Sophie's Encore (31 page)

I giggled. “It certainly was.”

“At least you can’t fob me off with that virgin excuse again.” Once again, Dan spoke lightly, but there was a probing undertone.

“Um…no.” Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge. I didn’t exactly know I would do so, but the words came out before I could stop them. “And I don’t know how long the widow excuse will stand up, now.”

There. I had said it. Not one but two raised eyebrows met this comment, and the look on Dan’s face was priceless. After a small eternity, he cleared his voice. “Well…uh.
Hrgg
. Maybe…maybe we’ve…uh…pushed the limits far enough tonight, don’t you think?”

He rose abruptly and busied himself with collecting plates. “I’ll just take those through to the kitchen, and we should probably take care of the breakage, too.”

I fell to my knees, starting to pick up broken bits of plate.

“Don’t!” Dan’s voice made me jump. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you…er…inflicting injury on yourself. I’m going to get the dustpan and brush and…”

“Well, now
that
reminds me of something else as well,” I chortled, and the awkward atmosphere finally passed.

“Oh, yes. The champagne glasses at that wedding.” Dan laughed, too. “Well, then you’ll remember I’m good with a dustpan and brush. You carry those other plates into the kitchen, and I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, sir.” I gave a mock salute and clicked my heels together, earning myself a leftover piece of quiche flung accurately at my face.

“You deserved that,” Dan justified, fleeing into the kitchen before I could take aim with a soggy napkin.

Chapter Forty-Six

“
Mummy!
Mummy-mummy-mummy!” Both my children’s voices penetrated my consciousness, and I stole a quick glance at the alarm clock at my brand new princess bedside table. Six thirty a.m. Not bad for Christmas morning.

“
Dan!
” My offspring were demanding the attention of the other adult in the house, too. “Dan, Dan-Dan-Dan! Mummy, Dan, look what happened!”

There was a faint voice of hysteria in the kids’ voices, and I suddenly realized that they weren’t even coming from downstairs, which is where I thought they would be. I jumped out of bed, clutching my sore head to steady my vision, grabbed my dressing gown, and raced the few steps down the hallway to the children’s bedroom, nearly colliding with Dan who looked to be in the same state.

After we had finished tidying up the previous night, Dan had opened another bottle and we joyfully arranged the children’s presents under the Christmas tree, some from me, but some also, I had been touched to note, from Dan. In fact, his presents seemed larger than mine! Mission accomplished, we had snuggled up on the sofa and watched a Christmas movie together, and it was quite late by the time we finally went up to our respective beds.

We exchanged a glance and Dan pushed open the door. Josh and Emily were bouncing on their beds, clutching a stocking each, and wearing the biggest smiles imaginable.

“Santa bringed stockings…” Emily waved a rather large and bulky-looking stocking about. She could barely lift it in her little hands.

Dan nudged me in the side to stop me from saying something stupid.

“That was awfully good of Santa,” he said for my benefit, and I wanted to hug him. Fancy him remembering what the kids’ negligent mother had forgotten!

“And Santa brought us a whole new bedroom,” Josh enthused. “Look, new beds and everything. Isn’t it cool? Can we just live here now?”

Dan sat down on Emily’s bed and pulled the children onto his lap. “Actually,” he said, “you might not have noticed it last night, but it wasn’t Santa who brought your new bedroom. That’s a little out of his remit.”

“His what?” Josh was quick to pounce on the unfamiliar word.

I leaned against the doorjamb and folded my arms across my chest, curious to see how Dan would handle the situation.

“His…er… responsibilities. It’s not exactly what Santa does, but he did bring the stockings. Look.”

“Who did the room?” Josh persisted.

Dan shifted uncomfortably. “I did. Well, I had it done, for you, because I wanted you to have a nice bedroom here.”

“It’s nice, much better than our room at home,” Josh supplied, keen to please Dan and utterly unaware about the dagger he was driving through my heart. I cringed.

“Now, I think you have a fabulous bedroom at home, and this is just your away bedroom for…when you stay here. Which isn’t all the time, ‘cause your home is…at home.” He threw me an apologetic glance for the lame finish, then resorted to diversionary tactics. He had learned from the best—me!

“Don’t you want to have a look in your stockings? And… do you reckon perhaps Father Christmas might have left something downstairs?”

