His Christmas Surprise

by Harper, Grace

  “Who do you write for?”

  “TIME Magazine.”

  “The TIME Magazine, as in the iconic magazine with hard-hitting journalism? That TIME Magazine?”

  Dean nodded, a slow movement like he was admitting defeat. His plump lips thinned at the acknowledgement.

  “I’m so proud to know you, Dean. If it’s just these few days, then so be it. I’ll cherish them and read all your articles, telling everyone that I spent a wonderful few days holed up in the snow with a talented man who thought of me before himself.”

  “I want this to be more than a few days forced to spend time with each other. I need to know you’d spend time with me voluntarily. I’ll come back, I promise. To find out if you still like me.”

  “Don’t make that promise. I wouldn’t want to hold you to something so solid based on an extreme situation.”

  “I will come back, Bronwyn, I promise you that.”

  I couldn’t reply. The whole situation was intense like we fitted three months worth of dates into two days. It could have been the port and its potent effect or that the heat of the fire warmed my heart but I was besotted with Dean and his calm, quiet adoration.

  The plate of leftover cheese and biscuits were gone, and I was on his lap, moments later. A tangle of limbs as he kissed me. He moved me on top of him, holding onto my head and backside, not letting me out of his hold as he poured all his passion into kissing me. The hard kiss was paired with his soft tongue licking into my mouth. I couldn’t move, he was doing all the work to cherish me. We fell onto the mattress, panting as we gasped for air. I was underneath his body, the blankets wrapped around us, so many layers between us but I could still feel the heat from his body. He worshipped my neck, with soft butterfly kisses along the edge of the t-shirt, tracing my collarbone from shoulder to shoulder. He had to pull the material away in places to reach the furthest most point.

  “You smell amazing. I want to buy a bottle of your perfume so I can take it with me to remind me of this weekend. It will keep me going until I can return.”

  “You sound like a soldier going off to war.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I am, except I’m fighting in a political war. It’s not without risk, prison or worse still.”

  “I hope you come back safely.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  He scooped me up onto his lap once more to pull back the covers. Dean dropped us back down on the mattress, covering us over. The fire had died down by the time he covered the front with a guard that blocked out the heat and light.

  “Safety first?”

  “Always, old habits die hard. I don’t want the bedding to catch fire,” Dean said, pulling me close. I shivered in his arms, but not from the cold. “Don’t worry, Bronwyn, I’ll keep you warm.”

  Dean relaxed on his back with pillows under his head. I used his chest as my pillow, draping my arm over his stomach. The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room, but my head was full of noise thinking about Dean. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, Mollie’s wedding and the day he’d be gone. Misery raced through my heart at the thought of Dean leaving.

  Dean’s breathing evened out. I closed my eyes, thinking of a way to get Mollie to the house. One of my friends had to get her happy ever after, even if I didn’t.

  Chapter 9

  Dean

  Saturday – Mollie Gates is getting married

  A light tapping woke me the next morning. Bronwyn had wrapped me in a tight hold, her leg thrown over both of mine. Her hand had found its way under my shirt, right up to my heart, her fingers touching my nipple. It was already hard before I woke, as was my dick. I wanted to undress Bronwyn last night, take each layer off in front of the fire, stroke the soft skin at her waist, on the inside of her leg, at her ankle. Every inch of her, if she’d let me.

  Her expression was still etched in my mind when I said I was leaving on Christmas Day. I hadn’t told her I was going on the evening of Christmas Eve to get my flight early the next morning. It was better that I slipped away.

  The tapping continued soft but urgent, like a key on a windowpane. Bronwyn and I were snuggled together, and I was loathed to let her go in case this was the last time. Craning my neck to look at the window. I expected to see a bird on the windowsill pecking at the grouting.

  “Fuck,” I said, scrambling to make sure Bronwyn’s body was covered up.

  I looked around again to see if I’d been dreaming to see a couple of people at the window. Gloves cupped to their faces, attempting to see into the living room. By the rubbing of the frozen windows, moving bodies to get a better look, I guessed that they couldn't see us.

