Page 2 of The Christmas Letter

Holly scowled and opened her mouth to snap back, an automatic response, but felt a light hand on her arm. She glanced at Lily, who was giving her a look. A look she’d seen many times before.

Holly forced herself to take a calming breath. Lily was right. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said gruffly. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ Her words were stiff and awkward.

‘Clearly,’ he muttered.

Though her temper flared and the words Well, I said I was sorry! were trying to fight their way out, she could still feel Lily watching her. So she made herself look up to meet the man’s gaze instead. Which was a mistake, because his brown eyes – like black coffee, she thought, though maybe that comparison was because of where they were – were impossible to look away from. They had a slightly unreadable quality, unlike hers, which she’d been told time and time again always gave all her emotions away.

Right now, his jaw was held tightly, as if he, too, was biting back words he wanted to snap at her. And as he reached up to run a hand through his hair – dark brown curls that set off the rest of his features – she noticed that his white shirt was stained with coffee. Oops.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I really am sorry. I got distracted.’ She waved a hand to the painting she’d been looking at and his expression softened.

‘I like that one too. It makes me think of . . . life.’ He made a face, like he thought that sounded stupid, and opened his mouth as if to say something else, but Holly cut him off.

‘That’s exactly right. It’s so vibrant.’ She gave a helpless little shrug, feeling Lily’s stare burning into her back. ‘I couldn’t look away and . . .’ She gestured to encompass both him and the coffee now spilled on the floor.

‘They’re for sale, you know. The paintings.’ He waved a hand around the café – which was buzzing, she realised belatedly – and noticed more paintings hanging on the walls. She doubted she could ever afford any of them. But still, a coffee shop that doubled as a gallery – that was pretty cool.

Next to Holly, Lily cleared her throat. ‘I’ll get us some drinks, shall I?’

‘No,’ Holly said, ‘you sit. I’ll get them.’

Lily scrunched up her face. ‘I told you, I’m not a—’

‘Sit,’ Holly repeated firmly, and Lily sighed, going to perch on the nearest empty table – of which there weren’t many. There were tiny little Christmas trees on each of the tables, Holly saw now, each with a wooden star on top. Cute.

‘She’s not a what, exactly?’ asked the man.

‘An invalid.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s good to know, I suppose.’

‘Look,’ Holly said, over the sound of Last Christmas. ‘Let me buy you another coffee.’ She glanced down at the mess on the floor. ‘Or another two, I should say. As for your shirt . . .’ She wrinkled her nose again as she looked at it. ‘This is the one and only time I wish I was one of those girls who had cleaning supplies tucked into her handbag or knowledge of some kind of secret stain remover, but I have neither of those things, so in all honesty I think all hope might be lost for the shirt.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry.’

He laughed, and the sound was open, those deep brown eyes warming so that their depths weren’t quite so unreadable. ‘That’s ok, I have another one hanging up in the car.’

‘You carry a spare shirt in the car?’

‘Well, I was right to, wasn’t I?’

She couldn’t imagine ever packing a spare of something, just in case – it required a level of organisation she wasn’t capable of. She wasn’t convinced she even had enough clean underwear for the Christmas mini-break – she had thrown pants in at random while shouting downstairs to Lily that she was coming.

She wondered what was so important that he had thought to come prepared with a spare shirt – a wedding, maybe? His wedding? No, surely not – if it was his wedding, he wouldn’t be standing here with her; he’d be all flustered and running off to get to the church on time. He did have two coffees, though. Off to meet someone? It shouldn’t bother her. She didn’t even know his name, for God’s sake: what right did she have to care if he was off on a date.

He picked up his briefcase and they headed to the counter together, where the woman serving was surprisingly calm and friendly, given how busy it was. Was this what life was like in the countryside? No London barista had ever beamed at Holly like that before.

‘What can I get you?’ She tucked a strand of her honey-blonde bob behind her ears, showing off sparkly earrings.

‘Ahh . . .’ Holly glanced at the man.

‘A black Americano and an oat milk latte, please.’

The woman looked at Holly expectantly. ‘And, umm . . .’ She caught sight of the specials. ‘A cinnamon spiced latte and a mint tea.’ Not that she saw the point in paying for mint tea, but Lily was drinking it by the bucketload these days, refusing to even drink decaf coffee in case it was bad for the baby.

Holly glanced at the man. At five foot ten she considered herself pretty tall, but she felt small next to him. It wasn’t just his height – it was the way he was standing there all broad-chested in his black suit jacket, confidence somehow radiating from him. ‘Um, can I get you a cake or something too? To make up for almost knocking you over?’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I want to.’