The Christmas Swap
SANDY BARKER

One More Chapter

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Sandy Barker 2020

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

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Sandy Barker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780008390044

Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008390037

Version: 2020-09-11

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue: Twenty-two years ago

Chapter 1: Lucy

Chapter 2: Jules

Chapter 3: Chloe

Chapter 4: The May Ladies

Chapter 5: Lucy

Chapter 6: Jules

Chapter 7: Chloe

Chapter 8: Lucy

Chapter 9: Chloe

Chapter 10: Jules

Chapter 11: Lucy

Chapter 12: Chloe

Chapter 13: Jules

Chapter 14: Lucy

Chapter 15: Chloe

Chapter 16: Jules

Chapter 17: The May Ladies

Chapter 18: Chloe

Chapter 19: Jules

Chapter 20: Lucy

Chapter 21: Chloe

Chapter 22: Jules

Chapter 23: Lucy

Chapter 24: Chloe

Chapter 25: Lucy

Chapter 26: Jules

Chapter 27: Chloe

Chapter 28: Lucy

Chapter 29: Jules

Chapter 30: Lucy

Chapter 31: Jules

Chapter 32: Chloe

Chapter 33

Chapter 34: The May Ladies

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Sandy Barker

About the Publisher

For my parents, Lee, Gail, and Ray

Thank you for always believing in me, even when I didn’t.

Prologue
Twenty-two years ago

“Well, we’re all eleven, so it could be something about that,” said Jules.

“True, but we won’t always be eleven,” retorted Chloe.

Jules wasn’t easily intimidated, especially by someone like Chloe, who was at least six inches shorter than her. “What about The Maui Babes, then? You know, ’cause we’re on Maui.” Chloe made a face and Jules rolled her eyes. “Well, what do you think, Lucy?” she asked.

Lucy had been silently watching the other two girls, an air of awe wafting about her. She’d been reluctant to join the kids’ club at the resort—she didn’t really like large groups—but by happenstance, she’d met two girls her own age, an American and an Australian, and both of them just brilliant. “Um, I don’t mind.”

Chloe put her hands on her hips. “See? She doesn’t care. Sooo … what about …” She tapped a fingertip on her bottom lip like her mum did when she was thinking. “Hang on, when’s your birthday?” she asked, pointing at Jules.

“In May.”

“Oh, wow, me too,” replied Chloe. Lucy was about to say that she was also born in May, but Chloe talked over her. “Hang on, what day?” Chloe narrowed her eyes at Jules, hoping she was older.

“May third,” Jules replied. Where was the Aussie girl going with this?

Chloe deflated. “Hmm, mine’s the tenth,” she mumbled.

Jules clocked Chloe’s pout, not really understanding it. “So, I’m a week older than you,” she stated matter-of-factly. “What about you, Lucy?” she asked. “When’s your birthday?”

“Mine’s in May too. May seventeen.”

“Hey, that’s cool, we’re all born in May,” said Jules, right as Chloe interrupted.

“So, I’m a week older than you.” Chloe perked up as Lucy nodded at her. “Well, if we’re all born in May, how ’bout we call ourselves the May Babies? Oh, and our initials in order of our ages are J-C-L, so how about the JCL May Babies?” She raised her eyebrows and looked expectantly at her new friends.

Jules shrugged in agreement. She really didn’t care what they were called; she just wanted to wrap it up. They were supposed to be going to the beach that day and she’d finally convinced her mom to let her wear a two-piece.

“Lucy?” asked Chloe.

“Yes, that’s good. I like it. Definitely the JCL May Babies.” She pressed her inhaler into her mouth and took a slug. Lucy wasn’t used to this much excitement first thing in the morning. It was much more interesting than when her parents chitchatted about what was in the newspaper.

“Actually,” added Chloe. “Maybe ‘babies’ is a bit … babyish.” Lucy nodded, agreeing—definitely babyish. “How about the JCL May Ladies?”

Lucy grinned. “I think that’s even better. The JCL May Ladies.” She beamed at the others.

“It’s settled.” Chloe’s authoritative voice rang out over her parents’ balcony. “The JCL May Ladies are officially BFFs forever.” Jules couldn’t help but laugh. The Aussie girl was a little over the top, but she was also sorta fun.

Chloe stuck her pinkie finger in the air and, unsure what to do, Lucy pressed the tip of her pinkie to Chloe’s. Chloe tutted and Lucy turned a fantastic shade of crimson, right as Chloe hooked Lucy’s finger into her own and turned expectantly to Jules.

Jules, joining in with good nature, hooked her pinkie with the others’ and recited, “BFFs forever,” with Chloe. Lucy chimed in a beat too late, more excited than she could ever remember being. She was someone’s BFF.

“Now, JCL May Ladies …” began Chloe.

“Uh, shouldn’t we have a nickname?” suggested Jules.

“Why, what do you mean?”

“It’s just … don’t you think it’s a lot to say every time?”

Chloe, in a rare moment of introspection, was quiet. Lucy would normally have been quick to fill the silence, as it made her uncomfortable, but she waited patiently for her BFF to say something, feeling very grown up.

Finally, Chloe nodded decisively. “You’re right, let’s just go with the May Ladies.”

Lucy let out her breath, her mouth stretching to its widest girth. “Great,” said Jules, glad they’d settled on a name. “We’re the May Ladies. Now, can we please go to the beach?”

Chapter 1
Lucy
London

“Good lord, what is that smell?” Lucy bundled through the front door of her flat, dropped the keys in the catchall by the door, and dumped her handbag and laptop bag on the floor. She stepped out of her heels and, feeling the relief at once, scrunched her toes into the fluffy runner that led down the hallway to the main room, a combined kitchen-dining-lounge.

She followed the smell to discover her flatmate, Val, elbows-deep in a giant bowl. “Hiya,” chirruped Val.

“Hiya,” replied Lucy, far less enthusiastically. “What are you making?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but whatever it was, the flat would undoubtedly smell like rancid feet for days to come.

“Cheese.”

Well that explained it—somewhat. Weren’t there a thousand different kinds of cheese?

“Right, well, I’ve had quite the day and I’m opening some wine. Would you like a glass?” she offered.

“Always,” grinned Val.

“Hmm.” Val was always up for drinking a glass of wine, just never actually purchasing said wine. Lucy pulled a bottle of chenin blanc from the mini fridge under the counter and retrieved two glasses from the shelf above the sink. She poured two equal, but generous glasses and took hers to the sofa, while Val bustled about the kitchen.

The smell seemed less intense now than when Lucy first got home. She sighed involuntarily as she sank into the seat and propped her feet up on the pouffe. She sipped her wine, starting to feel the tension release from her shoulder muscles, and surveyed the flat. Every now and then, she liked to take stock of her lovely home and after a day like today, it was a calming ritual—a bit like the wine.

The garden flat was south facing with high ceilings and lots of windows, and it was filled with natural light on days when the sun dared to show its face. The main room was spacious enough for a modular sofa, a square coffee table—thank you, Mum and Dad, for the flat-warming gift—and a long, low TV cabinet along the wall. A four-chair dining suite sat in the corner near the glass-paned door to the small conservatory.

The kitchen was compact but most of the fixtures were new, including the hob, the oven, and the backsplash of white subway tiles. Lucy had sprung for an updated kitchen and bathroom when she’d bought the flat, unwilling to put up with the Victorian plumbing, which had been patched up so many times over the years, it had been on its last leg. In Lucy’s mind, a decent bath and shower were not luxuries, contrary to how she’d been raised.

That said, the updates had cost a bit and though she was exceptionally good with money, she’d stretched herself as thin financially as she was willing to go—which was far more comfortable than most people—and had got herself a flatmate to offset the mortgage.

Val was a friend of a friend of a friend and she’d been living with Lucy almost a year now. She was a nice person, Lucy’s primary criterion, but she was also a bit of a homebody, which meant that Lucy was rarely alone in her own home.

And now it smelled like feet.

“So, what was particularly difficult about your day?” asked Val. A cream-coloured blob wrapped in muslin hung from the wooden spoon she was now balancing over the bowl. Val looked well-pleased with herself and Lucy supposed it was fair when she’d made cheese—from scratch.

Lucy sighed and took a hefty swig of wine. Did she want to go through the ins and outs of her shockingly bad day? And with Val? This was probably better nutted out with Chloe, or even Jules. But Val was there, and she was a good listener—as she’d evidenced many times. And, really, it would probably feel good to tell someone.

“It’s my manager …” she began. Val set the bowl to the side, washed her hands, and came and joined Lucy on the sofa, bringing her wine with her.

“Is this the woman you said you’re unsure about? The one that just started?”

“Yes, that’s right, her.”

“So, what’s happened, then?” Val peered at her intently.

“Well, I thought we were just finding our way with each other, you know, testing the waters? But after today, it’s clear that she thinks I’m an incompetent nitwit.”

As Lucy spoke, Val leapt up for top-ups from time to time until she’d shaken the last drops from the bottle and dropped it into the recycling bin. She listened without interruption to Lucy’s litany of workplace crimes—all perpetrated by a woman called Angela, who tended towards micro-management, belittling Lucy in senior meetings and, today, undermining Lucy in front of her team.

“Hmm,” Val said, when Lucy had exhausted her tales of woe. She tapped her chin and seemed to mull over her response thoughtfully before settling on, “She sounds like a proper cow.”

It was said with such earnestness that Lucy found it incredibly funny—or perhaps it was the wine that caused the eruption of giggles. Either way, both women succumbed to fits of laugher and soon Lucy was wiping away tears—the good kind.

“Ooh,” she said, expelling a long breath. “I needed that. Thanks, Val. It did help to talk it through.”

“No need to thank me, Lucy. I feel awful for you. You love your job—well, you did. I hope it all gets sorted soon.” It was a nice sentiment, but Lucy doubted it.

While Lucy had worked in the finance department of the legal firm for eleven years, Angela had only just been hired and, apparently, she was there to “shake things up”. Lucy was starting to wonder if that was just corporate speak for “make everybody miserable”.