  “Dean, I was worried sick that you'd both starved to death,” Charlie said, standing at the bottom of our makeshift bed. “But here you are, making happy families with one of the bridesmaids.”

  I glanced to find Bronwyn still sleeping. Charlie had whispered his words, his eyes crinkling with mischief as he perused the empty port glasses and upended chopping board.

  “We were stranded here. No phone lines or electricity, then the generator wouldn't work.”

  “Unless you want the entire wedding party to know what you two have been up to, then I'd wake sleeping beauty because Mollie is waiting to be let in.”

  I kissed Bronwyn awake. I planted soft kisses on her cheek and mouth until she stirred. She shivered, snuggling closer to me.

  “We need to get up Bronwyn, we have company.”

  Bronwyn sat up, thankfully still in pyjamas and my robe, looking dishevelled and beautiful.

  “Charlie?” she asked, not entirely sure of her surroundings or the apparition appearing in the living room folding up the blankets.

  “Yep, that's me. You have thirty seconds until you see Mollie, Eloise, Cassie and Jolene. Your call if you want them gossiping about my best man.”

  Bronwyn didn't move from her position, side glancing to me and then back to Charlie.

  “I don't mind explaining this, but this is your wedding day, and nothing should distract from that.”

  Still, she didn't move, just looking at me with a serene expression. Bronwyn cupped my cheek, then kissed me. Then a moment later, her eyes were like organ stops.

  “Shit, Charlie, this is your wedding day, and I’m in PJs with barely washed hair. You look like you’re ready to be married. It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

  “We are all here, dressed and ready. The whole village has spent the last two days digging a path up the road, to get us all here. We didn't chance more than one trip. So we're all here, most of them are sitting on a bus out front. We very nearly ploughed into your car, Bron, it was buried so deep.”

  “Bron?” Mollie's voice called out from the back hallway. She was getting nearer, which galvanised Bronwyn into moving. The blankets, duvet, pillows and mattress were all stacked away with our team effort before Mollie rounded the corner.

  “Oh, Bron, you're ok, I'm so happy to see you. I wasn't going to get married without you there. I'm early, we're all early. Everyone but me, Jolene, Cassie and Eloise are dressed to the nines. We had a town meeting last night. The food is already made, are the ovens working?”

  Just at that moment, the overhead lights came on as the generator came to life.

  “That would be a yes, they’re gas. But also now the electric ovens will work too,” I said, pointing to the roof.

  “The wedding ceremony is going to be as soon as we can get ready. I have our clothes on the bus. Yours too, Dean. The registrar has said she wants to marry us and get back to the village while it’s daylight, so we need to get a move on. I didn’t want to miss out getting ready with my bridesmaids.”

  I hadn't met Mollie before, but if she wanted to marry my best mate as soon as possible. I would do everything I could to make it happen.

  “So, that's her, then?” I said to Charlie.

  “That’s her, my soon to be wife.”

  Mollie had taken Bronwyn by the elbow, herding her out of the room. Charlie was loo
king like he was about to watch the football on TV and not get married, he was so relaxed.

  “She’s amazing and beautiful.”

  “Mollie is both of those and more. There is a man I’ve never met before fixing your generator, says he's worked on this estate when your great uncle was living here. We couldn't open the front door to get everyone in, and I didn't fancy taking them through the secret entrance.”

  “Is that how you got in?”

  “Yep, remembered it when we were kids after I couldn’t get an answer from the front door. Didn't know if you'd both escaped before the snow hit, or had been holed up here. Looks like you've been getting on well.”

  “Yeah, I really like her.”

  “Will I get to be best man?” Charlie asked, walking the living room, with his hands in his pockets. I could hear chatter outside and then the massive front door swinging open. Men, women and children trooped through the house to the Great Hall, bypassing this room altogether.

