Chapter 35
I wake on Christmas morning in Teddy’s enormous bed with his solid forearm draped over me, his palm cupping my bare breast. I roll into him, moulding my body to his warm length.
“Merry Christmas.” I breathe in the lingering vanilla and spice of his skin.
“Guess I must have been on Santa’s nice list this year.” Teddy’s soft breath ruffles my hair as he tightens an arm across my waist. “Got my Christmas wish.”
“Don’t be too nice,” I say. “I like it when you’re naughty.”
“Fancy being naughty with me now?” His hand glides up and down my spine, featherlight touches that make my skin tingle.
“I always feel like being naughty with you,” I whisper, moving my hand to the smooth curve of his thigh.
After the kind of lazy, lingering lovemaking only a no-deadlines morning allows, we lie wrapped close, ignoring the pings of ‘Merry Christmas’ texts playing a duet on our phones.
I bask in the quiet contentment, savouring the joy of waking up with a man on Christmas morning when there’s no tension humming beneath it.
“Want your Christmas present?” I say.
“Thought I just unwrapped it,” he murmurs, fingertip gliding between my breasts. “Though I’m happy to accept another…” He quirks a suggestive brow.
“Don’t be greedy,” I say, swatting his hand away. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and snatch up a dressing gown. I’d happily have another round of Christmas morning sex with Teddy, except I’m excited to give him his present.
I open the wardrobe, reach up to the highest shelf.
“You hid it in my wardrobe? Bold move—Christmas mornings turn me five years old.”
“Figured you’d upgraded to at least age seven.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he says. “Christmas Day is still young.”
“Here.” I thrust the box at him.
He peels the paper back with surprising care. The moment he sees the insignia on the box, his mouth curves up in a grin. “Dubarry. Nice. Got my favourite Chelseas from there.” The earthy scent of new leather drifts up as he lifts the lid.
“They’ll pass for the pub,” I shrug.
“Not for the pub, though, are they?” He reads from the card inside. For London hacks and any wild rides the future throws at us. His fingers find the voucher for a ride out of stables near Hyde Park.
“Thought we could get our horse fix together.”
“That’s brilliant. Thank you.” He hugs the boots to his chest and pulls me into a kiss. “Couldn’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon.”
Teddy digs into a dresser drawer and lays out three envelopes, each glittered 1–3.
“Ellie insisted on the sparkle,” he says as gold flecks dust my fingers. “Treasure hunt rules: open in order.”
“When did you do this? How did you do this?”
“I have my ways,” he says, tapping a finger to his nose.
I prise off the Rudolph sticker holding envelope number one closed, and pull out the clue.
Caffeine queen, lawyer’s dreams
Find the cup that fuels your legal schemes.
I sprint to the kitchen. A mug that definitely wasn’t there yesterday—I PUT THE CUTE IN PROSECUTE—rattles when I lift it. Inside: a slim gold bracelet with two charms: a drum and tiny legal scales.
“Lifelong refill,” Teddy murmurs, kissing my neck while clasping it for me
He hands me the next envelope.
The pause is past, the playlist long
Seek the click that cues the song
Remote control for the sound system? Of course. A note taped underneath tells me: Look in the vinyl stack.
A limited-press copy of ‘December Promise’ waits between the albums; a handwritten note tucked inside the sleeve: The night you pressed play.
I pry open the last envelope, another shower of glitter coating my fingers.
You sang, I kept the beat
Check the heart of my favourite seat
In Teddy’s basement studio, propped against the kick-drum, is a frame. Inside it, the words to ‘Deep End’—the song that started it all—handwritten in Teddy’s distinctive scrawl.
He leans against the cymbal stand, eyes soft. “Thought you should own the first thing I ever wrote that mattered.”
The bracelet warms on my wrist; the album’s tucked under my arm; the drumhead still vibrates faintly from the tap of his fingers. I’m not sure which gift to thank him for first—so I kiss him instead.
“We’re not taking the bike, are we?” I eye the helmet on the hall table.
Teddy laughs. “Tempting photo op—my girl on the pillion, sack of gifts flapping—but no. Hired wheels.”
He palms a fob and, as we step out the back door, a midnight-blue Range Rover beeps awake in the mews.
I pull my seatbelt on, settling into the cocoon of a bucket seat with that new-leather smell.
Teddy fiddles around with the unfamiliar controls, checking indicators, demist buttons and the sound system.
“Nerves braced?” he asks.
“This beats freezing on the Triumph. Besides, a guy who can ride a motorbike can surely drive himself when needed. And Charlbury’s only—what—ninety minutes?”
“No—my driving is fine. It’s my lot that comes with a warning,” he says. “The Hart-Cosgrove tribe.”
“I’m up for it. They’ll all be there?”
“Yes, Mum drove up from Cornwall on Tuesday with Dad and half a fruit-cake factory. Rowan’s driving in after the Santa shift with Tim and Elodie.”
