Chapter Eight
As I reach the bottom of the stairs two things hit me. First of all, it’s the gentle sound of music, drifting into the hallway from another room, loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough that I can’t quite identify it from here. Next, the delicious smell of something cooking hits me. I couldn’t possibly tell you what but I get a sort of warming winter meal vibe from it. It reminds me of Sunday dinners at my parents’ house in the winter months. The delicious smell of a roast dinner, the cosy room, the steamed-up windows. It’s a real nostalgia kick, a throwback all the way to my childhood, and it makes me miss my family – even my infuriating sister.
I find Chris in the kitchen, busying himself around the hob, a tea towel over his shoulder to show that he means business.
‘Ah, perfect timing,’ Chris says.
He has two plates in front of him which he is loading up with mashed potatoes. He turns around to pull something out of the oven.
‘Go through to the dining room, I’ll bring this through in a second,’ he says.
Chris turns around to face me, oven dish in hand, takes one look at my face and freezes on the spot.
‘Don’t worry, I only used foods they had lots of, that no one would miss – we have to eat,’ he says.
I don’t know what the look on my face is like right now but I think that’s what Chris is reacting to.
‘Oh, I’m not worried about that,’ I insist.
Chris stabs a sausage with a fork and places it on one of the plates. He’s about to do it again when he freezes on the spot, the stabbed sausage hovering above the plate.
‘Oh no,’ he says. I can see his jaw tightening as panic takes hold of him. This is the first time I’ve seen him lose his cool since we got here. ‘You’re not a vegetarian, are you? Or worse, a vegan? Not that being a vegan is bad, but not one bit of this meal is suitable for a vegan. Maybe the gravy – I’d have to check, but you’re not going to have just gravy, are you? Are you? I don’t know any vegans.’
I can’t help but smile. It’s nice to see a version of Chris that is not so sure of himself. Even earlier, when he showed me his emotional side, he was so comfortable doing it, which I really like, I’m all for men sharing, but his confidence never faded. It’s nice to know that he does worry about somethings.
‘No, no, I’m not vegan,’ I say quickly. ‘Or a vegetarian. I’ll eat almost anything.’
‘Phew,’ he says. I see the relief wash over his face, relaxing his muscles. ‘You were just doing a face.’
‘It just surprised me, to come down here, and see you cooking dinner for us,’ I say. ‘I didn’t have you down as the type to cook.’
I know he made breakfast earlier, but everyone can make breakfast, right?
‘Yeah, I’ve been eating for most of my life, so the need to cook has cropped up now and then,’ he jokes.
‘You know what I mean,’ I insist.
‘I do,’ he replies. ‘Well, we’re having bangers, mash, cauliflower cheese, gravy – I even found some Yorkshire puddings in the freezer. Again, don’t worry, they had loads. You could live in their freezer if it wasn’t, y’know, a freezer.’
I smile.
‘Sounds amazing,’ I tell him. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Yes, you can get out of my kitchen,’ he jokes. ‘Head through to the dining room, I’ll be through with these in a minute.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I reply, doing as I’m told.
It’s only now, upon entering the dining room for the second time, that I really notice the Christmas tree. Well, I was in a bit of a flap earlier, and it’s dark out now, and the tree lights are on. It’s a big tree. At least 7ft tall, reaching up towards the high ceiling, and it’s plenty wide too. I know it’s real because I can smell it. You really can’t beat the smell of a real Christmas tree.
The next thing I notice is that the table is laid for two. The candles glow in the dimly lit room – coupled with the fairy lights on the tree, it’s such a dreamy, romantic scene.
Next to our places, there is a bottle of prosecco. I sit down and touch the bottle. It’s perfectly chilled.
‘So, they’ve got this thing in their kitchen,’ Chris explains as he carries in the plates. ‘Like a hole in the worktop, which I thought was bottle holder, but you tell it how cold you want your drinks to be and it chills them for you. Isn’t that amazing?’
‘It is,’ I reply. ‘But not as amazing as this dinner, Chris, wow, everything looks amazing.’
‘You will also be pleased to know that the prosecco is mine, not lifted from the chiller. It was my secret Santa gift,’ he explains. ‘So, you can drink it guilt-free.’
‘I can and I will,’ I reply.
Thankfully my hangover has shifted enough to allow a little light drinking. I’m even more grateful my appetite has returned.
‘I’ve also knocked together a crumble,’ he says. ‘It just needs popping in the oven when we’re ready for it.’
‘OK, this Chris I like,’ I tell him. ‘Earlier I thought you were so selfish, and infuriating, but as the day has gone on, I’m almost warming to you.’
He laughs.
‘Amazing what a bit of dessert can do, to get a person on-side,’ he muses. ‘I probably wasn’t totally myself earlier. I was a bit freaked out and trying to hide it because, you’re right, coming here was really stupid. I guess I wanted to impress you.’
‘Well, if there’s one thing you need to learn about me, I’m far more impressed by your crumble making skills than this house.’
Chris’s face suggests he doesn’t believe me.
‘I’m serious,’ I insist. ‘This is an amazing house, without a doubt, there’s so much to love about it. But being able to buy stuff isn’t really a quality I look for in a person. Someone who cooks for me, goes out of their way to lay a beautiful table, who shares their secret Santa present with me… that I can get on board with.’