  “It’s been two days, mate and my job is not on the west coast of Wales.” That was a lame excuse to not be serious about Bronwyn and Charlie knew it.

  “It could be if your great uncle installed internet.”

  I didn't want to dull his wedding day with talk of death, so I let the subject drop.

  “Sounds like the guests are making themselves at home. Everything is set up. Bronwyn finished the wedding cake too. All we need is the heaters on full blast. You might need to keep your coat on if the registrar wants to get home for tea.”

  “I’d marry her in anything, just so long as she says I Will.”

  Whoever the man was that fixed the generator, had opened the front door to let everyone in. I stood in the living room, hands in pockets watching the calmest groom saunter out into the foyer to lend a hand. This part of the house wouldn’t be needed for the ceremony or the reception dinner. I was glad. It held a special place in my heart. Now that we were free to leave, I wished for more snow. I was out of excuses to submit my piece for TIME Magazine and to get on my next flight.

  “Hey.”

  Bronwyn was back at my side, with freshly washed hair and a more feminine robe. I preferred my old fluffy robe on her than the purple silk kimono she now wore.

  “I don't know if I’m going to be able to speak to you again privately before you leave tomorrow. As soon as we get going, it’s going to be a whirlwind. The ceremony is going to be here and then we eat but after that, the bus driver wants us back down the bottom of the hill to the village before the sun sets making the roads and pathways an ice skating rink.”

  “Oh.” So soon?

  I didn't know what else to say. Bronwyn’s arms were around my waist, her head against my chest, holding me tight. My arms were already around her back, rubbing circles at the base of her spine. I would be in Kenya in 48 hours. Far away from the simplicity of these two days in my old childhood home.

  “How will you get back up here?” She asked.

  “I’ll probably walk. It’s only two miles.”

  “And if the snow arrives again?”

  Bronwyn’s slow speech gave me zero willpower, she was worried for me, worried for something that may not happen. When was the last time someone showed any concern for my wellbeing? I kissed her temple, three times and released my arms. She fell out of my hold in an instant. The cold draught, evident, as she stepped away.

  “It’s going to be ok,” I promised her.

  “If you say so. I have to get back to the dressing room, and so should you. Mollie and Charlie are getting married with or without us.”

  “I’ll see you at the alter,” I called out. “I’ll be on the right, watching you walk down the aisle.”

  A flash of realisation danced in her eyes and then it was gone, just as quick as her exit. Alone again in the room that would never be the same, I fired up the laptop and prepared my email to send to my editor. There was enough signal on my phone to pair the devices and get it submitted.

  Chapter 10

  Bronwyn

  Saturday – Mollie Gate is now Mrs Pearce

  Mollie and Charlie's wedding was perfect despite the three locations. We eventually celebrated their nuptials. Dean's house held the simple, traditional ceremony, followed by lamb stew and wedding cake. We all hiked into the bus that would drive us down to the pub for dancing and drinking. I sat next to Dean on the five-minute trip on the back seat.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  I responded by kissing him. Heavy breathing, panting and groping. The bus had emptied long before we came up for air. The driver had closed the door to keep us warm. Not that I’d noticed until we got up to leave.

  “I want to ask you back to my place after the celebration. I have running water, a warm bed and beer,” I said, playing with Dean’s fingers that were entwined in my hand. He smelt divine, musky, warm scent that wrapped around me like a blanket.

  “But?”

  “I can't bear to have sex with you in my bed, and then you disappear in the morning. My heart won't take it.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?” My head snapped up, checking the truth in his eyes.

  “I wouldn't leave, and then I’d be in all kinds of trouble with the magazine and my editor. It’s probably for the best.”

  We moved down the aisle of the bus, single file until we reached the steps down to the door. That was the moment when I cried. Loud bursts of sobbing, after hearing Dean’s lack of fight. I wanted him to beg me to reconsider. I rested my head on his shoulder. He was so much shorter than me standing on the bottom step of the bus. Dean knelt on his step, slid his hands under my dress and encouraged me to sit down. Once I got the message, he was kneeling between my legs, his mouth nuzzling against my neck.

