Didn’t she realize it wasn’t the merriness and good will of the Snowsville Christmas market that had shifted my mood from surly to bordering on cheerful? It was her. “I’m finding it increasingly difficult not to have fun when I’m with you.”
She tilted her head as she gave me a small smile. “What was the funnest bit?”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Celia Sommers?” I scooted around the bed to face her so our knees were touching. “Do you want me to tell you how much I enjoyed kissing you? How I want to kiss you again? How we have plenty of time for lots more kissing?”
She drew a circle on my knee. “Maybe a little. But also, a few days ago you would never have had fun at a Christmas market. I like hearing that you’re in a more festive mood.”
“Why?” I asked, genuinely intrigued. Why did she care if I enjoyed Christmas?
“I want everyone to love it. I can’t bear the thought of the people around me not being happy. How can Christmas be perfect if everyone’s not happy?”
I’d gotten to know Celia over the last few days and I knew she wasn’t some naïve girl who still believed in fairytales, but there was something about Christmas that had her on a mission. “But nothing’s perfect,” I said.
“Don’t say that.” She closed her eyes for one beat then two. When she opened them, her blue-blue eyes had that look I recognized. Like everything hinged on Christmas. Like everything hung in the balance. “This Christmas is going to be perfect. And it’s going to erase every imperfect thing about last Christmas.”
I reached out and brushed my thumb over her cheekbone. “What happened last Christmas?”
Thirteen
Celia
The way Sebastian touched me—just with the lightest sweep of his fingers—made me wish, just for a second, that we were both wearing a lot less clothing. The way he’d dealt with my car breaking down and finding us a room—his taking control had been a relief. He was so sure he could find a solution that I believed he would. And he had. It felt freeing that I didn’t have to take responsibility for absolutely everything. I could rely on Sebastian. Trust him. And I wasn’t sure if was that or if it was his perfectly cut jaw and ice-blue eyes that had me hoping he wouldn’t be sleeping on top of the covers tonight.
Sebastian pulled off his jumper and arranged himself on the bed, resting against the headboard, his legs crossed at the ankle. He patted the bed next to him, like he really wanted to hear what I had to say.
I moved around the bed and then lay on my side, my head propped up on my hand. “Last Christmas was . . . difficult. My boyfriend left me on Christmas Eve. I came home from checking on the market, wondering why he hadn’t joined me as he said he was going to, to find his bags packed and already in his car. Our car.” It was like the threads of my future had been trapped in the car door, and as he drove away, everything I thought was in store for me unraveled.
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, his deep, silky voice winding around my body.
“Shitty timing,” I said. “I’d thought he was building up to a proposal. We’d been talking about moving to a bigger place in the village. And he’d been asking Lemon about my ring size. And then . . . not. The exact opposite, in fact. It was just unexpected, that’s all.”
“He was an idiot.”
It was a kind thing to say but I didn’t believe it. “Maybe. It took the shine off the holidays last year, that’s all.” I’d spent Christmas Day and Boxing Day in bed, ignoring my phone and the numerous knocks on the door. I couldn’t face anyone. I just wanted to forget that Christmas was happening. “I’m determined that the bad memories won’t ruin every Christmas for me. This year, I want to make up for last year’s lost Christmas—make new memories and consign last Christmas to a bin marked Do Not Open.” I tried to make the words have a no-big-deal vibe about them, but even to me they came out flat and a little sad. The fact was, the closer Christmas Eve came, the more my desperation increased. I wasn’t sure I could face another bad Christmas.
“Why did he leave?”
I blew out a breath. “I have no idea. He just said it wasn’t working. I thought he’d go but we’d end up talking it through and eventually he’d come back, but none of that happened. Except the ‘him going’ part. We haven’t spoken since he left.”
“He was a coward.” Sebastian paused as if he wanted to say more but didn’t. “How long were you together?”
“Six years.” I felt stupid every time I thought about it. How had he walked away so easily from a six-year relationship? “I thought I’d found the one. You know? I thought we’d get married, have babies, grow old in Snowsly. Guess life doesn’t always go to plan.”
“What a dick.”
I forced a smile. “You sound like Lemon.”
“What? Sour?”
I laughed and for a second all I wanted to do was kiss Sebastian. “My best friend’s name is Lemon. You’re not a lemon. She’s always telling me Carl is an idiot, but if he was a dick all along, what does it say about me that I was planning a future with him?”
“It says nothing about you,” he said, pushing my escaped hair back from my face. “No decent man leaves a woman without an explanation.” He shifted so he was on his side opposite me. “You haven’t heard from him since?”
I shook my head. “Six years, and all I have to show for it is a bin bag of discarded belongings.”
“You still have his stuff?”
“The things he left behind,” I clarified.
He drew his eyebrows together. “You haven’t burned them or at least thrown them away?”
“Lemon says I need to get angry and do some ritual burning. But I’m not an angry person. I like life to be good. I want to be happy.”
Sebastian looked at me, his lips pressed together, his brow furrowed. “Being angry doesn’t have to make you an angry person. Anger can drive you forward, push you over the brow of whatever hill you’re climbing.”
I shrugged. That wasn’t how I was wired. “You use anger like that?”
“I try to. Try to use it as fuel rather than have it control me, like it did my father.” He shook his head. “His temper was legendary. He lost numerous jobs over it, not to mention friends and his wife.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“He died a long time ago. I was twenty. At his funeral, I remember thinking that I wouldn’t let myself become him. I wouldn’t let my anger control me like it had done him. But I still have it in me. I’ve just learnt to use it to make me better. That’s the point, Celia. Don’t pretend it's not there—because it’s in all of us. Just direct it. Harness it. Use it. Setting fire to your arsehole-boyfriend’s clothes might just set you free.”
I laughed and cupped his face in my hand. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll hire you to do it for me.”
“So instead of getting angry and getting over him, you’ve decided that if this year’s Christmas is perfect, it will make up for how thoroughly awful last year was for you?”