“Shall I order a curry?” asked Val. “Or something else? It’s on me.”

Well, this was a first. “That sounds great, Val. I don’t even have the energy to heat up a Marks & Sparks ready meal.”

“How about you run a bath while I get it sorted.”

Val’s so lovely, she thought, as she leapt off the sofa to run a bath.

Chapter 2
Jules
Boulder, Colorado

“Well, damned if I know,” she muttered to herself. Jules let her face fall into her hands, then rubbed her temples with her thumbs. She’d been reviewing and running the code for hours now and knew there was a bug somewhere, but where?

“Still no luck?” Her colleague, Wes, propped himself against her desk and she lifted her head.

“Kill me now.”

“Nah, too much paperwork. Hey, we’re going over to Pepper’s. Wanna come?”

Jules glanced at the clock at the bottom of her screen—6:22pm. And it was Friday. Go or stay? It could be hours before she found the bug and with the size of her headache, it was unlikely she was in optimal coding mode. But if she went to Pepper’s, she’d drink too much beer and probably end up sleeping with Wes—again.

Or she could just go home.

Her condo hardly called to her. It was on the outskirts of Boulder and she’d rented it fully furnished. It was a little, “Hey, IKEA called—they want their showroom back,” but she didn’t care. She’d settled into a “just fine” routine of work-home-gym, which she broke up with visits to see her family and occasional colleagues-with-benefits hook-ups with Wes … or Rob … or Arjun.

“I’m good,” she said, flashing a smile she didn’t feel. “Thanks,” she added as an afterthought. He shrugged and left. Even though they worked for a tech start-up, Wes wasn’t one of those guys who rolled out of bed and stumbled into work wearing pyjamas, a three-day growth, and the stench of the unwashed. He cared about his appearance and, not for the first time, Jules acknowledged that Wes was hot. He was also particularly good in bed.

Bed. The thought of curling up in her bed and sleeping off the headache was the most appealing one she’d had all day. Her phone buzzed on her desk.

Decided last minute to head to dads. Wanna come?

It was the lifeline she needed, time with two people from her extremely short list of favourites. She tapped out an affirmative response before saving her work and shutting down her computer. Will’s next text popped onto the screen.

Pizza or sushi?

As much as she loved sushi, Colorado was hardly the place for fresh seafood, and she’d yet to find a local sushi place that didn’t disappoint. Good takeout pizza, however, was plentiful.

Duh.

She watched the dots flicker on her screen, then stop, then start again, before her brother sent her a triple emoji reply that got her laughing for the first time that day—actually, it had been days since she’d laughed.

Forty minutes later, she was reclined on her dad’s couch, a craft beer in one hand—a new brew from one of her brother’s clients—and a slice of prosciutto and feta pizza in the other—both a nod to the “Hipsterville” status of her hometown.

“So, how’s the app?” asked her dad. She knew he didn’t really know what she and Will did, other than that they were both software developers working on their respective apps, but he knew enough to ask the question.

“It was being a shit today, actually,” she replied. She wiped some grease from the side of her mouth with her thumb knuckle. “I’m going to have to do some work this weekend.”

“Not tomorrow, though, right?” asked Will. “We’re still going biking?”

“Biking is on.” She wouldn’t miss it. It was supposed to be eighty-two degrees tomorrow—perfect weather—and Boulder Canyon Trail was a favourite of hers. Besides, busting out the mountain bikes with her baby brother was just the panacea she needed after the week she’d had.

“Awesome. I can take a look at that code, too, if it’ll help?” Will offered.

“Maybe, but I don’t wanna think about that right now.” She popped the last of the crust into her mouth and washed it down with some beer before reaching for another slice of pizza.

“Anything else new with you, sweetheart?”

“Not really, Dad. I still hate everyone but you two.” Will barked a laugh at her retort and she joined in with a soft chuckle.

“Hey, we could watch a movie,” her dad suggested. He needn’t have said anything. It was what they always did—choose some movie that she and Will had seen, but somehow her dad hadn’t, then she and Will would talk through it, driving her dad crazy. “How about the new Star Wars movie? Rising Skywalker, or something?”

“Do you mean The Rise of Skywalker, the one that came out forever ago?” asked Will. He threw Jules an our-dad-is-so-adorable look.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Sure, Dad, sounds good.” Jules and Will had seen the movie opening weekend—and they’d already watched it again at his place—but it had been too long since the three of them had had a night in like this, too long since Jules had felt surrounded by love and the ease of “just being” that came along with it.

She vowed not to let so much time pass before the next time.

Chapter 3
Chloe
Melbourne

“It couldn’t have held off for five more minutes?” Chloe frowned out the window at the pelting rain as the Uber neared the drop-off point.

“We should have brought umbrellas,” said her bestie, flatmate, and colleague, Ash.

“If we did, it wouldn’t have rained.”

“Exactly. Hashtag Melbourne.”

Chloe shook her head at Ash. She wasn’t sure when Ash had picked up the habit of saying “hashtag” but maybe she was doing it ironically.

The car pulled up next to the rear entrance of their building. “Here you go, misses,” said the driver. Ash and Chloe shared a look across the back seat. “Ready?” asked Ash.

“Nope, but let’s go.” They opened their doors in sync and, heads down, stepped out into the deluge, the door slams barely making a dent in the soundscape of the mid-winter storm. Ash ran around the back of the car and met up with Chloe, who was fumbling with her electronic fob at the door.

“Damn it! Of all the times to play up.”

Ash reached across her and waved her own fob in front of the panel and the glass door slid open. They burst into the foyer and straightened up, eyeing each other before dissolving into laughter. “I am so wet,” said Ash, shaking her hands.

“Title of your sex tape,” retorted Chloe. She wiped rain from her face and pressed the button to call the elevator.

“Good one. So, who gets the first shower?” They each had their own bathroom, but the hot water pressure in their flat was so low, only one of them could shower at a time.

The elevator announced its arrival with a “ding”, and they got in for their short ride to the fourth floor. “You go, but be fast,” said Chloe. “I’ll make some eggs or something.”

“Breakfast for dinner? Will you marry me?”

“Yeah, well, consider it a reward for being so awesome today. That event, Ash, you killed it.” Her bestie beamed at her, just as the elevator said, “Fourth floor,” in a sexy voice that had never made any sense to Chloe. Why would anyone hire a voice-over artist who made arriving at the fourth floor sound like she was announcing an orgasm or something?

*

“Delish. Thank you,” said Ash, as she stood and took Chloe’s plate from her.

“It was just eggs, Ash.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t have to make them.” Ash loaded the dirty plates into the dishwasher and started cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. “Hey, so I was going say something before, but I’ve been going back and forth, and I wasn’t really sure until today, but …”

“Say it …” Chloe’s words turned into a yawn.

“What do you think of Carl?”

Chloe cut her yawn short and peered at Ash. “Well, he’s fantastic at social media, but I’m guessing you don’t mean that.” What did Ash mean exactly? She’d only just come out of a long-term relationship and this was the first time she’d mentioned another guy.

Ash continued her clean-up. “He’s kinda sexy, don’t you think?”

Chloe decided to keep her reply light. “Uh, no, not really. And if you think so, then you don’t want me to think so.”

“Hah! You’re right. It’s just … I caught him watching me a couple of times tonight, and did you see how weird he was acting when we said goodbye?”

“Sorry, Ash, I must have been too shattered to notice Carl’s unobvious flirting.”

“He’s incredibly smart, like incredibly.” Ash draped the wet tea towel over the handle of the oven door, flicked off the kitchen light, and re-joined Chloe on the couch.

“You’re incredibly smart too, Ash.” Ash shrugged her shoulders, her usual way of deflecting a compliment. “Anyway, I haven’t worked that closely with him,” continued Chloe, “but props to him for that Insta campaign for tonight. It was pretty impressive.” The campaign had been unreal, but Chloe was tempering her enthusiasm for all things “Carl”. If she’d been a betting person, her money would be on Ash getting back together with her ex.

Still, maybe a distraction was something Ash needed. She clocked the wistful look on Ash’s face. “So, you’re into him?”

“Maybe. But what are you not saying?”

Ash knew her tells too well, but there was no way Chloe was going to spill about what she was actually thinking. “Uh, nothing, it’s just … maybe it’s the name—Carl,” she said, going with something that was partly true; she didn’t like the name.

“Oh, come on. What’s wrong with ‘Carl’?”

Good, she bought it, Chloe thought. “Eh, it’s like Kevin, or Bruce—just …” She mimed shivers running up her spine.

“Carl in Love, Actually is the hottest guy in the movie,” countered Ash.

Chloe chuckled to herself. “Yeah, true. Oh, wait, there was Andrew Lincoln too—”

“But he played the shitty best friend who was all stalkery with Keira Knightley.”

“Also true. Anyway, I’ll concede that sometimes ‘Carl’ is the hot guy.”

“So, do you think he was acting weird?” asked Ash.

“I really don’t know … maybe?” Ash looked crestfallen. “Look, I promise to pay more attention to the ‘Carl’ situation and, if needed, I’ll be your wingman.”

“Wingwoman.”

“Yes, that,” she said, succumbing to another yawn. “Sorry, Ash, I’ve got to go to bed.” Chloe stood and stretched her hands above her head. A full day of work, then an evening event—even though Ash had been on point and she’d only played a supporting role—had left her exhausted. Ash must have been shattered too, only she had picked up the remote and was scrolling through Netflix, so maybe not.

“Night, Ash.”

“Night. And thanks again for all your help tonight.”

“For sure. It was a great event.”

Just as Chloe loaded up her toothbrush with toothpaste, she heard her phone ring from her room. Toothbrush in hand, she raced in, grabbed the phone and tapped the green button just before it went to voicemail. “Hello?” she said.

“Chloe, it’s Mum and Dad.”

“Oh, hi, what’s up?” It was a little unusual for her to get a call from her parents at 10:30pm on a weeknight.

