A Novel Christmas

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘You’ve nailed the blurb,’ he snorted.

  ‘Oh, thank Christ,’ I replied twirling the telephone cord around my finger. ‘I hate those things.’ I shivered. Give me a novel to write over a blurb any day. Those things would have flummoxed Jane Austen.

  ‘You’ve piqued my interest,’ Gerry said. ‘I’m on board with the whole shirtless and brooding woodcutter. I can see the cover now.’

  ‘Really? I’m not sure the flavour of the book tallies with a shirtless hunk, though. I’m thinking more a couple in an embrace, trees in the background? Perhaps red lettering for the title. A clean, black font for my name?’

  ‘I’ll talk to the designers and send you some proofs,’ he replied, completely ignoring me. ‘I’m excited about this one, Cal!’

  ‘Yay. Great!’ I said, trying to match his tone. ‘Remember, I want classy and clean.’

  ‘We want what sells,’ he replied. ‘The keywords that stood out to me are shirtless and brooding. Leave it with me.’

  ‘I can talk to the designers. Ask them to give me a call, OK?’

  ‘Send me the first few chapters by tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And Cal?’

  ‘Still here.’ Bloody hell, he was getting this all wrong.

  ‘Happy writing.’

  Chapter 23

  Drew

  Addiction (a-dik-shen)

  Noun.

  The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice that is psychologically or physically habit-forming to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.

  I’d sat in the darkness, my back against the wall, flicking through the dictionary, stopping a page with my finger and turning on the torch from my phone to read the entry. The fourth attempt found me at addiction. Fitting. Was Cal my addiction? I couldn’t stay away from her. I tried. Habit-forming. I only made it through a few hours before my mind raced and my body started to ache. Cessation causes severe trauma. Addicted, surely. Trauma to follow.

  Was Cal my weakness or my strength? Could she be both? Did she write about obsession in her books? Not the warm kind. The dark, shadowy kind that threatened to pull you under, breaking your body along the rocks. I felt high, but so easily the low could follow. That thought alone pierced my conscience. It was why I had sat in the dark, trying to find clarity in the black. Trying to feel my way through the indistinct emotions.

  I didn’t find clarity, so I sought confusion.

  She was lying next to me on the bed.

  Cal.

  Beautiful, beautiful confusion.

  She had a tattoo stretching up her thigh. A writing quote. Something about writing to live life twice. Black curves, ornate and classic, but the placement? Sexy personified. I wanted to run my tongue across it. Trace it out with my fingertips. Take a photo. Write down the quote. Memorise it. Keep it with me when she left. Oh, fuck. What was I doing? I was sliding down the slope of heartbreak again, but at this moment, looking at her spread across the bed, naked and flushed, spent and satisfied, I’d be happy to go there willingly.

  ‘Do you have to leave?’ she asked, sleepy and tranquil. I hated that she asked me that like she was expecting me to run, but understood why she automatically jumped to the conclusion.

  ‘No,’ I replied, brushing her face with the back of my hand. ‘I’ll stay.’ She held onto me, smiling like I’d given her the world.

  I loved that smile.

  ‘Come back to bed,’ she said, curling over, inviting me to tuck myself in behind her as she drifted off to sleep. I looked at the space, thought about leaving, protecting myself, backing away before I got in too deep. But that was pointless now; I was already there. Deep and buried. In over my head.

  She pulled my arm across her stomach. She gasped as I kissed her shoulder.

  ‘You’ve spent too much time by yourself,’ she whispered. ‘You need to get used to having someone around.’

  ‘That would be deadly,’ I replied against her neck. Her fingers slid around mine.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You already know the answer.’

  We were closer to Christmas Day than ever before. Two days before Christmas Eve. A week away from Cal leaving. She hadn’t mentioned it and neither had I, preferring to torture myself by meekly trying to keep away from her and failing miserably.

  ‘Are you still protecting yourself?’ she asked.

  ‘Trying.’

  ‘From me?’

  ‘Always,’ I replied, kissing the slope of her back.