Well done, that man
. With great whoops of joy, the kids swooped downstairs, clutching their unopened stockings, to see whether Santa had visited. And of course, he had.

“How’d you manage to light the candles before we got down here?” I whispered to Dan while the kids enthused about the pretty tree with the stack of presents underneath.

“I set my alarm for six,” Dan whispered back. “You said they’d be up!”

I grinned. “Thank you. This is magical!”

“You’re quite welcome.” He smiled back, his eyes dancing. “Merry Christmas.”

“And Merry Christmas to you, too,” I added.

We let the children unwrap their presents before breakfast. There really was no stopping them, but we made them take their time and look at one present in turn. I had knitted Dan a long stripy scarf, and Dan surprised me by giving me a lovely scarf-hat-and-gloves combo from my favorite shop.

“Great minds,” he chortled as he wrapped his scarf around his neck, and I giggled, too. I was relieved that Dan’s gift was a small and innocent one. I had been worried that he might do his usual over-the-top all-out treat-Sophie routine, and I would have felt uncomfortable with that, especially given all he had already done for us. But he had read my mind and kept it simple. For that reason alone, I felt a little tearful and desperately in need of a hug, but I put on my hat and scarf instead and gave a little bow.

“Now all we need is some snow to try out our new winter attire and it’ll be perfect,” I joked.

Dan jumped up with alacrity. “We haven’t even pulled the curtains yet,” he exclaimed and rectified the matter as he spoke. I sucked in my breath, feeling my heart soar. Before he could even tell me, I knew from the bright quality of the light that spilled into the room that it had, in fact, snowed overnight.

“Oh my God!” I squealed and joined him at the window.

It hadn’t just snowed the normal light London dusting of tiny flakes. It had snowed good and proper, and everything was white. In fact, more of the heavenly stuff was still falling, and it was quite magical. Alerted by my apparent joy, the kids joined us at the window, and, for a moment, all four of us contemplated the winter wonderland outside Dan’s window.

“This is, like, the best Christmas
ever
,” Josh declared.

“Snow, snow, snow,” Emily sang, taking quite after her mother in her love for the elusive white stuff.

“Can we go sledging?” Josh begged, tugging at Dan’s pajama sleeve.

“Of course, little man,” Dan agreed. “But how’s about some breakfast first? And I suppose we better get dressed, too. It looks quite cold out there!”

And so it was, after a scrumptious and quite leisurely breakfast, we togged up, all four of us—Dan and I sporting our respective Christmas gifts—and went out in the snow. By some small miracle, Dan discovered an ancient wooden sledge in his attic, and we took turns pulling the children on the snowy pavement on our way to Clapham Common in search of the tiniest remnant of a hill or a slope that might be suitable for sledging. After an hour’s energetic sledging, we returned to Dan’s house and built a snowman in the garden. Quite suddenly, Dan remembered that he had forgotten to put the turkey in the oven and dashed inside frantically. I gave the kids firm instructions to play nicely and followed him inside.

In the kitchen, Dan was wrestling the turkey into the oven. “Fit, damn it, or I will make you,” he admonished the obstinate bird.

I giggled. “It’ll never cook,” I offered, somewhat unhelpfully, but Dan wasn’t perturbed.

“It doesn’t have to cook,” he replied. “It’s already cooked. It just needs to heat through again.”

I cast a look at the kitchen clock. “It’s nearly midday. When will we be able to eat?”

“Oh, about two o’clock, I should think,” Dan declared. “Enough time to warm up, play a few games, and have some mulled wine.”

“What about the veg? You know, potatoes, sprouts, that kind of thing? Do you need me to get peeling?”

“It’s all taken care of,” Dan reiterated. “All the trimmings will go in the other oven about half an hour before we eat. Easy.” He wiped his hands at his apron and gave the oven door an energetic shove. “There. Done.”

And so it was. A catered and already-prepared Christmas dinner was a real revelation. I marveled when Dan opened trays of sprouts with pancetta, crispy-looking roast potatoes cooked in goose fat, little cocktail sausages, baby carrots and peas smothered in garlic oil, Yorkshire puddings, and, of course, gravy and cranberry sauce. The bird, when it came out of the oven, looked and smelled fantastic, and the children um’d and ah’d. Miraculously, they ate too, tucking into a little bit of everything except for sprouts.

