I put my hand on his shoulder. “Okay, the first thing you’re going to do is breathe.”
He breathed.
I took the phone from him and placed it back in the cradle. “Second thing, are you sure the number you wrote down is correct?”
The look he gave me told me, in no uncertain terms, that I should have known better than to have asked that.
“Sorry. Are you sure all these items are connected?”
He picked up the bauble ornament as though it was as precious as the Third Imperial Faberge egg. “Look at the paper,” he said.
And sure enough, inside the bauble were strips of the very same expensive paper with Merry Christmas, My Love written on every strand.
How could I see that much detail? I couldn’t. Not exactly.
So how did I know what was written on the paper?
Because I wrote it.
There was something else in there, fixed to the bottom, which he couldn’t see.
“It looks the same,” I said.
Malachi rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s the same.”
“Didn’t you say this was inventoried four years ago?”
He nodded. “It makes no sense.” He picked up the first letter and its envelope. “Unless all of them are from four years ago and were just lost somehow . . .”
“Maybe,” I offered.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Theo said. “But it’s five o’clock. Time to go. You have a great day tomorrow and I’ll see you on Boxing Day.”
“Same to you,” I said.
He took his Kris Kringle gift and waved to the others as he left, still wearing the bottom half of the donkey outfit.
“Me too,” Paul said. His smile was wide, but Malachi was too distracted to think anything of it. “Have a great Christmas.”
“You too,” I said. “Did you get your bridle and alarm clock?” Because that was a totally normal thing to ask.
He grinned and patted his satchel. “Sure did.”
“Have a great day tomorrow,” Malachi offered quietly.
He was obviously a little down. “Hey,” I said, rubbing his arm. “We can’t be late to Moni’s tonight. Unless you fancy getting yelled at, because I certainly don’t. How about you pack all this up and we can deal with it on Boxing Day.”
The truth was, even if he could find the sender or the recipient and he put it back in the mail system, they weren’t going to get it before Christmas.
He sighed and sagged, utterly defeated. “Ugh.”
But he packed it all up, scanned the items, and inventoried them properly, and closed the lid on the box. He picked it up and with perfect timing, Denise pushed a trolley out. “Here, these are yours,” she said gruffly. “I’ll file that one. You need to put these away.” She took the box he was holding and left the trolley with him. He wouldn’t argue with Denise, and even if he was game enough, she’d already disappeared down the aisle.
Malachi groaned. “Come on, I’ll help,” I said, pushing the cart to the end of the first aisle.
“I’ll help too,” Cherry said, pulling Malachi by the elbow.
Between the three of us, it took all of ten minutes, but it was enough time for Denise to hide the box in the boot of my car and return my keys to my desk.
“Merry Christmas,” Denise called out. “Loading dock is all locked up.”
“Thank you. And Merry Christmas,” I called back.
Cherry gave Malachi a hug as we were leaving. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “Hope Santa’s good to you.”
“He better be,” Malachi replied, still sullen.
“Merry Christmas, Cherry,” I said, opening Malachi’s car door. “Would Santa’s favourite ho get in the car?”
That at least earned me a smile from Malachi. Cherry gave me a thumbs-up as she walked off.
I climbed in behind the wheel and took his hand. “Cheer up, baby. It’s Christmas.”
He let his head fall back on the headrest. “Hmm.”
“Would you cheer up if I gave you one of your Christmas presents early?”
He sparked up at that. “Really?”
“After dinner, before bed,” I said. “And not the main gift. That has to wait until Santa comes.”
“Oh, believe me,” he said, smiling now. “My sexy Santa’s gonna come tonight.”
Chapter Six
Thank god Moni had been in on the whole secret. She’d listened to Malachi rant about the letters, the card, the ornament globe, how there were no clues, how none of it made sense.
She could have been a contender for an Oscar. She was wide-eyed, gasped in all the right places, acted concerned, perfectly confused about all the developments as he was, and gently changed the subject and distracted him so he never brought it up for the rest of the night.
We got home late, and I needed to bring in the box that was still in the boot without Malachi finding out. And there really was only one way to ensure he’d sleep so soundly, and that was to wear him out and leave him a boneless, sated heap on the bed.
It was hardly a chore.
Being inside him, making him moan and beg, was heaven to me. Taking him to that place where he was incoherent with pleasure, wringing his body of every ounce of bliss, having him cling to me, and the way he’d whisper my name, it felt like the reason I was put on this earth.
After he’d had enough, I took him to the shower and cleaned him up, then took him back to bed. I kissed the back of his head. “I’ll just check on Mr Bojangles,” I whispered. “Won’t be long.”
His only response was a sleepy snore.
I went downstairs, dashed out to the car, and brought the box back inside. I put it in a huge gift bag and slipped it behind the Christmas tree then put his final Christmas gift—the one I’d hidden at my parents—on the tree, nestled in with the tinsel and Malachi’s artfully arranged decorations.
This was it.
Tomorrow morning, I’d be asking him to marry me.
I let out a deep breath and couldn’t help but smile as I went back upstairs. I climbed into bed beside him and he sat up. “I was supposed to open a present tonight,” he mumbled, his hair a beautiful mess.
I laughed and pulled him back into my arms. “Go to sleep, my love. Otherwise Santa won’t come.”
Malachi snuggled into me. “He already did. The proof is in my arse.”
I snorted. Christ. “Night, Malachi.”
“Night, Santa.”
I woke up to a light tapping on my cheekbone. “Wake up, handsome. I made you coffee.”
I stretched and opened my eyes. Malachi grinned at me. “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing me a steaming cup.
I sat up and took the coffee. “Thank you. What time is it?”
“After eight. I want to cook you breakfast,” he said.
It was normally me who looked after him. “Merry Christmas to me.”
He grinned. “Come on. Then we can do presents. We need to be at your folks by eleven and you need to make that salad dressing. We’re busy, busy today.”
“Breakfast first. What are you making me?”
“Eggs and bacon and grilled tomato with toast.” He skipped happily down the stairs. “Come on, sleepyhead.”