Page 26 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

‘Of course. Why have an ordinary poinsettia when you can have a sparkly poinsettia?’ I turn around as I set the ladder down and make a gesture for him to back up. He’s wearing one of his work suits, his hair is parted and swept sideways, and he’s carrying his serious briefcase. If he gets too near, his suit will be sparkling for weeks. ‘They’re not all staying here, but they’re finishing touches for after everything else has gone up. I got some terracotta pots for them that the kids can decorate at the weekend, so in the meantime, they can enjoy lots of light from these lovely windows. I’ve already been responsible for the death of one gifted poinsettia this year, I won’t have any more on my conscience.’

‘The kids are decorating the pots?’

‘Ollie, there is nothing in this house that suggests we have children. People with kids have… toys. Artwork. Crafts. A general mess and slight air of staining and hysteria.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got that part covered.’

I laugh, but it’s something I’ve realised over the past couple of days. Mira is constantly picking up after Rocco. His fingerpainted watercolours from school adorn the front of their fridge. There are crayon marks on her favourite wallpaper and toys everywhere. ‘When Maisie and Rory come this weekend, we need to make some ornaments for the trees. Draw some pictures. Paint plant pots for our poinsettia army. Get some stains on our clothes. Anything that makes it look like children actually live here.’

‘Personally, I’m all for wearing your fake husband’s hoodies all the time.’ He reaches out and tugs the hem of the light blue hoodie I’m wearing today that’s got the thickest lining I’ve ever felt.

‘Me too. Thank you for this. I’ve never worn anything comfier.’

‘And I’ve never seen my clothes look better.’

I blush, and so does he. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m going to shower and leave you and your fifty-three poinsettias to it before I say something else I shouldn’t. Dinner in a minute?’

‘There’s nowhere near fifty-three,’ I call after him to distract myself from the fact that eating Nancy’s soup of the day with Ollie has become one of my favourite parts of every day, and it has very little to do with how good the food is.

* * *

Later that evening, I’ve cleaned the furthest reaches of the dining hall and organised everything I bought today ready for the deliveries that should be arriving tomorrow, and showered and changed into my pyjamas.

My body aches in the satisfied way of doing a lot. You get used to bumps and bruises because installing windows is like working in a hot, cramped, waterless fishtank, but it’s been a while since I felt the burn of muscles well-used for a job that felt worthwhile, and I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed that.

I haven’t seen Ollie since we had dinner together earlier, and I take the socks I bought for him today and go downstairs, intending to leave them on the kitchen table where he’ll find them and make myself a cup of tea, but as I walk through the entrance hall and pass the door to his little living room, it opens and he pops his head out.

‘I heard jingling and hoped you might be coming in here.’ He opens the door all the way and blinks in surprise when he catches full sight of me. ‘Now those are Christmas pyjamas.’

‘Don’t knock ’em ’til you’ve tried ’em.’

His eyes run up and down me in a way that would probably be sexy if I wasn’t wearing the least sexy pair of pyjamas imaginable, with red flannelette trousers covered in gingerbread men and a long-sleeve top with a huge gingerbread house motif on the front. ‘I doubt they’d fit me, but I wasn’t knocking them. I was merely suggesting that I wish I owned pyjamas that festive. Are your socks jingling?’

‘Before you comment on them, you should know that I got you something today.’

‘You did not.’ He inclines his head, inviting me in. ‘You didn’t have to get me anything.’

The fire is crackling in the hearth and it looks like he was curled up on the sofa because there’s an empty corner with a tartan blanket beside it like he’s just thrown it off, the TV is on pause, and there’s a cushion on the coffee table where his feet were up.

He tears into the giftbag I hand him and pulls out the handknitted elf socks, which are red and white striped with a green zigzag band around the top with tiny golden jingle bells sewn all around it, and the smile on his face gets wider and wider.

‘As soon as you walked in, I wanted to ask if they came in a bigger size. These are unbelievable. Thank you so much.’

He perches on the sofa arm and pulls them on over his normal socks and tucks his trouser legs into them so they come up to mid-calf, wiggles his feet around to jingle the bells, and then stands up and comes over to give me a hug.

It’s an awkward, one-armed hug because he’s still holding the giftbag in his other hand, and I feel like I need to stand on a box with the height difference, but he leans down and I lean up and slide my free arm around his neck too, and inhale the scent of shampoo while appreciating the slightest scratch of his end-of-day stubble against my skin as his voice murmurs another thank you directly into my ear. ‘You’re the best fake wife I’ve ever had.’

It makes heat rush through me because there has surely never been a man with a sexier, more rumbly voice in existence, and it’s impossible not to have a physical reaction to it, especially given that I can feel the movement of his lips and his breath stirs my hair when he speaks, and hugging him, even a one-armed partial hug, lets my imagination run wild about how good he’d be at giving proper hugs.

His hand on my upper back is melting through my pyjama top, and he lingers longer than strictly necessary. My fingers curl into the hood of his navy ombre hoodie and squeeze, because until this moment, I hadn’t realised how long it had been since anyone hugged me… Since I felt like anyone wanted to hug me.

‘Same,’ I murmur, even though it doesn’t make sense and he laughs and squeezes me again before pulling back.

We blink at each other in the low light of the room for a moment, because that was unexpectedly intense for a half-hug, and I finally come to my senses. ‘What were you up to?’

He waves a hand towards the spot where he was sitting. ‘Tomorrow’s a Glasgow commute day. I was just looking for something festive on TV to chill out before having an early night. You?’

‘I don’t know. I was going to make a cuppa and find a fire and a good book. It’s been a long day and the lights for the garlands aren’t arriving until tomorr⁠—’