“We have some news, love,” said her dad. Well, that sounds ominous, she thought as she plonked down on the end of her bed.

“O-kay,” she said, her stomach tightening.

“It’s about Christmas …”

Chapter 4
The May Ladies

“Chloe, your camera is turned off.” Lucy frowned at the screen.

“It isn’t. It’s just the middle of the night.”

“It’s 6:00am there. It’s hardly the middle of the night,” said Jules.

“Is it too early? Should we call back in an hour?” asked Lucy.

“She called us, Lucy. Chloe, turn on a light.”

Chloe was abruptly illuminated and blinked into the camera. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic. So, bad morning?” Jules knew her tone was borderline snippy, but she’d had a particularly shitty day.

“Yes. It’s a sucky morning, actually,” Chloe whined.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy’s confused frown morphed into her concerned one.

Chloe sighed dramatically for effect. “It’s my parents …” She wiped sleep from her eyes, oblivious to the horror on her friends’ faces.

“What’s happened?” whispered Jules, suddenly brimming with sympathy. She would get on a plane that day if she needed to.

Chloe looked at the screen. “Oh, no, sorry, they’re fine. I, just—”

Two sighs expelled simultaneously, one from Colorado, the other from London, and Lucy’s hand patted her chest to self-soothe.

“You scared the crap out of us, Chloe.” Jules was going to get on a plane, if only to smack her friend in the head.

“Sorry.”

Lucy blew out another long breath. “It’s all right, but what is going on?”

“They’re going on a cruise.”

Jules was starting to get really pissed off. “There’s more to it, though, right?”

“They’re going on a cruise for Christmas.”

A pair of simultaneous “Ohhhs” echoed about Chloe’s lounge room. She took it as solidarity and an open invitation to rant. “I know! Christmas! And they didn’t even invite me and my brother, so he’s going off skiing in Canada and I’m going to be all alone. On Christmas.”

A muffled voice said something to Chloe and another light turned on, illuminating the kitchen behind her.

“Hi, Ash!” called Lucy through the screen.

Ash walked up behind Chloe and leant over the back of the couch. “Hi, girls. How’s life in the northern hemisphere?”

“Quite lovely, actually,” said Lucy. “It’s that time of year when you forget how cold and grey London can get—you know, daylight ’til ten-ish and warm weather. It was twenty-two today!”

Ash grinned into the screen. “Yeah, that sounds way better than Melbs at the moment. I frigging hate winter. How ’bout you Jules?”

“Yeah, pretty good,” she said, glossing over the reality. “I really need to get out to the coast soon, though. I’m thinking I’ll go see my girlfriend in San Diego—just for a weekend. She’s into sailing, so that would be cool.”

“Uh, hello! We were talking about Christmas. About how I’m going to be alone on Christmas.”

“Are you two sick of Chloe’s whining yet, because I am?” teased Ash.

Ash was one of the three people on the planet who could get away with saying something like that to Chloe’s face. The other two people were on the screen, both stifling laughs.

“Very funny, all of you, but you know what Christmas means to me.”

“Yes!” This time it was three voices in sync.

“Look, I told you last night, you won’t be alone”—Ash gave Chloe a pointed look—“if you just stay here.” Ash looked back at the screen. “Orphans’ Christmas is at our place this year.”

“And what’s that?” asked Lucy.

“I’m going to let Chloe explain. Gotta jump in the shower. See ya, girls.”

“So, an orphans’ Christmas is with your friends, right, the ones whose families aren’t around?” asked Jules.

“Yes.”

“That sounds fun!” Jules replied. If it was possible, Chloe moped even harder.

“So, you won’t be alone then? You’ll be with the other Christmas orphans?” asked Lucy, helpfully.

“It’s not the same. I don’t want to be a Christmas orphan. I just want a normal, traditional Christmas. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“What do you mean by ‘normal’?” Jules knew what a normal Christmas was to her, but the three of them had never shared the holiday before.

“Well, you know?” From the blank looks on their faces, they did not. “Well, family. Family is a big part of Christmas. And presents. And a tree. And Christmas lunch and wine—you know, a normal Christmas.”

“But won’t you have all that with Ash and your friends?” Jules asked.

“Not the family part.” Chloe seemed to have an answer for everything.

“But they’re your close friends, right? Like us. Aren’t we like family?” Surely Jules could make her see reason.

Chloe shrugged. “I suppose.”

Jules blew out a frustrated laugh. “Way to make us feel special, Chlo.”

Great, now she’d insulted her best friends. “Sorry, you’re right. You girls are like family. And Ash.”

“I know!” Jules could almost see the little lightbulb illuminate above Lucy’s head. “Why don’t you come here for Christmas?” Lucy’s russet brown eyes peered up at Chloe from the screen.

“To London?”

“Yes! Why not? Oh, actually, it wouldn’t be London, because I go home at Christmas, to Oxfordshire, but you’d be most welcome. You could share my old room; we could get a cot for you.” Chloe blinked at the word “cot” but Lucy didn’t notice and kept prattling. “And there’s the village Christmas Fair, and carol singing at the church, and Mum makes the best Christmas cake, absolutely drowning in sherry. All very traditional. Not your kind of traditional, of course, but still, just lovely.

“And I suppose I should say it probably won’t be a white Christmas or anything. In fact, I can’t remember the last time we had one of those. It’s usually more of a slushy, wet, grey day. It can get a little depressing sometimes, if I’m completely honest, because you just end up longing for snow, especially because there’s always snow in the Christmas films, isn’t there?” Lucy was whipping herself into quite the festive season frenzy.

“I mean, Bridget Jones’s Diary—snow. While You Were Sleeping—snow. The Holiday—snow. God, I love that film. Jude Law—mmm. But anyway, it so rarely happens at home. I’d love a white Christmas, now that I think of it.” Her frown returned.

“Well, you should come here, then Luce,” joked Jules. We’ve got snow, that’s for sure. So. Much. Damned. Snow.”

Lucy’s eyes brightened, completely missing Jules’s tone. “Do you mean it? Could I really come?”

Jules barked a wry laugh. “I don’t see why not—if you want a big, loud, crazy Christmas. It’ll be up at our cabin in Breckenridge—and my aunt and her whole family come, so we’d have to share a room. I mean, Christmas with my family can get a little intense, Luce …” She saw Lucy’s face fall just a fraction; she’d have to dial it down. “But I can one hundred percent guarantee you a snowy one.”

A grin split Lucy’s face. “But wait, Chloe, what should we do about you?”

“Sorry?” Chloe, only half-listening to the chat about Christmas in Colorado, was pulled from her thoughts. She’d been imagining herself in a tiny English village having a proper traditional Christmas. Plum pudding, Christmas carols, sitting by the fire drinking mulled wine—even the Christmas Fair sounded fun. And with Lucy off in America, she wouldn’t have to sleep on a cot.

“Actually, even if you do go to America, I think I would like an old-fashioned English Christmas. Do you think your parents would let me come?”

Lucy answered immediately. “Oh, they absolutely would. You’re my best friend!”

“Ahem!” Jules teased.

“Well, you both are. And I’ll miss you, of course, Chloe, but you’ll get the Christmas you want, and I’ll get my snowy one.” She grinned into the screen.

Chloe scrutinised her American friend’s face. “Wait, Jules, what’s going on with you?”

Jules tilted her head to the side and sighed. “I think it’s just … you know, it’s the middle of summer and all this talk about Christmas and winter … to be honest, it exhausts me.”

For Lucy, the penny finally dropped, and she uttered a guilty, “Oh.” She’d been so wrapped up in what she wanted.

“I mean, I love the holiday itself—well, no, that’s not even true anymore. And that time of year … it’s … well, I hate it! I hate being cold, I hate being snowed in, which seems to happen more and more. And yes, I love my family, but sometimes”—she threw up her hands—“they’re too much. I leave Christmas feeling like I need a vacation.”

Lucy couldn’t stand it any longer. “Jules, I’m so sorry. Here I am just going on and on about it.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I love that you love Christmas so much—both of you. It’s just not like that for me, not anymore. Honestly, Chlo, your orphans’ Christmas sounds amazing, especially the summer part. I’m actually jealous.”

Chloe’s large green eyes got even larger. “Oh, my god. That’s it. We should do like they did The Holiday and swap Christmases!” She let the thought hang in the air, watching her friends’ faces closely.

Jules’s sigh turned into a contemplative smile and Lucy’s mouth formed an O, then settled into a pout. “But wait, that means I’d be in America by myself.”

“But you’d get your white Christmas, Lucy,” prompted Chloe gently. “Just imagine …”

Jules, completely on board, picked up where Chloe left off. “And my mom would love it, Lucy. So would my dad. They’ll spoil you rotten, I promise.”

Lucy chewed her bottom lip and twisted a long red curl between her fingers. “Be brave, Lucy,” Chloe whispered. If Chloe had a soft spot, it was for Lucy.

Jules imagined herself on a beach in Australia at Christmas and willed Lucy to agree to their plan.

“You know what?” Lucy lifted her head and declared, “I want a white Christmas! Let’s do it. Let’s swap.” She grinned at her best friends.

“Yes!” Jules gave the air a little victory punch.

Chloe did a chair dance. “Ash!” she called over her shoulder, “we’re swapping Christmases—you get Jules.” She looked back at the screen. “Guys, this is going to be amazing!”

Chapter 5
Lucy

Lucy unfurled from the back seat of the Uber awkwardly, still seemingly unused to her long limbs, even though she’d stretched to five-foot-eleven at the precocious age of thirteen. Her eyes fixed on her handbag until she reminded herself that she didn’t need to pay for the ride.

The driver got out to retrieve her case from the boot. It was exactly twenty-three kilos—she’d weighed it on her digital scales in her bathroom—so he struggled with it a bit as he set it on the pavement.

A harried man brushed past her as she extended the handle and she offered an unnecessary apology, then turned to thank the driver, who waved a hand over his shoulder and grunted in reply.

