“’Fraid not, sorry.”
If it was anyone else, I’d have point blank refused to go, but I knew it would devastate Celia and I just couldn’t do that to her. After shuffling awkwardly, banging my head twice, and losing my shoe, I managed to get into the car in a position that would guarantee I’d get a cramp after five minutes. “I hope I manage to get out without you having to saw off my leg or something.”
Celia laughed, and a ribbon of warmth chased up my spine. As she pulled out of the space in front of the Manor, I tried to place what was different about her this evening. I’d not seen her white woolen hat before. It was less overtly Christmassy than her usual attire, with subtle blue snowflakes bordering the headband. “I can’t tell where your hair stops and the hat starts.”
“It’s my disguise. People always notice my hair. It’s so long and . . . you know, almost white, so I’ve put it under the hat so people don’t see it and immediately know it’s me.”
“I’m glad I brought my moustache and bowler hat.”
“Oh and I have some camo-paint. If you don’t think it’s too much?”
I shot her a glance to see if she was serious, but the grin she was holding in exploded across her face, giving her away.
“Is it bad that I’m a little bit excited to be pretending to be someone else for the night?” she asked. “Should we rehearse our personas? In case we get asked questions.”
Her enthusiasm wasn’t limited to Christmas apparently. “I’m not sure they’re going to put a bag over our heads, haul us to the nearest police station, and start interrogating us, but if it’s going to distract me from the cramp crawling up the entire left side of my body, let’s rehearse.”
She paused at a Give Way sign and turned right. I didn’t see any signs to Snowsville but no doubt she knew where she was going. “So I was thinking we’re newlyweds. We’re having a mini-moon in the Cotswolds because we’re saving for a deposit for a house in . . . Manchester.”
Newlyweds? That was an interesting choice.
“I’m not sure either of us can pull off a Mancunian accent. I know I can’t.”
“Sebastian!” she said, her tone chastising. “You should believe in your-elf.” She grinned and then fell silent for a couple of beats. “You’re right. Oxford, then. Then being in this neck of the woods makes sense—we’re staying close to home.”
“Did we get married in Oxford?” I asked, curious as to how much thought she’d put into our cover.
“Yes. A small church in my parents’ village of Wheatley. Close friends and family only.”
“And what is it I do for a living?”
“You’re a salesman—nope, you’re a civil servant. I work as a teaching assistant but I’d really like to train to be a teacher, though I’m not sure it’s worth it when we want kids as soon as possible. I probably won’t want to go back to work for a while afterward.”
“Kids?” Newlyweds meant lots of sex and I could heartily sign up to that idea with Celia. But kids?
“We’re going to aim for three but will feel blessed with just one. I’m from a family of five so—”
“Are you really?” I asked, intrigued. Having been an only child, I always wondered what it would be like to feel you had someone by your side, even when your parents let you down. I’d always had Granny but because she didn’t live with us, she wasn’t always around.
“Nope. A baby brother came along when I was fourteen. I’d have liked a sibling more my own age. Neil was only four when I left for university. We’ve never really done that thing where you make forts under the dining room table, lie for each other, or plan to run away to escape the parents from hell. You know what I mean?”
Better than she could imagine.
“But you and I want three kids,” she continued and I laughed. “We love the idea of a house filled with noise at any point of the day.”
I couldn’t think of anything worse, but this was just pretend so I was prepared to play along. “Are we actively trying to get pregnant at the moment. Like, should we practice?”
Her eyes went wide and a pink bloom crept up her cheeks. “I’m not sure anyone would need to know about our sex life.”
I chuckled, enjoying the thought that she might be thinking what it might be like. “Where did we meet?” I asked.
“I was working a second job in a coffee bar and you were a regular customer who’d come in every lunchtime. Obviously, I had a crush on you.”
“Obviously?”
She shrugged and her cheeks burned red and I couldn’t help but enjoy it.
“Did I obviously have a crush on you too?”
She tried to bite back a smile. “Not at first. I was just some girl behind the counter taking your coffee order. But I started writing you jokes and poems on your cup. It got your attention.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I was obviously won over by your excellent puns.”
“Exactly!”
I was amused by her certainty. “Did I ask you out?”
She pushed her lips into a circle. “Would pretend-you have asked me out? You’re a civil servant . . . A man who doesn’t notice . . . Nope, you didn’t ask me. One time you came in, I was at one of the tables. You sat down next to me. We got talking—our first date was almost accidental. And then you asked me.”
Pretend-me didn’t sound a lot like the real me. I did little by accident and if I wanted something, I wasn’t afraid to ask. “I’m not sure I like pretend-me.”
“You’re sweet.” She glanced at me, wearing a you-can’t-hate-the-elaborate-cover-I-came-up-with expression.
“I’m not sweet. I hate Christmas, remember?”
“Yes, but this isn’t real-you. It’s pretend-you. Pretend-you is . . . Pretend-you loves Christmas. We should have bought matching Christmas jumpers. That would have been snow fun.”
We had very different definitions of what “fun” involved, and I couldn’t help but wonder if pretend-me was someone Celia was more interested in than real-me.
“Pretend-you sounds a lot like real-you. Am I the man you invented for yourself?”
Before she had a chance to answer, the road turned to the right, revealing the village of Snowsville. It was covered in fairy lights—and not just the trees. Every shop and house on the main street was strewn with them.
“Wow,” she said, her bright, colorful stories giving way to reality. “It looks really beautiful.”
Even as a man who didn’t like Christmas, I couldn’t argue with that. Along with the lights, the Christmas stalls were all covered in red velvet ribbons, which gave the market a different feel to Snowsly’s, where each stallholder decorated the stall as they wanted—bar the meticulously placed lights.
“I’m beginning to think this isn’t such a great idea. What if we get caught? And what if Snowsville’s market is so good, it sends me spiraling?”
“If we get caught, we get sent to a South American prison for a couple of years. No big deal.” A small smile curled around her lips. “And I won’t let you spiral. Trust me. Come on,” I said, pointing out a parking space. “Let’s snow and be two different people for a couple of hours.”