  ‘Perhaps you don’t need to,’ she said sleepily. ‘I could move here permanently. Set up as Karensa publications. Add another string to your bow.’ I twirled her by her hips to face me. Studying her. Trying to tell if she was going to follow up her big statement with a wry smile or flirty wink. She didn’t. She bit her lip. ‘Writers can work anywhere as long as they have something to write with.’

  ‘Are you being serious?’ I asked, my fingers and thumbs stroking her cheeks.

  She sat up, studying my face. A delirious recognition crossed across hers.

  ‘Do you want me to be?’ I nodded but didn’t commit to words. Too scary. ‘I’d consider staying longer,’ she said. The delirium she had fading slightly. ‘But I’d need to know something first.’

  Consider. Was consider good enough for me? Consider was half-hearted. Consider was, I can still back out and leave at any time.

  ‘Yes, you’d have to sleep on the floor because Archie shares my bed.’ Jokes. A fail-safe for me.

  ‘Now that would be a problem. I have knots. Floor and knots equal pain.’

  She screwed her mouth together in thought, letting it rest into a smile as I ran my finger across her lip to tease it out. ‘What do you need to know, lovely Cal?’

  ‘That you want me to be here,’ she said softly.

  ‘I do,’ I said, kissing her neck. ‘More than anything.’

  ‘I need to know that staying would be worth it because eventually, when we’d spent more time together, you’d give yourself to me, completely and wholly, not just snatches and glimpses.’

  I sat up, kneeling above her, fighting the natural defences that I had become so familiar with, trying to hear what she was saying to me, trying to make sense of what it could mean for us.

  ‘I give you glimpses because I can’t give more knowing you’re leaving. But if you’re saying that’s not the case, it doesn’t have to happen—’

  ‘I’m saying I need more from you,’ she replied. ‘I can’t stay here longer not knowing if you’ll ever let me in. Fully. Openly. No hesitancy because of what happened before.’

  Could I give her that? I wanted to, but in reality, I’d chosen to live this life, come to terms with the loneliness, accepted that I would never allow myself to fall in love again. There was a lot to pick through. My insecurities. My fears. Would I destroy us both? Force her to stop believing in love? If Cal stayed here, would she end up feeling the same as Meghan? Trapped. Isolated. Alone. Seeking comfort from elsewhere. Craving the life she had before Karensa. Resenting me, breaking me and leaving.

  ‘I can give you now,’ I replied honestly. ‘Now is yours without question.’

  ‘What about the chance of a future together?’

  ‘I don’t think like that, Cal,’ I said, rolling across the bed and standing up.

  ‘Because you did with Meghan?’

  ‘Yes. And she took it away,’ I replied raking my hand through my hair and kneeling down in front of her as she pushed herself forward on the bed. She cradled my head against her, wrapping her arms around me.

  ‘Is it ridiculous that I still want to stay?’

  ‘Absolutely ridiculous,’ I agreed. She ruffled her hand through my hair, it instantly made me relax.

  Stay with me.

  ‘I’ll stay for a few more weeks. Get to know you better. See where this journey takes us,’ she replied, looking out of the window. She rested her elbows on the windowsill and I wrapped my arms around her. I needed to get used to the unfamiliar feelings she caused in m
e. Safety. ‘I’m starting to think I belong in places that make me feel significant,’ she said, and her words warmed through my body like an injection of fire. Cal was significant. She was significant to me. ‘In London, I’m a face in the crowd. Here, I feel like my life matters. Like I’m not so alone.’

  ‘It’s OK to do things alone,’ I replied, pressing a kiss to her neck.

  ‘It’s OK to do them with someone too.’ I nodded against her, loving how right she felt in my arms. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip before pushing back and kissing me. ‘I’ll take now,’ she said, sitting back on the bed and lying down with her arms stretched out, relaxed and carefree, if just for now. ‘I can work with that. It’s better than not at all.’