All of a sudden, Lucy was rooted to the spot, a slow terror creeping up from her toes and burrowing in her stomach. What the sodding bollocks, Lucy? she asked herself. It was just a holiday to America. She’d been there several times on their ML holidays.

A family of four, each of them at least thrice her girth, bundled past. The girl, about eleven, rolled her eyes self-consciously at Lucy, a small act of solidarity as the girl silently apologised for her utterly embarrassing family.

Lucy found herself smiling. She was once that awkward tubby girl, horridly embarrassed by her parents, and mortified just to be seen in public. Eleven was such a terrible age.

To her delight, the girl grinned back. And it was just the fuel Lucy needed to quell her unfounded fears, grab the handle of her case and stride into the terminal to catch her plane.

*

Lucy emerged from the double glass doors and scanned the crowd. She’d never seen so many people waiting for passengers before, and she’d just left Heathrow.

The sharp twang of American accents permeated the air and the final scene from Love, Actually played out around her. Hugs, tears, grins, slaps on the back. It was impossible not to feel moved by it all—and just a touch of melancholy.

Her first Christmas abroad and being an only child, it was easy to feel the sting of remorse for leaving her parents at this time of year. It had always been just the three of them, with their own family rituals and traditional ways of doing things. As she scanned hundreds of faces searching for Will, Jules’s baby brother, she wondered if she’d done the right thing.

There.

He stood a head above the people around him with a shock of dark blond hair, exactly the same shade as Jules’s until she’d started highlighting it.

And he was unbelievably handsome.

Lucy wasn’t friends with Will on Facebook, but she’d had a quick look at his profile before getting on the plane so she’d recognise him. In his photo, he was cute, boyish, a male version of Jules, but this Will! This Will was a man. A very hot, very tall man.

Lucy gulped, then raised her hand above her head to catch his eye. When she eventually did, after some rigorous waving and yoo-hooing, her knees nearly buckled. His eyes locked on hers and a grin spread across his face. He raised one hand in a greeting, then started making his way through the crowd to her. Lucy remained where she was and in moments, he was there looking down at her, the grin still intact. “Lucy?” he asked.

She nodded, gulped again, then finally found the ability to say, “Uh, yes. Hello,” which she followed up with, “Very nice to see you again.” Even when dumbstruck, which was more often than she liked, she tended to use her manners. Still, she wished she had something more eloquent to say.

“Yeah. For sure. So, you want me to take that?” he pointed to her case.

“Oh, yes please. Sorry, just a little discombobulated.” He seemed to like her choice of word and a smile danced in his eyes—his gorgeous, cobalt blue eyes.

“Oh, no problem. I’m always a little out of it when I fly too. Come on, let’s get outta here. This place is insane.” Lucy followed the blond hair and the man attached to it out of the terminal.

There was nothing that could have prepared her for the blast of cold that hit as soon as they walked through the automatic doors—not the boots or woollen coat or leather gloves she was wearing—not even a lifetime of living in the UK.

“Oh, my god,” she gasped.

Will looked over his shoulder and stopped. “You okay?” She stood, stock still, her hands flying to her face as the pain in her lungs intensified. “It’s the cold,” he stated, matter-of-factly. She nodded vaguely. “Let’s get you to the car. Come on.” He took her hand and stepped up the pace to the car park. She didn’t even have the presence of mind to notice the handholding.

A few minutes later, they were ensconced in a four-wheel-drive and Will was blasting the heater. “There are seat warmers too,” he said, flipping a switch on the dash.

As the warm air spewed from the vents in front of her, she started feeling her muscles uncoiling. Her cheeks stopped stinging and she could breathe without it hurting. “It’s really cold here,” she said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m guessing London doesn’t get like this, huh?” She shot a look across the car. He was watching her, one hand resting on the steering wheel and one on his thigh. His hands were large, strong-looking, and unblemished. Her mind flew to all the things he could do with those hands. Stop it, Lucy, she admonished. He’d asked her a question; manners dictated that she should answer it.

“I suppose. Maybe it does, but just a different kind of cold.”

“It’s fifteen below, right now.” She didn’t even bother doing the conversion from Fahrenheit to Celsius; it was ridiculously cold on either scale.

“Well, bollocks,” she replied, her manners eclipsed by the frigid weather.

Will bellowed out a laugh and started the car. “So, hey,” he said, as he pulled out of the parking space, “I know Jules told you we were going to my mom’s place overnight, but if it’s okay with you, I think we should head up the mountain today. There’s a blizzard coming and it could close the pass.”

“Oh.” A blizzard that closed mountain passes sounded worrying, but for all Lucy knew they were a common occurrence in this part of the world. “So, we’re going straight to your family’s cabin?”

“If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. How far is it?”

“It’s about a hundred miles from here. It usually only takes a couple of hours, but it might take a bit longer today.”

“Oh, right.”

“My mom, my stepdad, and my dad are already up there. My aunt and her family aren’t flying in from Seattle ’til tomorrow, so hopefully they’ll be able to make the drive in the morning. Depends on the pass.”

“Sorry, did you say your mum and your stepdad and your dad are all there together?” For some reason, Lucy thought Jules’s dad wouldn’t be there at Christmas. Had Jules mentioned it and she’d forgotten?

“Yeah, it’s a little unconventional, but they’re all good friends.”

“Huh.” Her parents, Max and Susan, popped into her head and she struggled to imagine a third person with them, a stranger who was married to one of them, and all three of them being the best of friends.

It was going to be an interesting Christmas, that was for sure.

*

“Hey, I’m sorry about this.” It was the third time Will had apologised in less than an hour.

“Honestly, it’s not your fault. It’s the weather.”

They were stopped on the mountain pass, surrounded on both sides by snowdrifts, which were growing incrementally with the light snowfall. They’d been creeping along for the past two hours, often stopping for five, ten, or even fifteen minutes at a time. With the blizzard imminent, it seemed the entire population of Denver was trying to get up the mountain before the pass closed.

Lucy hadn’t minded the delay. She and Will had been talking nonstop since they’d left the airport. She’d learnt all about the tech company he’d built from practically nothing. He had started it only a year ago, working from home at night and on weekends. In six months, he’d been able to quit his job as a software consultant, and he now had an office and four employees.

It was a vastly different career path than her own, having worked in the same department at the same law firm since leaving university. Sure, she’d been promoted several times and now managed a team of three, but it was the certainty of the work that she enjoyed most. The laws and regulations she had to adhere to provided her with a sense of stability and she loved knowing that if she did everything exactly right, the numbers would always add up.

And even though Will’s company supported micro-breweries and boutique distilleries, something she knew precisely nothing about other than her love of a good G&T, there were quite a few similarities between their jobs—namely, finances and laws. It was all very impressive what he’d accomplished, especially for someone who was only just coming up on thirty.

“I really didn’t think traffic would be this awful.” Will’s words permeated her thoughts. “It’s just bad timing, I guess. I mean, we could have waited out the storm in Boulder, but then we were risking missing Christmas.”

Lucy indulged the fantasy of being snowed in with Will—just the two of them. There was a roaring fire in the fantasy and those big strong hands. Her cheeks flushed and she chided herself again. She chanced a glance across the car; he was looking at her and scratching his chin.

“Uh, Lucy, this is sort of awkward, but … oh hell, look, I really have to pee.” He punctuated his admission with a frustrated sigh.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened and she felt the flush in her cheeks spread to the rest of her face. She was, at once, both embarrassed and relieved. She’d needed a wee since just after they’d left the airport. Only, how was this going to work?

“Yeah. So, look, we haven’t moved in a while. I’m thinking I’ll head over that way.” He pointed to a stand of trees about thirty feet away. Well, that sorted Will, but what about her? Realisation seemed to dawn across his face. “Oh, you need to go too, right?”

“Yes.” She pressed her palm to her chest, like she always did when she was nervous or embarrassed.

“Okay, how about this? I’ll go over there, and you open your door and the back door, and you go, uh, there—in between. That will give you some privacy.” He looked out of the windscreen and laughed. “Or you could just do what she’s doing.”

Lucy followed his gaze and saw a woman, trousers and pants down, squatting in the snow on the side of the road. A bark of a laugh escaped her, breaking the nervous tension in the car.

She glanced at Will. “Your plan seems better.”

*

Ensconced back in the warmth of the car, rubbing her chilled hands together and blowing on them, Lucy waited for Will. She didn’t want to look towards the trees in case she saw a flash of his bum, or worse yet, a yellow stream arcing into the snow. She needn’t have worried, though, because moments later the driver’s door opened, and Will climbed back into the car.

He fiddled with a dial on the dash and the air from the vents got warmer. “Well, I have to say,” he said, “that was a first for me.”

“What, weeing outside?” Lucy teased.

Will laughed and Lucy was delighted that she’d elicited such a wonderful sound. “Uh, no. Definitely not. I meant peeing outside in daylight in view of dozens of strangers and my sister’s hot friend.”

Lucy felt the sting of another flush. Hot friend. She ignored the scoffing inner voice, the one that still thought of her as an awkward, podgy eleven-year-old, and instead picked up her end of the banter.

“Oh, I didn’t peek.” He flashed her a grin, one eyebrow raised; she’d always wished she could do that. She was fairly certain it was a flirtatious move and emboldened by her own adventure in outdoor weeing, she continued.

“I’ve always thought it was better to wait until Christmas morning to unwrap presents, rather than to peek beforehand.”

Oh, Lucy, that was utterly cringeworthy.

There was a moment before Will answered and Lucy seriously contemplated getting out of the car and walking the rest of the way to the cabin.

“You know,” he began eventually, “this doesn’t happen very often, but I am actually speechless.”

Oh god. He thinks I’m a total slapper. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Horrified speechless or intrigued speechless?”

The car in front of them started moving, but before he put his in drive, Will pinned her with a look. “Oh, definitely the latter.” Then he turned his eyes to the road, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lucy, relieved not to have made a total fool of herself, looked out her side window. It was so beautiful there, everything blanketed in white, snow hanging heavily on the boughs of the pine trees like nature’s fondant. The thought made her think of her mum’s Christmas cake, which she loved as much for the generous layer of marzipan and fondant, as for the brandy-soaked cake itself.

