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Erin carried the tray through to the dining area and gasped with delight because her dad had turned the tree lights on and they twinkled in the gloom of the winter’s afternoon, reflecting in the glass of the bifold doors.
‘Here you go.’ Erin set the tray on the table then handed out napkins.
‘That smells delicious,’ her dad said as he accepted a mug and took a sip. ‘And it tastes even better than it smells.’
‘Glad you like it,’ Erin replied.
‘Mmmm. Yum!’ Her mum smiled at her over the top of her mug.
Erin pulled out a chair and sat down and Zara sat next to her then they clinked their mugs together.
‘Did I ever tell you the story about the first time your dad and I went Christmas tree shopping?’ their mum asked with a fond glance at their dad.
As she began reciting the familiar words, Erin sat back and relaxed. She’d heard the story every year for as long as she could remember and enjoyed it every single time. Their parents had been newly married and spending their first Christmas in their new home. They’d gone to get a tree but money had been tight and so they’d picked out a small tree. They’d decorated it and her mum had thought it was very pretty but her dad hadn’t seemed particularly impressed. They’d gone to bed and fallen asleep, or at least their mum had. When she’d woken the next day, the house had been filled with trees. Their dad had decided that his wife needed a Christmas to remember, so he’d gone out and got more trees then brought them home and decorated them. It was such a romantic story and Erin doubted she’d ever meet a man who’d care enough to do something that lovely for her.
Things like that only happened when you foundthe one,and so far, Erin hadn’t foundaone who had decent morals, let alone one who’d care enough to go out of his way to make her happy.
Still, she had her family and that was all she needed. Romance just wasn’t for her, it seemed, and she was fine with that.
Chapter7
Leo
‘One… Two… Three!’
Leo watched as some of his colleagues threw back tequila shots then slammed their glasses on the bar.
‘Come on, Leo! Catch up!’ Gillian Moorcroft gestured at his glass. ‘You’re being such a stick in the mud.’ She pouted at him, her smudged lipstick making her look like she’d drunk a glass of blackcurrant juice and forgotten to wipe her mouth. When she fluttered her eyelashes, he realised with a flash of horror that she was trying to flirt with him. He picked up his glass and downed it then set it carefully down on the bar.
‘There!’ he said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise in the club.
‘Well done,’ she said, sliding off her barstool. For a moment, he worried that she was going to come towards him with the mistletoe sprig he could see in her hand but as soon as her heels touched the wooden floor of the bar, she lost her balance and disappeared behind him. He turned around on the stool and gasped because poor Gillian was in a heap on the floor. He eased himself off his stool and crouched next to her.
‘Gillian? You OK?’ he asked as he helped her to sit up.
‘I’m fine…’ She grinned at him then the grin turned into a grimace. Her cheeks bulged and her eyes watered then her mouth opened and a torrent of tequila shot out. Leo moved sideways, avoiding the tequila, but another colleague who’d come to check on Gillian wasn’t so lucky. He looked down at his shirt in horror and Gillian burped then giggled. ‘Oops!’
Leo helped Gillian to her feet and onto her stool then he asked the bartender for a glass of water that he gave to Gillian.
‘I think we’d better get you a taxi home,’ he said.
‘Are you mad? It’s Christmas, Leo, and I’m out to have some fun.’ Gillian raised her eyebrows at him. ‘I’ll be fine to keep going.’
‘I don’t know if that’s wise,’ he said, peering at their colleague who was trying to sponge the tequila from his shirt.
‘Leo, I’ll be fine. I just had a touch of wind there.’ Gillian rubbed at her stomach then drank some more water. ‘Some more tequila will burn a hole in it.’
Leo shrugged. He could offer some advice, but he wasn’t about to start patronising his colleagues. Gillian was a grown woman, and it was up to her what she did.
‘Excuse me, Gillian,’ he said, ‘I have to speak to someone.’
He grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door to the street. He was almost there when an arm stopped him and he staggered backwards.
‘Where are you going?’ It was Paul and he was frowning, his cheeks red, his forehead beaded with sweat.
‘I need some air,’ Leo said.
‘Yeah, yeah! Bet you’re running away early.’ Paul was clearly quite drunk. He had gold tinsel wrapped around his neck and was wearing a red Santa hat with a giant fluffy white pompom at the end.