  ‘I can give you now,’ I repeated, sliding my hand between her legs. She parted them for me, gasping as I hit where she wanted me the most. ‘Now is yours.’ I pinched her nipple, watched the lip bite it elicited, the drop of her head, her eyes closing. ‘However long that may be.’ I felt her wetness on my fingers, hers or mine, my seed still inside her. I pushed her back, needing to taste her, the promise of our arousal merging, too much for me to bear. She was sweet and salty. Fucking gorgeous. I was hard, but this wasn’t about me. This was about Cal. I was consumed with making her come. Preoccupied with the noises that escaped her, the tiny gasps, the big moans, the immense pleasure playing throughout her body.

  ‘You’re making me crazy,’ I said, kissing along the glorious line of her pussy, opening her with my tongue.

  ‘Crazy’s good.’

  ‘How did you get me to break my rules?’ I asked, tasting her.

  ‘I’ll never get you to break them.’

  ‘Already did.’ I nodded against her pussy. ‘You make me want to get close to you. I want to let you in.’ I traced my finger along her tattoo, kissed her knee, slid my finger inside her, caught her gasp in my mouth as I placed mine against hers. Our tongues caressed each other, swirling, dancing as I curled my finger and pressed hard against the ridge of nerves, the knot that was tightening with every stroke. ‘Be the one that stays when others have walked away.’

  ‘Trust me,’ she gasped.

  Yes. Let’s create a love alliance. You and me.

  ‘Ah…I’m going to come,’ she whispered, grasping my arm, digging into my skin. I watched her mouth part, her breathing become rapid, a chant of, Oh my God, falling from her lips, and I closed my eyes as I felt her pussy contracting around my finger, each pulse a slow descent from her climatic high.

  Her thigh was still quivering. I held my hand there, kissed the inside of her leg, her tattoo reverberating, almost trying to recite the words of the quote out loud. She was born to write. Everything she did should be written down and preserved on paper. She pulled me towards her. I hovered above, our eyes connecting, never leaving each other, searching and longing. A feeling of contentment slipped through me like this was where I was meant to be and I couldn’t help myself. My fingers followed the lines of her nose, traced the curve of her lips. I kissed her, a feeling of something so great I could only link it to love and all of its power. I’d experienced the dark side of love, but Cal was the glorious light.

  ‘Write me words,’ I said. ‘Share this in your stories. Translate the feeling so that it’s this fucking beautiful.’

  ‘Inspire me,’ she whispered, dragging her hand down my stomach to feel the hardness of my cock, cradling it, making me want to write my own story. A story about absolution and forgiveness, reframing and rebuilding. Learning to love again. Allowing myself to. But above all, a story about love and the woman who was going to be part of my momentous plot-twist no matter how the story was going to end.

  Chapter 24

  Cal

  We were in a confusing but beautiful place, trapped in silent battle that I was happy to fight. We had moved forward slightly, the push and pull of, I won’t let you get too close because you’re leaving, and, I’m scared that ultimately you can’t give me what I need, easing as the days passed us by.

  We fell into a pattern of spending our evenings together. Drew would usually cook and then read with his feet up in my reading chair as I tried to accomplish my daily word-count goal. He would run me a bath, read to me as I soaked my weary body, ending the evening lost inside each other, waking to enjoy it all over again before we even thought about breakfast.

  ‘You ready?’ Drew asked as he put his book down and pulled off his glasses. I loved to write as he was sprawled out across the sofa. Knowing he was reading behind me, relaxed, lost in a literary world, made me work a little harder.

  ‘Ready,’ I replied, swivelling on the chair to face him. The movement caused Archie to sit up, excitement pouring from him as he bounded towards me. ‘Are you ready for a walk, handsome?’ I glanced at Drew who was smiling, a look of, Who is this goddess? streaked across his face. I felt adored when he looked at me like that. Worthy. It also made me feel like we had a chance.

  ‘Have you made a list? Know what you want? Mum always missed an essential part of the Christmas dinner because she winged it at the supermarket on Christmas Eve, abandoning the trolley for a basket when she saw the queues. I lost count of the times we’d have to survive without cranberry sauce.’

  ‘Cranberry sauce isn’t essential,’ I said, putting on my coat.

  ‘Well, there was the year she forgot the gravy.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I replied.

  ‘Yep. Turkey’s hard going on the throat without a bit of moisture to help it down.’