“Oh!” Lucy exclaimed, startling Will. “Sorry, but I’ve just been thinking about Mum’s Christmas cake, and remembered I’ve got one with me.”

Lucy’s mum had sent her across the pond with her very own Christmas cake—something to share with Jules’s family. It had arrived at her flat in the post the week before, wrapped in foil and tucked snugly into a box surrounded by scrunched up newspaper. It was now packed in her carry-on bag. “We could have some—if you’re hungry, that is.”

“I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I don’t really like Christmas cake.”

“Sorry, what?” Who didn’t like Christmas cake?

“It’s just too dry and crumbly and it always tastes like it’s been out of date for, like, I dunno, a millennium.”

“Mum’s cake isn’t like that. It’s homemade and it’s wonderful.” Lucy caught the slight edge in her voice and lightened her tone. “Not to worry, more for me.” She just knew he’d think differently if he tried some. She turned in her seat and unzipped her carry-on, rummaging about for the cake.

“I’ve insulted you.”

“No. Honestly, you haven’t.” She pulled out the dense bounty and even though it was tightly wrapped, the smell of spices and sherry started filling the car.

“Well, then I’ve insulted your mom … Hold on, is that it, that smell?”

She sat the cake on her lap and carefully started peeling back the layers of foil. “Uh, yes,” she said nonchalantly. “Look.” The cake sat in its bed of foil, the snowy white fondant perfectly smooth.

Will glanced at the cake, then his gaze went back to the road. They were still crawling along, but at least they were moving. “Well, that does smell amazing. I’ve got a pocketknife in the glove compartment—unless you think we should just tear off chunks with our hands.” The smile was back and Lucy succumbed to one herself.

Minutes later, she placed a generous slab of Christmas cake sitting on top of a Burger King napkin—also from the glove box—onto Will’s thigh. The wedge sat tawny brown and glistening with delicious moistness. “See? Definitely not dry and crumbly.”

She watched him take a bite, then heard his guttural groan. Maybe I’ll get to hear more of that groan later, she thought before rolling her eyes at herself.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she said, taking a bite of her own piece. “It’s even nicer with a thick slice of Wensleydale cheese,” she added, her hand covering her mouth.

“It’s amazing. I’m not sure about the cheese though. Is that an English thing?”

Lucy thought about it and realised she didn’t know. She’d just always had it that way and, ever since she was an adult, with a glass or two of sherry. “Hmm, not sure.”

“And, just asking, but is there alcohol in this?”

“Oh, loads. Mum practically empties an entire bottle of sherry into it in the month leading up to Christmas.” She had a realisation and her head spun towards Will just as he glanced at her, then down to the cake. “Oh, bollocks. You’re driving.”

“I was just thinking that.”

“Sorry, I should have realised. No cake for you, I’m afraid.” She took the cake off his leg, noting how taut his thigh was beneath his jeans, and wrapped it up in the napkin. “At least not until we get there.”

“It’s really good, though. You’ve definitely changed my mind.”

She smiled to herself as she took another bite. Looking out the window, she went back to her “snowed-in alone with Will” fantasy, which now included a boozy Christmas cake.

Chapter 6
Jules

“Here you go, sweetheart,” said her dad as he manoeuvred his SUV between two others. Denver airport was mayhem this time of year.

“Thanks again for driving me. You didn’t have to. I could have Ubered.”

“Jules, this may come as a huge surprise, but I’m going to miss you, sweetheart, and this way I got to spend a little more time with you.”

Jules wondered if she was imagining the sheen of tears in her dad’s eyes. He made a gruff man-sound and climbed out to retrieve her luggage from the trunk. Jules took a deep breath as a wave of melancholy washed over her. Yes, she was a grown woman with a job and her own place and a life, but this was the first time she’d be spending Christmas away from her family, from her dad.

The sound of the trunk slamming shut brought her back to the present. She gathered her carry-on bag and her satchel from the footwell and braced herself for the blast of cold.

Her dad was waiting on the pavement for her, stamping the way he did when it was close to freezing outside. She felt a pang of guilt—not just that her dad was standing outside in a snowstorm guarding her luggage, but that she was abandoning him—and her mother, her brother, her stepdad, and her aunt’s whole family—at Christmas. A gust of wind whipped her honey-blonde hair into her face, and it felt like a slap.

This is why I’m going to Australia where it’s hot.

“Bye, Dad,” she said, throwing her arms around her dad’s broad shoulders.

“Bye, sweetheart.” He enveloped her in a tight hug. “Text when you land, so I know you’re safe.”

“I will.”

Her dad’s hugs were the stuff of dreams, but there was no putting it off any longer or they’d both get frostbite. It was time to go. Jules stepped out of the hug and grinned at her dad. “See you next year!” She grabbed the handle of her luggage and jogged off towards the terminal door, the sound of her dad’s laughter catching on another gust of wind.

*

Denver-LA-Melbourne—as flights went, it was an easy journey. Even the two-hour layover at LAX wasn’t as bad as she had expected. Maybe the tacky piped holiday music and even tackier tinsel, Christmas lights, and gaudy Santas had worked their magic. People were actually smiling.

Or maybe, five days before Christmas, everyone was just in the holiday spirit. Everyone but her. On the short flight between Denver and LA, she had convinced herself she was doing the wrong thing.

She should have stayed and had the loud, chaotic Christmas that her screwed-up, but lovable family had every year. Or, at the very least, she should have waited and welcomed Lucy. She loved Lucy. Lucy was the sort of person who, just by being around her, made Jules’s spirit soar.

She should have stayed for her dad.

She knew, on the surface at least, that everything was amicable and her parents still shared some weird kind of love—just that it was platonic now. She knew he got along with her stepdad, Joe, and that he could handle himself among the brash familial love that Aunt Jackie and her family would bring to the holidays.

And yet …

Jules also knew she was her dad’s biggest ally, that when the family dinners and games of Cards Against Humanity or Trivial Pursuit got too rowdy, she could catch his eye across the table and they’d share a moment of calm, just with a look. Those moments were a sort of “time out” from their maelstrom of family life, shared by two introverts who loved everyone there, but longed for a breath of quiet and stillness.

She knew her brother, Will, would do his best. He was under strict instructions to look out for their dad—and for Lucy—but he didn’t see the world quite the way Jules did, and she was worried he would neglect his duties.

Why, oh why, am I going all the way to Australia for the holidays? she’d asked herself, just as the plane touched the tarmac in LA.

But she knew why. Sometimes, getting on a plane was the only way to shake yourself out of a rut—a rut that you had created and that was slowly eating you up.

*

While she waited for her luggage to pop out of the shoot in Melbourne, Jules peeled off as many layers as she could—coat, sweater, and long-sleeved T-shirt—and stuffed them into her carry-on, still wearing a tank and her jeans. She was also still in her boots, but her flip-flops were packed, and there was no way she was going through the rigmarole of swapping them out at baggage claim.

Her luggage arrived and she cleared customs, then followed signs through the terminal to the Sky Bus. Ash had offered to pick her up, but Jules was fine with finding her own way into the city. She didn’t want to be a burden.

The heat felt glorious when she stepped into the bright sunshine. Her feet prickled with it inside her boots, but the rest of her body was relieved. Her entire life she’d lived in Colorado and every year she dreaded the icy winters. Summers in Boulder were gorgeous—eighty-five degrees, bright blue skies that stretched on forever, light breezes—but the winters were something to be endured.

With her luggage stowed on a rack, she chose an elevated seat in the middle of the bus so she could see out the large window. The first half of the journey was unremarkable, except when the driver pointed out a field next to the highway that was brimming with kangaroos.

Dozens of pointy furry faces with big ears watched as the bus flew by and Jules grinned. Australia, she thought. I’m in Australia! A young couple in front of her spoke rapid Japanese to each other and tried to take photos, but the bus was going too fast.

The second half of the journey revealed glimpses of the skyline and then, after one bend in the highway, the city of Melbourne was revealed, taking up her window and the ones either side. It was nothing like Boulder, or Denver for that matter. Melbourne was dense and tall, with dozens of skyscrapers earning their name. And she’d never seen so many cranes in her life.

There was also a Ferris wheel like the one in London, although it looked out over an industrial area and a giant yard of shipping containers. Somewhere from the back of her mind, she retrieved a memory of Chloe saying that no one went on it because the view was terrible—oh, and one year, the frame had started to crack. She’d avoid it.

Twenty minutes later, Jules regretted turning down Ash’s offer to pick her up from the airport. It was a much longer walk from the bus station to the Docklands apartment than she’d anticipated. She’d looked it up a few days ago, thinking it would be an easy walk, but now she was hot, tired, and cursing herself—and her damned boots.

“I should have caught a cab,” she grumbled.

Just then, as she crested the rise of a bridge, the marina came into view, with dozens of moored boats and a large bridge spanning the water in the distance. It was just what Jules needed to give her a boost of energy and she picked up her pace.

At the marina, she turned right and walked briskly as her eyes locked on the high-rise apartment buildings in every shape and design, then scanned the array of boats—everything from small runabouts to luxury yachts tied up and still in the calm, but murky water.

She’d thought the marina was on a freshwater river, but as she breathed in the tangy brine of the air, she wondered if she’d been wrong. Or maybe the marina was close to the beach. “Oh, please let that be true,” she uttered to herself. She was hankering to get to the beach. That was the other disadvantage of living in Colorado, being landlocked. Sometimes it felt like a form of claustrophobia.

Jules stopped one last time to consult her phone, then turned onto the promenade. Chloe had said that the entrance to their building was opposite a gelato shop, adding that the gelato was excellent and that she and Ash practically kept them in business. There! Jules laughed to herself because the shop was shaped like a giant ice cream cone, and opposite—just as Chloe had said—she spied the building’s entrance.

