze.
We sway together for a while, huddled in each other’s arms, and it doesn’t get better this.
“Sebastian, look.” Sasha points at the porch ceiling. “Mistletoe.”
“And mine,” I murmur, watching her mouth curve with pure joy, and maybe that’s part of our story now too.
I crouch a little, pressing us as close as possible as she crests her hands up my chest and around my neck, and pulls me down for a soft, slow kiss.