Dan observed our mini gourmets with wry amusement. “They’re doing well,” he whispered sotto voce, lest he break the spell.

“I think it must be all that cold, fresh air and vigorous exercise,” I replied, equally softly. “Note to self—wear little monsters out before feeding them big feast!”

After lunch, Josh and Emily went back outside for half an hour to add to their family of snowmen, then came inside to watch “The Snowman” on the telly.

“I haven’t watched this in
years
,” Dan enthused. “I’d forgotten all about it, in fact.”

“Ah, well, Christmas with kids, it brings back all those memories. I give you ten minutes before you’re on the floor with Josh building his Lego police station.”

“What a brilliant idea!” Dan dropped to the floor and tickled Josh. “Hey, young man, shall we take a look at that Lego of yours?”

So the boys did boy things and us girls played with Emily’s new dolls and doll house, and the afternoon passed in a contented, warm haze. I was glad we were there, with Dan, the children’s godfather. We hadn’t had a Christmas like this before, ever. It was as close to perfect as I could imagine it being, all things considered.

Chapter Forty-Seven

“Merry Christmas,” Dan toasted once again after we had put the children to bed and re-lit the fire in the lounge. “Thank you for a wonderful day.”

“And thank you, too,” I responded, hearing the emotion in my own voice. “It was fabulous. We had such a great time. It was…perfect.” I swallowed the ‘nearly’ before it could come out.

“You look radiant,” my rock star commented. “I haven’t seen you looking like this for a long time.”

Trying to hide my embarrassment at this unexpected compliment, I took a large sip of wine to buy myself some time.

“Thank you,” I eventually offered. “I
feel
good. It was almost magical, you know, with the snow and the candles and the kids so happy.”

“Only almost?” Dan teased.

“Well…uh…it sounds so weird saying something was magical. Soppy, you know.” I tried and failed to explain my feelings.

“Soppy?” Dan smiled widely. “This is getting better and better. Why soppy?”

“Not soppy,” I corrected. “Because, you know, I stayed rational. Adult.”

Dan waggled his head from side to side. “Yeah. Indeed. You’ve still got those feelings of yours in a stranglehold.”

I set my glass down on the coffee table with more care than was warranted and turned to face him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of a response, Dan, too, placed his wine glass on the table, then lunged and tickled me. “I watched you, Sophie Jones. You very nearly let yourself have a perfect day today. I wish you’d just let go!”

He caught the soft spot on the right side of my back, and I giggled helplessly as he dug his index finger in deeper.

“That’s better,” he commented, mercilessly persisting with his tickling.

I was flailing wildly, and my hand caught hold of a sofa cushion. I grabbed it eagerly and used it to bash Dan on the head.

“Oi! Wench! Right, you want a fight…” Dan snorted with laughter as he, too, got hold of the nearest cushion and started hitting back. We got to our feet and circled the coffee table, feigning here and there like sword fighters. Suddenly, Dan took a flying leap and hop-stepped over the table, tackling me to the floor and pinning my hands above my head in one swift motion.

“Do you surrender?”

“Never surrender,
never
give up,” I panted, straining to breathe as Dan lay atop me. He mock-roared.

“Actually, that wasn’t right, I meant to say—”

I never got an opportunity to correct myself as Dan pressed his lips onto mine. Skin connected with skin, warmth flooding warmth, and his tongue caressed my mouth until I yielded and let our tongues dance together. A corner of my mind rapidly went over the spatial arrangements in the house. The kids were in their room upstairs, passed out with exhaustion from the day, and their door firmly closed for once. The lounge door was closed, too. We were on the rug in front of the fireplace—handy how
that
had happened—and the sofas probably shielded us from immediate view, in case anyone
should
enter the lounge. Short of locking ourselves in, we were as safe as we could be in a house with two young children. Finally, I gave myself up, in every sense of the word.

Dan ran his hands through my hair and down the side of my face, raising himself onto his elbows and planting light kisses all over my cheeks. His eyes were wide and mellow, and they shone with that very special light that I had seen only a few times before, a long time ago. Without speaking, he tugged at my jumper and pushed it up to reveal a dainty, lacy bra. He raised his eyebrows in appreciation.