Page 42 of The Merry Christmas Project

‘Same here.’ He pulled his hat off and raked a hand through his hair. He had very shiny hair and lots of it. There was a small tuft at the back of his crown which was now sticking up. If I hadn’t been in such a bad mood I’d be tempted to reach up and flatten it down for him. I bet his mum had had to do that every morning before school when he was a little boy. ‘I had too much red wine last night. So, my bad head is self-inflicted. Being flooded is a much more valid reason to be grumpy.’

‘I’m not bothered if you’re grumpy,’ I said, ‘I’m just glad you came so quickly.’

He shrugged. ‘No problem. Listen, I’ve got a flask of coffee in the van, how about I fetch it and then we can share it while I look at the damage ?’

‘That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I’ve only had one barely warm drink so far.’

‘Be right back.’ He smiled and little lines feathered around his eyes.

By the time I’d run my fingers through my hair and checked my tongue and teeth for mulled wine stains in the hall mirror, he was walking back from his van holding two flasks.

‘One contains hot milk,’ he explained. ‘And the other is coffee – only instant, but I decided I was going to need lots of scalding coffee to get me through today.’

‘Ditto,’ I agreed, standing aside to let him in. ‘Actually, you’re not alone with the overindulgence. I had too much red wine last night too although mine was hot and with added Christmas chemicals. Never again.’

‘Not the dreaded mulled wine ?’ He pretended to shudder. ‘Why anyone would want to ruin a good bottle of red with cinnamon, sugar and slices of orange, I do not know.’

‘Totally agree,’ I said smiling before turning to shut the door behind him.

When I looked back at him, a grin was hovering on his lips. ‘I’ve just realised. We’ve met before, haven’t we ? I recognise that smile.’

I nodded. ‘At Nell’s Nuts. You bought Brazils nuts and got accosted by my friend’s dog.’

‘How could I forget little Otto. Or that free sample of wasabi peas.’ He pulled a face. ‘Or as I now call them, devil’s food.’

I laughed. ‘They are a bit of a Marmite thing. I take it you won’t be coming back to place another order ?’

He grimaced. ‘Unlikely. I used to bite my nails as a kid and my mum painted some revolting stuff on them. But having tasted wasabi, I think she’d have been better off using that.’

He stood on the hall rug and water squelched beneath his feet. ‘Normally I’d take my boots off, but would you mind if I kept them on ?’

‘Why, do you have ugly feet ?’ I asked, deadpan.

‘I have lovely feet, just ask the farrier who normally trims my toenails.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ I said. ‘The kitchen is this way.’

I was enjoying this conversation, I thought, leading the way to the back of the house. My life might be lying around me in a squidgy smelly mess, but I liked a man who could take a joke.

‘Thanks.’ He set the flasks on the kitchen table and looked around him.

‘Shall I pour the coffee while you assess the damage ?’ I suggested.

‘Yes please.’ He shrugged his arms out of his coat and hung it on the back of one of the chairs. I intended to keep mine on ; I could feel the cold rising from the wet tiled floor and now I’d moved from the fire I was beginning to shiver again.

‘I almost didn’t recognise you without your eye-catching yellow coat,’ I said, pouring milk and coffee into two mugs. Just the sight of the steam made me feel a bit cosier.

‘Do I detect a note of sarcasm ?’ He gave me a lopsided smile and picked up one of the mugs. ‘You wouldn’t be the first detractor I’ve had of that coat. My daughter always used to run up to the lollipop man at the school crossing shouting Daddy, Daddy. Used to drive my wife bananas.’

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit me ; I rubbed a hand across my face and was surprised to find it was shaking. My shoulders sagged a little ; it was only just beginning to hit me what a mess I was in and what a lot of work there’d be just to get the cottage back to how it was yesterday. At least that was what I thought had caused my drop in mood. The fact that he was married with children had nothing to do with it.

He looked at me carefully, as if sensing my sudden deflation. ‘Are you OK ? Stupid question, sorry. Of course you’re not – you’ve got a hangover and a flooded house and a strange man poking around. Here, sit down.’

He took my shoulders and was about to sit me down at the kitchen table but changed his mind. Instead he led me into the living room. I sank onto the sofa gratefully while he fetched our mugs and slipped his boots off, leaving them in the hall.

‘I’m Cole, by the way.’ He extended a hand which I shook. ‘In case you’d forgotten, and from memory, you are Merry, is that right ?’

‘Correct,’ I replied with a weary sigh.