Standing outside was a tall man with jet-black curly hair and a stubbled chin, wearing faded jeans, work boots, and a tight black T-shirt. He was carrying a box and speaking into the intercom—probably making a delivery. As she approached, he glanced back at her and a smile, the kind strangers exchange, flickered across his face.

Maybe it was jet lag, or sleep deprivation, or even heat exhaustion, but that smile roused something in her. She waited her turn at the intercom so she could buzz Ash, taking the moment to appreciate the tight fit of his jeans.

He’s sorta scruffy, but seriously hot.

She reproached herself as a muffled voice replied to him and the glass door slid open. She was in Melbourne for Christmas and to spend time with Chloe’s friends. She was not there to get her groove on.

The man disappeared into the lobby and Jules pressed the apartment number on the intercom.

“Hey, Jules!” The voice startled her, then she realised she was on camera.

“Hi, Ash.” She was relieved to hear a welcoming voice, even if it sounded like the intercom at a McDonald’s drive-thru.

“Come on in and take the lift up to the fourth floor.”

The glass door slid open again and Jules heaved her satchel back onto her shoulder for the final leg of an extremely long journey. When she got to the elevator, she was surprised to see that the man with the box was still waiting.

He turned towards her. “Hey, what floor are you going to?” Those eyes—deep brown, almost black. Holy crap.

“Four.”

“Hmm, me too, but it looks like the lift’s out. I think we’ll have to go up the stairs.”

“What?” She’d heard him; she just hoped he was kidding. Jules looked up at the display above the elevator and where she expected numbers, there was just a bunch of red dots rolling across the screen. He wasn’t kidding. The thought of dragging her luggage up all those flights of stairs to the fourth floor hit hard.

“Yeah, apparently it happens quite a bit. My friends are always complaining about it.” He shifted the weight of the box in his arms. It seemed heavy.

“Oh, your friends live here?” So, he wasn’t a delivery guy. Maybe she’d get to see some more of him then.

“Yeah, just dropping this wine off. We’re doing the Chrissie orphan thing.”

“Hang on, then you know Chloe and Ash?”

“Yeah! Oh, you’re the friend from America.”

So, I’m spending Christmas with the hot guy, she thought as she imagined him standing nude under a sprig of mistletoe. She flashed her excellent example of American orthodontia and said, “I’m Jules.”

“Matt.” He smiled back, then seemed to remember they were both standing there with heavy things. “Oh, sorry, I was going to offer to take your bag upstairs for you.”

She looked down at her luggage. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. It weighs, like, fifty pounds.”

He grinned again. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll manage. So, how ’bout I head up with your bag, then come back down for you and the wine?”

There was no sense in arguing. He had offered and she had no desire to lug her luggage up all those stairs. “Sure,” she said, surrendering it.

Matt placed the box of wine on the floor, retrieved his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, swiped a couple of times, then pressed it to his ear. “Hey Ash, the lift’s out. Can you meet me at the top of the stairs? Yeah, she’s here. I’m bringing up her bag. Cool, ta.”

Then he pocketed the phone, took the handle of her luggage and disappeared through the door to the stairwell. “Be right back,” he called as the door swung shut.

As she waited, Jules settled on one thought. Christmas far from home and far from her dad, was definitely looking up.

Chapter 7
Chloe

“Stop right here, thanks.”

The taxi driver pulled to the kerb, cutting off another car. Chloe ignored the long horn that sounded and handed over her credit card. She was running uncharacteristically late and waited impatiently for the driver to tap it.

“Receipt?”

“No thanks.” She took her card and opened the car door, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Can you get my bag out of the boot?” The driver huffed out a sigh, but she ignored that too. Surely, he didn’t expect her to lift that massive thing.

It was too hot to be wearing ankle boots, jeans and a jumper, and a thin sheen of sweat prickled her brow. She’d be fine once she got in the terminal—if the driver would hurry up.

She double-checked the backseat to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind before closing the door. The driver heaved her bag onto the footpath and grunted, “There you go.”

He was rewarded with a million-watt Chloe Sims smile, which seemed to disarm him instantly. “Have a good flight,” he chirruped.

She pulled the handle up with a snap and strode towards the terminal, mentally rehearsing her get-an-upgrade strategy. One in three times it worked, mostly because of her frequent-flier status. She hoped this would be one of those times, because the thought of all those hours in economy did nothing to lift her mood. An upgrade would, though.

*

Twenty-nine hours she’d been in transit, counting the layover in Dubai, immigration at Heathrow, and the bus ride to Oxford—and she’d been unlucky with the upgrade. But the worst part of the journey was waiting at the open-air bus station in the freezing cold hoping she’d recognise Lucy’s dad from a photo on Facebook.

According to the glary orange digits of the overhead clock, the bus had only dropped her off fifteen minutes ago, but fifteen minutes standing in the cold felt like years. Where was Mr Browning?

She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her Kathmandu puffer jacket. Her top half was warm, but the damp icy wind was biting through her jeans and her toes were so cold, they’d gone numb. She may not have packed appropriately for winter in the English countryside.

And she realised that her face hurt. Surely, that’s not normal? People can’t go about their everyday lives with their faces hurting every time they step outside.

“Chloe?” she heard behind her.

She spun on her heels, so relieved to see the friendly face of her friend’s dad that she uncharacteristically blurted, “You’re here,” before throwing herself into the poor man’s arms.

He patted her stiffly on the back and cleared his throat. “Right then, shall we go?” Chloe stepped back and nodded like a four-year-old who’d been asked if she wanted a pony ride. “Shall I get your case for you?” He indicated her bag and before waiting for an answer, took the handle and with a smile that drew his lips taut across his face, said, “This way.”

Chloe followed, more excited to get into a car than she could ever remember being.

*

“Here you are, love,” said Mrs Browning as she opened the door to a tiny upstairs bedroom. “This was our Lucy’s room before she moved away.” She needn’t have added the last part, because the room had Lucy stamped all over it.

The single bed, which was pushed against the wall, had a bright pink doona cover and about a thousand throw pillows in various shades of pink—Lucy’s signature colour until Chloe and Jules had finally talked her out of it, at age twenty. Not in time, it seemed, to talk her out of pink curtains, a fluffy pink rug, and a hot-pink light fitting.

On the wall opposite the bed was a massive array of framed photographs of Lucy, ranging from infancy to early adulthood. Chloe scanned her eyes over the many faces of Lucy, seeing the dramatic transformation she’d had in her early teens.

She also spotted several photos of her, Jules, and Lucy from some of their May Ladies holidays—Venice, New York, Vietnam, and Santorini. Mrs Browning must have put those up, because they’d all been taken after Lucy moved to London.

The tall white dressing table was covered in trinkets and catchalls, as though a teenaged Lucy was about to walk through the door and scrounge for a hair tie or some pale-pink nail polish. The room was rounded out with a bedside table, a small desk and a wooden chair—also white—and on the shelves above the desk was an impressive collection of Sweet Valley High novels. Oh, Luce, you total dag.

“I’ve cleared out the bottom two drawers of the dressing table for you,” said Mrs Browning.

“Oh, thank you. It’s lovely.” Like Barbara Cartland had decorated it for her granddaughter.

Mrs Browning beamed at her and Chloe found herself smiling back. She realised that she hadn’t remembered the Brownings very well. The last time she’d seen them, she was deeply ensconced in her new friendship with the other two MLs and adults were “boring”. Yet, there they were, opening their home to a virtual stranger—at Christmas.

She felt a surge of affection for them both.

There was also a tiny but loud part of her that was dying to give Mrs Browning a makeover. Chloe couldn’t remember exactly how old she was—she rarely noted such details about other people’s parents, even those of her closest friends—but the kind, broad face of the woman now fussing with the throw pillows couldn’t have been any older than sixty. Yet she dressed like she had one foot in the grave.

“Now,” said Mrs Browning, turning back to Chloe. “I expect you will want a bath, a hot meal, and bed, in that order. Have I got that right?”

Chloe glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 6:03pm. It didn’t matter what time it was in Melbourne. She needed to acclimate as soon as possible to UK time, so Mrs Browning’s suggestions seemed perfect. Except the bit about the bath.

“That sounds divine, thank you. But …” A pair of eyebrows shot up to a hairline inquisitively. “Can I just have a shower instead?”

“Oh, of course, love.”

The weight of the journey hit her with full force and all Chloe wanted was that shower. “We have a handheld nozzle for that business.” A handheld what? “We tend to take baths here, but last time she visited, Max bought the nozzle for Lucy.”

“Er, right.”

Chloe got undressed in the frigid bathroom and stepped tentatively into the massive bathtub, her flesh covered in tiny bumps. After fiddling with the taps and waiting for what felt like forever, she discovered that tepid was as warm as the water got and that the handheld nozzle put out little more than a trickle. She rinsed as quickly as she could, bracing herself against the cold water and even colder air, then got out and wrapped the towel tightly around her, attempting to get warm.

“Maybe I’ll just use a wet washcloth ’til I go home,” she muttered to herself as she dried off. The thought made her giggle. What on earth had she signed up for? Maybe this was part of the traditional English Christmas.

Dinner was a plate piled high with sausages, mashed potatoes, and peas—all of which, Mrs Browning mentioned, came from a local farm. Chloe cleaned her plate and enjoyed every mouthful—the fresh bursts of the peas, the creamy, buttery potatoes that were an indulgence she would never allow herself back home, and the spiciness of the pork sausages.

Regardless of whether it was Mrs Browning’s cooking or the farm-fresh produce that made everything so delicious, Chloe was going to have to watch herself. If she ate like this the entire time, she’d go up a dress size.

Seated in the front room, as the Brownings called it, Chloe sipped a tiny glass of after-dinner sherry while admiring the traditional charm of their Christmas decorations. They’d strung a piece of red wool from one end of the longest wall to the other, with Christmas cards of all sizes and colours hanging from their spines. Placed along the mantle above the fireplace was a faux fir-tree garland and six small brass candlesticks, each holding a red candle. None were lit. Perhaps that only happened on Christmas.

