by Lou Watton
After her departure, I looked around searching for my clothes.
‘They are in the laundry, John. You can wear anything that suits you in my wardrobe for now.’
‘Oh no, that’s very kind of you, but I’ve brought some change of clothes with me. Need to rummage through my suitcase. Besides, I guess you have to work now.’
‘I was hoping you could join me downstairs,’ he said.
‘Is it a confidential matter?’
‘Probably.’
‘And you trust me?’
‘I trust you enough to mess with my heart and my most British parts.’
We both laughed.
‘Peter Sherlock, you are quite a specimen. If you didn’t exist, I’d have to invent you.’
He grinned and hugged me. ‘Let our adventures do that job for us.’
Then Peter let me dive into his closet. I emerged wearing a white beard and a Santa hat. One more tiny detail – I was still naked.
Peter saw me and stopped buttoning his shirt.
‘Damn it, John, the client will have to wait for us a little longer now.’
Leaning against the closet door, I said, ‘Has it been brought to your attention that Santa might be stuck inside the chimney?’
‘Are you asking me for a good old sweep?’
I nodded, ‘For a very thorough one.’
Peter walked up to me and we kissed.
‘John, do I imagine this or that’s a hard candy sticking out of your Christmas stocking?’
‘I think you might be onto something there.’ I giggled as he grabbed my throbbing sweet.
‘Quite a handful,’ Peter teased.
‘Indeed you are.’
We kept kissing, reigniting each other’s flame, ending up in bed again, forgetting about the waiting visitor and Miss Hatsom’s breakfast, which was absolutely unprofessional of Peter, but delightfully so.
THE END