My grin widens. “Can’t wait to see Ellie’s face when she opens up the pony toys. As long as she doesn’t start pestering Rowan for a real one.”
He shrugs, eyes on the road, but a smile sneaks in. “Hey, if Santa can manage a flying reindeer, one little pony’s hardly a stretch.”
“And Briar?”
“She had a show last night, so she’ll barrel up today, still wearing stage glitter.”
The twist in my gut is as sharp as the memory of Briar blocking the door, and the sick drop in my stomach when I thought Teddy was playing me. He must feel me stiffen because he slides a hand over mine.
“She’s nervous too,” he says quietly. “And apologetic. Dumping that abusive arsehole the day before didn’t put her in the best head-space.”
“That’s the past,” I murmur. “Anyone who loves you that fiercely gets a second chance.”
He kisses my knuckles. “She’s sworn off toxic blokes for good—the only drama she wants is onstage.”
“Good plan.”
“Then we’ve got Juniper, her husband Charles, and the junior football squad—George, Martin, Ashton. Junie’s buzzing to meet you. Rowan’s been teasing her. Saying she’s already collected selfie proof with my ‘famous girlfriend.’”
I snort. “Fifteen seconds of fame, I think. Next week I’m just another partner in some London legal firm, nothing special.”
Teddy’s smile softens. “Partner and all, you’re still special to me.”
“Full house then?”
“Exactly. And I need you to meet every last one of them. List item number five—introduce me to your family, proper introduction at a Christmas gathering.“ He quotes the words back at me exactly. “Can’t have the other party say I haven’t fully met all the terms and conditions.”
“You’re already in compliance,” I laugh, squeezing his hand. “But I’m still keen to meet them.”
He threads our fingers together. “Good—because after today there’s no ‘pause’ button left to press.”
Juniper’s house is all Charlbury charm—butter-coloured stone, slate roof, and a tidy garden with holly bushes guarding the path.
Before Teddy’s even cut the engine, we’re under siege.
A rabble of children, who look like they’re already riding a Christmas candy high, pours into the front yard screaming, “Uncle Dory! Uncle Dory!”
I glance over. “Dory? I’ve been meaning to ask—where did that come from?”
Teddy unbuckles his seatbelt, grinning. “Briar’s fault.
Dad christened me Theodore and dug his heels in.
Mum needed three months to win him over to Teddy.
In the gap, four-year-old Briar shortened Theodore to her favourite cartoon fish—easier to say.
She’s called me Dory ever since, and when these monsters arrived—” He nods at the bouncing niece and nephews. “She made sure the nickname stuck.”
I’m one step out of the car and the fan-club mobs me. “Aunty Trouble,” Ellie squeals, clamping my legs. Her three boy-cousins echo the chant.
I roll my eyes at Teddy. “This is your fault.”
Stuffing stockings of sweets and toys into eager hands buys us a few child-free minutes. As we head up the path, my nerves flare, despite me telling Teddy I’m totally fine to meet the clan.
Juniper—Briar’s twin in blonde hair but softer hazel eyes—hugs me at the door, mouthing “she’s gorgeous” at Teddy. Charles appears in neat jeans and a banker-blue shirt, pumping Teddy’s hand.
In the lounge, Rowan sweeps forward, cinnamon curls and a green gingerbread man jumper. Her husband Tim, tall and wiry in the same design but red, copies her hug-then-handshake routine.
Finally, I spot Briar on an ottoman by the hearth. She looks like a cat deciding whether to bolt. I stride over and wrap her slender frame in a hug.
“Let’s call that doorstep fiasco our meet-cute, and start over again, yeah?”
She exhales, mouth curving up in a slow smile. “Test of your commitment,” she says. “You passed.”
“Bring her through, Teddy,” calls his mum from the kitchen. “I’m elbows-deep in brandy butter and your father’s licked the spoon twice.”
Gina Cosgrove, light-blonde hair cropped in a pixie cut and wearing Teddy’s grin, brandishes a wooden spoon. “Can’t give you a hug, love. Save it for later, eh?” I like her already, with her hazel eyes and laugh-lines that say I’m welcome here, as she stands guard over a bowl.
River dodges a tea-towel swipe, copper hair flopping over one silvered eyebrow.
“Teddy tells me you’ll do a solo at the sing-along,” River says, rescuing the brandy bottle, while dodging a second crack of the tea towel. “Always room for another musician.”
I shoot Teddy a look.
He grins. “Might’ve oversold your talents, Rache. Duet, Dad. Got just the song for you.”
Lunch is loud, messy, perfect. Gina sneaks extra roasties onto every plate; River snaps candid photos with a Polaroid between courses; the sisters bicker over gravy then burst into laughter. The easy affection tugs a pang from me—this is what unconditional looks like.