There were four stockings hanging from the mantle, three of them much-loved and one new one with her name embroidered across it in gold thread. Chloe was surprised to feel the sting of tears in her eyes. Would her parents have done the same for Lucy? They would have, she decided—not stockings, because her family didn’t do those—but had they not been cruising around the South Pacific, she was sure they’d be spoiling Lucy, or Jules, or whomever she’d swapped Christmases with.

Actually, if her parents weren’t on a cruise, she wouldn’t be here.

The Christmas tree was only as tall as she was, but it was real, and the heady scent of pine filled the room. Chloe stood to admire it, taking her sherry with her. She was not particularly into sherry—it was far too sweet for her—but apparently it was Mrs Browning’s after-dinner ritual. When in a tiny village in Oxfordshire, right?

“Oh, Mr and Mrs Browning, your collection of ornaments is beautiful.” Amongst the dense assortment of nutcrackers and angels, all very traditional in design and colour, were the handmade ornaments of a child. Chloe carefully held the bottom of an angel made from cardboard and painted gold.

She sensed Mrs Browning next to her. “Oh, thank you, love. You see that we’ve kept all our Lucy’s ornaments from school days. And many of the others are from her travels with you girls. She’s always finding the loveliest things. I think this one is my favourite.” She pointed to a Murano glass angel that Chloe recognised immediately, as she’d been there when Lucy had bought it.

“Beautiful,” said Chloe softly. She hoped they would like the ornaments she’d brought them from Australia. Nestled back in her chair, she went to take a sip of her sherry only to find the glass empty. “Oh.” She looked at it in shock, a little embarrassed that she’d drunk it all already.

“Oh, never mind about that, love. Happens to me all the time.” Mrs Browning laughed and got up to refill Chloe’s glass. “They’re tiny glasses, aren’t they? Quite silly really.” She threw in a wink and Chloe grinned up at her.

“Thank you, Mrs Browning.”

“Love, you really must stop calling us ‘Mr’ and ‘Mrs’. Please, it’s Max and Susan.”

“Right, Max and Susan.” For some reason, it didn’t seem right to her to call them by their first names, which was ridiculous, because she called the CEO of the company she worked for by her first name and she was even older than Mr and Mrs—than Max and Susan.

“So, Lucy says that you’re a party planner?” Susan asked.

“Uh, an event manager, yes.”

“Oh, that sounds like an interesting job. What sort of parties are they?” asked Max.

“Well, they’re not really parties as such, more like corporate events. You know? Like, when a company is launching a product and they throw an event with giveaways and drinks and music. Like that.”

“Like a party.” Chloe was certain that Max wasn’t being obstreperous on purpose and when she thought about how she’d explained her job, she realised he was right. She was, of sorts, a party planner.

She smiled, “Actually, yes, you’re absolutely right. I plan parties for companies and do all the PR,” she added.

“And is it fun?” asked Susan.

“Sometimes, sure, but it’s also hard work. There are a lot of moving parts, and just one thing going wrong can affect the whole event. Mostly, I love it, even if it does get a little ‘samey’ sometimes. I mean, it’s project-based, which is good, and I get to do two of my favourite things—organising and communicating—but I can see myself doing something else in the future, maybe in a related field. I’ve never been like Lucy, happy working for the same company for years and years.

“Mmm, well, I’m not sure how happy Lucy is of late. At her work, I mean. She’s been having a hard time with her new manager.”

This was news to Chloe. “I didn’t know that.”

“Susan.” Max threw his wife a look. From where Chloe sat, it said, “Let’s not bring that up now, not while we have company.” Chloe watched them both closely as Susan’s lips pressed together. There was clearly more to the story, and Chloe planned to ask Lucy about it the next time they talked.

The tension in the room was interrupted by the phone ringing—a proper, sitting on the table, landline phone.

Susan leapt up and answered in the middle of the third ring. “Hello? Oh, Cecily, hello, dear.” Chloe noticed how her tone of voice flattened a little as soon as she discovered the caller’s identity. “She what? Oh, no, the poor thing. That’s terrible. No, quite right, she’s got to do as doctor says. There’s no two ways about it. No, dear, she can’t help. She’s in America. Yes, for Christmas. Well, no, she’s been planning it for months now, with her friends, you see. They’ve all swapped Christmases. We’ve got one of her best friends, Chloe, staying … Hang on a moment, Cecily. I’ve just had a thought.”

Chloe had been listening intently, wondering what had happened to whom. She didn’t have to wonder for long, however, because Susan put a hand over the handset and addressed her in a loud whisper.

“Chloe, it’s Cecily on the phone,” she said, as though Chloe should know who the heck Cecily was. Her face must have betrayed her, because Susan went on to explain, “She’s the Co-chair of the committee for the Christmas Fair with Deirdre, and apparently Deirdre’s gone and turned her ankle stepping into a rabbit hole while she was out walking her dog.” This was a lot of seemingly unnecessary detail and Chloe wished she would get to the point.

“In any case, Deirdre can’t run the fair with Cecily anymore. Strict doctor’s orders for bed rest, I’m afraid. So, you see what I’m getting at, don’t you?”

Chloe stared at her blankly, her mind fuzzy from hearty food, jet lag, exhaustion and, well yes, the sherry.

“Chloe love, would you step in and help run the village Christmas Fair?”

Chapter 8
Lucy

Lucy had never been anywhere as beautiful as Breckenridge.

Her mind flew to Oxford, Cambridge, even Stratford-upon-Avon—all picturesque and perhaps all the more beautiful for their rich histories. She thought of Paris—stunning Paris, which she had been fortunate enough to see under a fresh fall of snow.

She thought of her home hamlet of Penham, which was quaint and charming, especially when fondant-like snow iced the brown thatched roofs, evoking her mum’s much-loved Christmas cake.

But none of those places were anything like this.

Shopfronts like gingerbread houses were trimmed neatly in coloured lights, their windows spilling warm light onto the footpath in cone-shaped beams. The streetlamps wore bright red velvet bows, and were wrapped like candy canes in green garlands, as if they were on their way to a posh party.

And there were thousands—maybe millions—of pinpoints of white light. Every tree was brimming with them, aglow like the flames of giant birthday cake candles. Couples, families, friends—all wrapped in brightly-coloured quilted coats and donning pompom hats and broad grins—wove in and out along the footpaths. Some parents pulled delighted children along on sledges.

As the traffic streamed slowly through the heart of the town, Lucy emitted exclamations in a constant stream of awe.

Then they passed what she assumed was the town square. “Oh, look at that Christmas tree!” It came out as a near-whisper. The enormous tree was so densely adorned, it looked like it was made from light. More people milled about the square, the crowd seeming to be in high spirits as many sipped from takeaway cups. She even saw a couple of people dressed up as Father Christmas.

She looked across at Will and saw that he was watching her. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he asked. She realised she had tears in her eyes and blinked them back. “Yeah, it can have that effect on you, for sure,” he added. They shared a smile and her gaze returned to the town. Lucy could have stayed in that car forever, watching out the window.

And being with Will.

She indulged the thought, trying it on for size.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome—very handsome—he was clever and accomplished, and he was unbelievably easy to talk to. She’d never known a man like that; she had even told him about her problems with Angela, her manager.

And in the quiet moments over the past few hours—none of them awkward, she realised—her fantasy of the fireside lovemaking had really taken shape. Had she been asked, she could have described it in as much detail as a love scene from a romance novel. In fact, she could probably pen a romance novel now. The Awakening of Lucy Browning.

The car felt very warm all of a sudden and she tugged at the prickly neck of her jumper as they started to move again.

“Not long now,” Will said. Lucy hoped that in the dim light of the car, he couldn’t see how flushed she was. “The cabin’s just a couple of miles out of town. Once we get to the outskirts, the traffic should free up. We may actually be able to do more than twenty!”

She expelled a breathy laugh at the irony of being so close to their destination but wanting to stay in the car longer.

*

“You’re here!” Jules’s mum burst out of the cabin and jogged down to the car just as Lucy climbed out. Even in the dim light coming from the cabin windows, Lucy could see right away that she and Jules could have easily passed for sisters, rather than mother and daughter.

Steph—she’d always been “Steph” to Lucy, right from when Lucy met her aged eleven—hugged her tightly and Lucy felt wrapped up in the welcome. Steph stepped back and looked at her. “It’s so good to have you here. Jules loves you just like a sister and that means you’re family to us too.”

The tears from earlier made another appearance. Lucy knew her parents loved her—of course they did—but she had never received such an effusive welcome from her mum. She beamed back at Steph and finally found her voice. “Thank you. I’m very happy to be here. And Breckenridge is just …” She had no adequate words.

“I know. I feel the same way, even after all these years.” Steph squeezed her shoulders.

“Hi, Mom.” They turned at Will’s voice and Lucy saw that he was laden with her case and his, with the strap of her carry-on over one shoulder.

“Oh, I can—” she started, reaching for the handle of her case.

“It’s all good. I got it.”

“Hi, honey.” Steph reached up to kiss her son on the cheek. “I’m glad you got here safely,” she added, then turned towards the cabin. “Come on! It’s freezing out here and your dad’s made hot chocolate,” she called as she jogged up the steps.

“After you,” said Lucy, “as you’re the one carrying everything.” He lifted the cases easily up the front steps and Lucy followed him inside, taking in the enormity of the home as she went. To call it a “cabin” was a gross understatement; it was a mansion by any measure of the word.

Standing in the double-storey foyer, Lucy couldn’t help but compare the grandeur of the Reinhardt’s holiday home to her family’s three-up-two-down terraced house with its postcard-sized back garden and a front door that opened practically onto the road.

She hoped Chloe wasn’t too disappointed.

Steph called forth her husbands. “Joe! Nate! They’re here.” The men appeared from different doorways and Lucy recognised Nate right away. Without hesitating, he enveloped her in a huge hug, lifting her off the ground.

“Welcome, sweetheart.” Lucy knew how much Jules loved her dad’s hugs and thought of her friend who was on the other side of the world.