  ‘Brian has given me his fail-safe recipe. Apparently, the trick is to sit the bird on a bed of root vegetables with a little bit of water. Makes it moist. It’s all in the steam.’

  ‘Who knew?’ he deadpanned as he put on Archie’s lead and we set off to the farm shop.

  I’d called Brian earlier in the week and asked him to save me a turkey. I wanted to cook Christmas dinner for Drew as a thank you for everything he’d done for me over the last few weeks. Drew joked that he didn’t want to spend Christmas Day with food poisoning when I told him I’d never cooked a turkey before. I’d cooked a chicken and surely a turkey was just a chunkier version—how hard could it be? I got Brian to give me the low down on how to cook the bird thoroughly without the need for a trip to A&E and agreed I’d pick it up on Christmas Eve—I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve—along with all the other essentials needed for a traditional Christmas dinner. We timed it with Archie’s walk, a favourite part of my day because it felt so…normal. A routine. A structure. Domesticated. Something a committed couple would do. He held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and I tricked myself into thinking it was.

  Costentyn was peaceful. The air was crisp and fresh. The smell of the sea always a breeze away. I pulled my scarf closer around my neck, smiling as Drew watched me. He was doing that more often. Taking me in. Admiring. Cherishing the moments we had left.

  Archie leapt forward, pulling us along when he saw an older lady struggling with taking her bags of shopping up the few steps and along the path to the front door of her cottage.

  ‘Hold up, Mrs Temple. I’ll give you a hand,’ Drew said, passing Archie’s lead to me as he went to help her.

  ‘Drew! Oh, thank you. You’re a gentleman,’ she said, straightening up and steadying herself on her walking stick. She must have been in her eighties and was grappling with the shopping like a champ. ‘I always buy too much. It must be the gluttony in me.’

  ‘What else is Christmas for? If you can’t treat yourself at this time of year there’s something wrong,’ Drew replied, smiling. Mrs Temple turned to me, an even brighter smile appearing.

  ‘Is this Cal?’ she asked as I offered my hand.

  ‘This is Cal,’ he replied, losing himself in me before Archie bounded forward, dragging me with him. All Mrs Temple could hear was my yelp. Drew called Archie back and he followed the command immediately. Obedient for Drew only. Much like me.

  ‘I’ve heard so much about you, dear. I got a copy of yo
ur book from Brian. Ooh-wee, the bedroom was hot last night.’

  ‘Oh. Excellent, Mrs Temple. So glad to hear it’s keeping things interesting for you,’ I replied, trying not to laugh as Drew mouthed, Jesus, and very quickly carried the bags up to her front step.

  ‘You keep writing, dear. I’m onto your second already,’ she winked.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ Drew said, taking her arm and walking her to her door in an attempt to end the conversation. We saw her safely inside and carried on walking, Drew chuckling beside me.

  ‘You’re like a one-woman sex clinic,’ he said. ‘They should be handing out your books instead of Viagra. It would save the NHS thousands.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it’s helping her relationship. Isn’t it fantastic that she still has a healthy sex life at her age?’

  ‘Mrs Temple’s husband died five years ago,’ Drew replied seriously.

  ‘Oh. Oh,’ I said as Drew grimaced, images of an eighty-year-old enjoying herself, too much to contemplate.

  We carried on walking in silence. Our smiles remaining, only getting deeper when we caught each other’s glances.

  ‘I like your pin.’ He pointed to the badge on my coat. It was a bright pink with The Book Was Better written in black.

  ‘My friend Melissa sent it. She’s an author, so we exchange book-themed gifts. It came yesterday. Just in time for Christmas.’

  ‘Books are always better,’ Drew said.

  ‘Yes, but when they make mine into a mini-series for the BBC, I’ll slide it to the back of my sock drawer.’

  ‘You have big ambitions.’

  ‘Of course! Why wouldn’t I? You should always have a dream.’

  ‘Isn’t that a Disney quote?’

  ‘Probably. Disney is the quote bomb.’

  ‘Agreed. Hakuna matata,’ he deadpanned. ‘So, how’s the book coming along?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Just good?’

  ‘Yeah.’