Page 101 of The Secret Holiday Kiss

‘You love me. Fucking hell, Daisy.’ He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her off the floor, and kissed her. He tasted of mint and smelt of the sea, and his stubble scraped deliciously against her skin. Daisy was vaguely aware of someone plucking her chip cone out of her hand, was slightly conscious of people whooping and cheering, but she focused on the fact that she could press her palms against Avery’s cheeks while she kissed him, safe in the knowledge that it wasn’t a one last time, a one final kiss, a temporary thing. She didn’t have to remember how it felt, because she could do it whenever she wanted. Nothing about this was secret or just for the holidays any more. This, here, was her everything.

She heard a familiar pop, and for the second time in only a few days, they were covered in paper snowflakes, shot from a confetti cannon.

‘Daisy.’ He lowered her down, just as the musicians launched into ‘All I Want for Christmas’.

‘Yes, Avery?’ She was breathless, grinning up at him, the room around them twinkling.

‘You are the very best prince,’ he said with a laugh.

She went on tiptoes and kissed him on the nose. ‘And you make the most beautiful Cinderella.’

He glanced down, and she followed his gaze, to the bottoms of his suit trousers.

‘Oh my God, Avery!’ She laughed and looked up at him, feeling giddy and overwhelmed.

He shrugged. ‘They sort of go, don’t they?’ He was in his builder’s boots. ‘I got the whole smart, ball-worthy suit thing down, but I managed to forget about the shoes.’

‘You don’t have any dress shoes?’

‘Hey,’ he said, mock hurt, ‘you said we could wear anything to this ball. You’re lucky I’m not in only my jeans and a toolbelt.’

‘Would we call that lucky?’ she mused.

‘And most of my stuff is still in Norwich. Not for much longer, though. Once I’ve checked in with May, of course.’

‘Look at the two of us, moving back in with our siblings in our forties.’ She took his hand and he squeezed hers, then held on tightly, as if he didn’t ever want to let go.

‘They’re lucky, too,’ he said with a lopsided smile. ‘You’re really staying? Really opening the bookshop again?’

‘That’s still a secret,’ she told him. ‘Harry has to tell Sophie, and there’s going to be a whole lot to work out. I need to sell my flat, I need to …’ She shook her head. ‘Do so many things. It’s going to be a very long to-do list.’

‘But your most organized yet, I’ll bet.’

‘My most organized,’ she agreed. ‘And it means I can manage Mary and Winnie’s interior design myself.’ She bit her lip. ‘If you’re OK with that?’

Avery laughed. ‘OK with it? Daisy, I would let you finish building their house if it meant you were staying. I’m not going to get precious about a little bit of interior design. Also, there are stairs, now. I’m ready to show you the upper floor.’

‘Finally. I thought you were holding out on me.’

He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t be sure you weren’t a spy.’

‘And now?’

‘I don’t care if you’re a spy, as long as you’re my spy.’

‘I am.’ She felt the tears threaten again. ‘You’re everything, Avery.’

‘In that case, can I have at least three slots on your dance card?’

She held it out to him. ‘You can have all the slots.’

But he didn’t take her dance card, he just pulled her into the middle of the room, where a few couples had started to dance, twirling together or in tight, slow-moving clinches, Jazz and Omari gazing at each other with stars in their eyes.

Avery swayed in time to the music, and Daisy let him lead her around the room, with the twinkling Christmas tree and the glowing model of Mistingham, their friends and fellow villagers eating and drinking, talking and laughing. Sophie and Harry were dancing, Dexter had Imogen in a close hold, and Lucy – of course – had either gone to get Felix, or he had decided that he wasn’t going to miss out, and come inside of his own accord. He was standing at the edge of the room, nibbling the sash of Lucy’s pink dress, wearing a purple jumper with silver thread running through it.

‘Felix is here,’ Daisy murmured, as Avery brushed his lips against her jaw.

‘It’s not a proper Christmas ball without the guest of honour.’