  “We've had drinks and a few meals together, danced slow and attended a family get together as a couple. That's a lot of dates,” he declared.

  His hands were still under my dress, inching their way up my stockings, to reach my waist.

  “Sit up, Bronwyn,” he commanded.

  I held onto the rail for the stairs and hovered for a few moments so he could slip my knickers down my legs. Now that he knew I wouldn’t be averse to bus sex, he took off his coat and laid it on the floor behind me. He pushed me back by the shoulders, holding me as I leaned back until I was flat on his jacket.

  “This will be the least romantic way I can think of to make love to you. If you hate me in the morning, at least you won't have a daily reminder of where it happened. Not your bed or my living room floor.”

  Tears snaked down the side of my face and into my hair as I looked up to where he was standing. This was his goodbye, a sweet, soul-searing, I’ll remember this for the rest of my life, moment in time.

  Dean stroked my clit so delicately, lovingly and with an expertise that shouldn’t come from this being the second time he’s touched me. My tears increased their flow down my cheeks. I was silently crying while he brought me to orgasm. Sliding his fingers inside me, stroking my clit again, never taking his eyes off my face.

  I was so wet for him, he only needed to touch me lightly to get my heart racing. I'd never had sex fully clothed before. It felt decadent, desperate, naughty and intimate. Dean stood in front of me, showed me the condom packet and rolled it down his length after I’d nodded. With one hand flat on the coat by my head and the other guiding his cock to my entrance, I closed my eyes and held onto the skirt of my dress. I wanted him flush with me as much as possible. His trousers were down by his knees along with his boxer shorts. There was very little light shining into the bus from the back street garage, we were parked in. My eyes had gotten used to the darkness, which was why I gasped when he pushed inside me. His face was one of anguish. It was the last thing my heart felt before it smashed into smithereens. This was the best sex I was going to have. He never took his eyes off me. Pushing harder, and faster as he absorbed all my expressions.

  “I’ll come back, I promise,” he vowed just as I reached my orgasm. “I p
romise.”

  The staccato pulses rippling down, paired with my hammering heartbeat, sent me over the edge with an obsession, to not let this man go. My legs wrapped around his back, my hands clawing at his hair. I couldn't get close enough as he roared out his release, still pumping into me. I heard the wrecking sob he let out against my neck and the tears that followed.

  This was the best breakup sex I’d ever had.

  We cleaned up as much as we could and tidied our clothes. Dean kissed me long and hard before we left the bus. Holding my hand, he walked me to the pub for the celebrations, the same pub where we first met but never came in. He walked towards the lamppost where I accosted him the week before and held up a crumpled sprig of mistletoe.

  “I will always remember our first time under this lamppost,” he said.

  Then he walked into the shadows and out of my life.

  Chapter 11

  Bronwyn

  Six months since Mollie Gates changed her name to Mollie Pearce.

  As soon as the snow started to melt, everything went back to normal. Mollie and Charlie went on their honeymoon at the guest house. Dean had caught his flight, and I was alone once more. Well, not all alone. I had a cafe full of customers every day. Jolene, Eloise, Mollie and Cassie visiting when they could.

  Each time they would ask if I’d heard from Dean and every time I would say I hadn’t given him my number.

  Summer brought more visitors to the area. My friends had taken shifts to come into the cafe more so in recent weeks. They kept looking at me like I’d cry at any moment or have a nervous breakdown.

  They’d persuaded me to take a lunch break over at the pub across the road from the cafe. They reasoned my customers needed a break from my permanent scowl. They also told me I was scaring away my customers with my short temper.

  “Babe, you'll scare away the customers in the pub too if you keep scowling,” Mollie said.

  “Fuck them. I'm miserable, and I’m going to wear it like a badge. It’s why I sit in this seat, anyway, you lot can sit in a row and be nosey to what’s going on and I can sit here and sulk.”