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‘Do you fancy helping with the food today? I know it’s technically your day off, but…’
‘Oui!I mean yes. I’d love to,’ I said, relieved to have something to keep me busy.
‘It’s just us for breakfast,’ he said, ‘and I like to do Eggs Benedict with muffins on Christmas Day – sound good?’
I nodded. ‘Have they got a Christmassy twist?’
‘Not really, but I can add a sprig of holly to your plate if you like?’
‘Er… no thanks, I’ve got enough Holly going on,’ I replied.
Xavier was the perfect combination of solid and manly, with his bed head and morning stubble, and soft and festive in his cute pyjamas and green elf socks. His wife was missing an absolute treat. I’d worn my traditional reindeer onesie to make me feel more at home. Dad had bought the matching set a few years back: Mummy, Daddy and Rudolph for me. Snuggling into it on Christmas Eve always signalled the start of the festivities. Xavier launched into action as soon as we got to the kitchen, wrestling the turkey out of the fridge and unwrapping it to rest at room temperature, then going back for the ham for breakfast and filling a pan with water to poach our eggs.
‘Plan du Loupeggs I presume?’
‘They’re the best!’ he replied, with a smile.
I put a Christmas playlist on Spotify, and Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ kicked in.
‘Is this the sort of thing you listen to at home?’ I asked.
‘Oui, but in French.’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ I said, turning it up. ‘It feels so strange not to be at home for Christmas morning. This is the first time I’ve ever been away. It must be even weirder for you, to not wake up with your wife?’
‘Oui, but the restaurant is fully booked in Paris, so it’s how it must be this year.’
‘Have you FaceTimed?’ I asked.
‘We’ve had a few messages this morning.’
‘A few messages? Bloody hell, Xavier, don’t overdo it on the romance, will you?’
‘Don’t worry.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll call her later and we’ll see each other on New Year’s Eve.’
Oh God. Another bloody single milestone to drag myself through. I’d have to knock myself out with some brandy and try and sleep through it.
The muffins popped out of the toaster and Xavier buttered them generously, adding the eggs and the ham, then going back to vigorously whisk the hollandaise sauce before pouring out two generous portions. I was mesmerised by his breakfast dance, slowly moving from one thing to the next as he brought everything together.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, jolting me from my daydream.
‘Yes please, but I’ll make it,’ I said jumping up to help.
‘Non, non, relax,’ he said. ‘Eat it while it’s hot.’ He put the two breakfast plates on the table, poured us both an orange juice and filled the cafetière before sitting down to join me.
‘This is quite the Christmas treat,Monsieur Lavedrine,’ I said. ‘Merci beaucoup.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ he said, with a big smile. ‘Here’s to a Holly jolly Christmas!’
My eggs were perfectly cooked, bright-orange and runny, with thin, crispy ham covered in rich hollandaise sauce. The ham had the salty tastiness of gammon, contrasting perfectly with the eggs and buttery muffin. It was the definition of food porn.
‘This is exactly what I need. Can’t I just eat this and go back to bed? What better way to celebrate Christmas than with a delicious breakfast followed by a film in bed and a bottle of Baileys?’
‘Sounds good,’ Xavier said, as if it were an invitation, ‘but we have guests, remember?’
‘I don’t mean together, obviously,’ I said, blushing to make it obviously, obvious.
‘Obviously,’ Xavier replied with a Christmas twinkle in his eyes.