‘And there’s me thinking girls liked a bad boy,’ he replies with a smile. ‘I broke into a house to impress you – nothing. I mash a few potatoes and you’re weak at the knees? Perhaps pop culture has lied to me.’
I gasp theatrically.
‘Imagine!’ I say.
As Chris and I chat over dinner I start to get little flashbacks from last night. I start to see in him what I saw in him yesterday. I can feel that connection again.
‘So, what do you like to do for fun?’ I ask. ‘Other than breaking and entering, and video games.’
‘One passion probably fuels the other,’ he jokes. ‘Hmm, well, other than that… I’m a bit of a dork really. I like superhero movies – I like the comics even more. I really, truly consider my Netflix subscription to be a bargain. I’m so addicted to true crime documentaries, but who isn’t? And I love reading. I’m a book-a-night kind of guy. Once I get started, that’s it.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ I say.
‘I know, it sounds insane, but you wouldn’t turn a movie off part of the way through, would you?’
‘I’m not surprised you read a book in a night,’ I reply. ‘I’m not a monster. I’m surprised you read.’
‘I don’t seem the type?’ he replies.
‘You don’t,’ I say. ‘Sorry if that sounds rude. You just seem too cool, I guess. I was surprised when you gave me the time of day last night.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he replies. ‘I’ve always loved reading. Even when I was a kid. I saw you reading that Goosebumps book…’
‘Don’t tell me you loved Goosebumps too?!’ I reply.
‘Not really,’ he says. ‘I thought I was too mature for that. I preferred Point Horror .’
‘I remember those,’ I say, thinking back to my school days. ‘I used to eye them up but you had to be in year 8 to read them. So, I worked my way through every Goosebumps book I could find and, by the time I hit year 8, and I finally got to read one of the “grown-up” books… I don’t know. I just didn’t like them as much. They didn’t seem as much fun.’
‘It’s OK, they were pretty scary,’ he teases.
‘Perhaps if we’d got to know each other like this before we had sex, I wouldn’t have felt so awkward today,’ I say with a laugh.
Chris sniggers.
‘What?’ I reply. ‘I’m sure it’s a bit more typical, to get to know someone before you sleep with them, that’s if you want to look them in the eye again…’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard that said before,’ he replies. ‘It’s just funny because, well, we didn’t sleep together. Do you really think we did?’
‘I, er…’
I totally did.
‘We didn’t,’ he says. ‘We kissed – a lot – but we didn’t have sex. We drank that whiskey, you fell asleep, I fell asleep next to you not long after.’
‘I was in my underwear,’ I point out, a bit embarrassed.
‘Ah, yeah, well there was a dancing segment,’ he replies. ‘I thought I might spare you the details, seeing as though you don’t remember much, but you definitely took your own clothes off, willingly.’
And now I’m a lot embarrassed.
‘How was your dinner?’ Chris asks, changing the subject.
‘Amazing,’ I tell him, taking hold of my clean plate, holding it up for him to see. ‘Thank you. I’m still so surprised by it – sorry, I can’t do this, you say I danced?’
I want to pretend I didn’t hear that bit, but I can’t.
‘It was more of a strip than a dance,’ he says. ‘Don’t be embarrassed – I remember it being really good.’
‘I think that might be more embarrassing,’ I reply.
I pick up my drink and throw it down the hatch. As I said earlier: there’s a reason I don’t do things like this.
‘OK, come here,’ Chris says, hopping to his feet.
He messes with the CD player on the side.
‘Right, stand up,’ he says, holding his hand out.
‘Is this… is this the song from The Karate Kid ?’ I ask.
‘It’s from The Karate Kid II , actually,’ he says. ‘It’s “The Glory of Love” by Peter Cetera.’
‘God, you really are a dork,’ I point out.
‘Come on, dance with me,’ Chris insists. ‘I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself.’
‘How so?’ I ask as I take his hand.
‘I’m levelling the playing field,’ he says. ‘You get to watch me dance too. And I get to see your sober moves, when I’m sober, so these are the ones I’ll remember.’
‘My moves to the song from The Karate Kid ?’ I reply in disbelief.
‘ The Karate Kid II , ’ he replies. ‘Yes. I imagine they stream music now, like everyone else does. This power ballads CD was the only other one in the machine.’
‘Power ballads it is then,’ I say.
I let Chris pull my body close to his. We slow dance to the music and, you know what, it’s nice. So nice I could almost forget I was trespassing in my boss’s house, dancing with a man I hardly know – one I stripped for. At least I can keep my clothes on this time.
‘I know this isn’t the New Year’s Eve you had in mind,’ Chris says. ‘And I know this isn’t the most ideal situation but… I’m really glad I got snowed in with you.’
‘I’m actually really glad I got snowed in with you too,’ I reply.
As the song from The Karate Kid – sorry, The Karate Kid II – switches to something by Whitesnake (this is certainly a power ballads CD from a particular era), and I feel our bodies moving closer and closer, I find myself making the first move, kissing Chris. He kisses me back.
There’s a purple chaise lounge that sits in front of the bi-folding doors. With nothing but a big, dark, empty back garden on the other side of the glass, Chris ushers me towards it and, as I lie back, I can’t help but laugh to myself…
Perhaps I’m not going to keep my clothes on for this dance either.