“Thank you,” Lucy replied, her voice muffled against Nate’s shoulder.

“And this is my husband, Joe,” said Steph as Nate put her down.

The contrast between Steph’s two husbands was glaring. Nate—six-foot-one, burly with a broad open face, his blond hair tinged with grey—and Joe—only just taller than Steph, with a wiry build, black hair, and olive skin. While both were handsome in their own ways, Steph couldn’t have chosen two more distinct men—physically, at least.

Lucy stuck out her hand and Joe shook it warmly. “Welcome, Lucy. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

“You too,” she lied politely. She’d heard bits and pieces, and she knew that Jules got along with her stepdad, but that was about all.

“You must want to freshen up,” Steph offered.

The long flight followed by the long drive had taken its toll, and the thought of getting clean jumped to the forefront of Lucy’s mind. “Oh, yes please.”

“Will, can you take Lucy up, hon? I’ve put her in the room next to yours.” What? He’ll be sleeping next door?

“Sure thing.” She watched as Will carried her case and his up the stairs as though they weighed nothing, then picked up her carry-on and followed.

“Hot chocolate downstairs when you’re ready,” Steph called after them.

Hot chocolate sounded divine and so did some thick white toast slathered in butter and Marmite. Lucy was ravenous, and she really wished she’d brought some Marmite with her. She wondered what the Americans would have—peanut butter, she supposed.

“Here you go,” said Will, leaving his case on the landing and pulling hers into the second door on the left. She followed him. “Every room has its own bathroom; yours is in there.” He pointed to a closed door. “That’s the closet.” He pointed to an identical door on the opposite side of the room. “This place is sorta set up for short stays, so it’s not very big,” he added apologetically. Lucy didn’t know if he meant the bathroom or the closet, but either way, she didn’t care.

This was already a huge step up from her parents’ house with its one bathroom and second loo downstairs, and her own much-loved two-bedroom-one-bathroom flat, especially as she currently shared the flat with Val.

“No, this is lovely, really. Thank you. And for carrying my case.” She gestured to where Will had left it next to the door.

“Sure. So, why don’t you get situated and I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and Lucy?” Lucy stared up into his handsome face. “Take your time. It’s been a long drive.”

She found herself nodding as he pulled the door closed behind him.

She looked around the room. It was bigger than any bedroom she’d ever had and was dominated by a king-sized bed replete with fluffy duvet and six (!) pillows. The dressing tables and bedside tables—two of each—were made of varnished pine and seemed brand new. She opened the door to the bathroom to discover a set of fluffy towels in forest green and a selection of toiletries that would make any grown woman cry. Crabtree and Evelyn? This was like staying at a resort!

There wasn’t a bath, but as well as a huge mirror, a modern basin and toilet, there was a rainwater shower. It called to her in a way that no shower ever had before. “Take your time,” Will had said.

She stripped off and turned on the taps.

Only twenty minutes later—she skipped some of her usual ablution steps—she was dressed in a pair of casual trousers and a cashmere jumper, as well as her trusty Ugg boots, a present Chloe had sent for Christmas a few years ago. She pulled up her long, curly hair into a messy bun and didn’t bother with makeup, not wanting to keep Jules’s family waiting too long. Downstairs, she followed the sound of voices to the front room.

When she entered, the first thing she noticed was that Will wasn’t there. The second was the fireplace. She’d only seen one like that in films. It was nearly as tall as her, with stones across the hearth and up the wall either side, and a thick, rustic mantle made from a single cut of pine.

On the mantle were a dozen or so framed family photos and her eyes went straight to one of Will as a boy, not much older than when she’d first met him at age seven.

He’d been so sweet then, if a little rambunctious—all big blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a giant gap-toothed grin—an energetic cherub. Lucy had always wanted a baby brother, so she’d been keen to let him play with them, but Jules hadn’t wanted him tagging along. She had shooed him off, one time making him cry, Lucy remembered.

Now he was a grown man—a handsome one. Stop it, she rebuked. His mum is right there!

Steph and Joe were sitting on one of the two leather sofas, her feet in his lap. “Feel better?” asked Steph.

She grinned. “So much better. That shower is amazing.”

Steph smiled at her. “Will hasn’t come down yet, but Nate’s in the kitchen, just through there. I’m sure he’d be happy to rustle you up something to eat. You must be starving.”

“Actually, I was just thinking how much I could murder a slice of toast.” Bemusement flickered across Steph’s face before she replied.

“Right, and we’ve got wine open, too, if you’d like?” Steph indicated to the open bottle on the low glass coffee table.

“Oh, no thanks. Ever since you mentioned the hot chocolate …”

“Oh, Nate’s famous for it.”

Lucy smiled shyly and left for the kitchen.

“Hi, sweetheart. Feel good to freshen up?” Nate’s warm smile made Lucy feel right at ease as she climbed onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

“Brilliant actually. The flight was all right—I mean, it’s only nine hours—but the drive was a little, uh …”

“Unexpected?”

She laughed. “Well, yes, that, but at least on an airplane, you can get up and walk about and use the loo. That’s an experience I will never forget.”

Nate’s eyebrows rose in question just as Will made his appearance.

“You telling Dad about our adventure?”

“Do I want to know?” asked Nate.

“For sure,” said Will.

“No!” said Lucy at the same time. Will shot her an amused look.

“Maybe another time, Will,” Lucy countered. His cheeky grin was annoying, but she also found it charming, which made her annoyed with herself.

“So!” Nate clapped his hands like dads do when they want to change the subject, “you two must be starving.”

“Well, apparently, someone’s famous for their hot chocolate.”

“Oh, he’s famous for it all right. What Mom didn’t mention is that it’s full of rum.”

Lucy’s eyes widened.

“Are you game?” Will teased.

The worst that could happen was it would make her sleepy, and considering it was sometime near morning in the UK, feeling sleepy was probably a good thing. Otherwise, she’d be up all night in a post-flight, wide-awake-but-completely-shattered state. And in the absence of mulled wine, spiked hot chocolate sounded divine.

“I’m definitely game.”

Nate retrieved two mugs from a tall cupboard and went to the stove where a copper saucepan was steaming. He turned off the heat and ladled the hot chocolate into the mugs. Then he topped each one with a sprinkling of cocoa powder.

Turning to her and Will, he carefully placed a brimming mug in front of each of them.

Lucy took a tiny sip, her eyes lighting up. “That’s delicious.” Nate beamed. She took a bigger sip. “That is going down a treat,” she said before she took another.

“I mean full of rum,” teased Will. “And, believe me, the heat only burns off some of the alcohol.” He took a decent slug of his and Lucy could see his smiling eyes above the rim.

“Would you like anything to eat?” asked Nate.

“You’re spoiling me, you know.”

“Dad doesn’t mind. He spends half his time in the kitchen when we’re here.”

“It’s true.” She watched as Nate looked about the kitchen lovingly. “She’s my baby; I designed her.” Lucy retrieved the fact that Nate was an architect from her memory.

“Did you design this house?”

“Guilty.”

“It’s …” She struggled to find the right word and settled on, “beautiful.”

Nate dipped his head, a bittersweet smile on his face. Lucy didn’t want to dwell on why there was sadness in the smile.

“Well, if you’re offering, I’d love some toast.”

Nate clutched at his chest as though she’d wounded him. “Toast.” It came out as a ragged whisper and Lucy giggled. “How about an omelette instead?” he suggested.

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

He waved off her weak protestation and started assembling his omelette making tools on the counter. “Two, Dad,” said Will.

“Two omelettes coming right up.”

Lucy watched Nate in quiet awe, enjoying the sense of family togetherness and the hot chocolate. As two omelettes cooked in side-by-side frying pans, Nate topped her up with a wink. Will held his mug out too and when it was full again, offered it to Lucy in a toast.

“Here’s to peeing in the snow.”

Lucy let out an exasperated sigh. Nate laughed, his back to them, then took both pans off the hob and slid each omelette onto its plate in perfect sync—a little breakfast-for-dinner theatrics.

He chatted with them while they ate, doing most of the talking while Lucy and Will replied with nods and “Mmm-hmms”. When he was finished, Will leant back. “Great omelette, Dad, thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Will raised his arms above his head and stretched his neck from side to side, his T-shirt lifting to show a strip of bare stomach—bare, muscular stomach. Lucy gulped down her bite and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

When she glanced at Nate, it was clear that he’d seen the little episode. If she’d been embarrassed by Will sharing the outdoor weeing episode—and she was—this was several notches higher on the mortification scale.

Stop perving on Jules’s brother, Lucy—especially in front of their dad!

Chapter 9
Chloe

Chloe woke with a head that felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. She wasn’t sure what to blame, the sherry or the jet lag, but as she lay there looking up at Lucy’s garish light fitting, she knew one thing for certain. She was now Acting Co-chair of the town’s Christmas Fair and it was only two days away.

Why on earth had she said yes?

She threw an arm over her bleary eyes, blocking out the weak light seeping through the curtains, and indulged a long groan. Then she peeked at the clock on the bedside table. She had precisely thirty-five minutes to get up, get dressed, and head to the planning meeting. Good thing it was being held across the road.

Chloe prided herself on being good with names, but as Susan went around the circle and introduced everyone on the committee, she struggled to remember all of them.

“And this is Cecily,” said Susan, pointing to a stout woman with a particularly sour expression. She’d remember Cecily, though, with that “cat’s bum” face. Chloe nodded in greeting and Cecily’s lips pursed even tighter. Then, along with the other five committee members—Susan included—she stared expectantly at Chloe.

She was only supposed to be Co-chair, right? With Cecily? She scanned the group—five women and one man. She’d expected a grateful reception and to be looped in on the plans to date, but no, the stares continued. She wasn’t even sure if Susan was actually on the committee, or if she was just there to spectate.

Tough crowd, but Lucy had handled far worse than this.

She straightened to her full one hundred and fifty-two centimetres and pulled her shoulders back, adopting the power stance that always gave her a little boost of confidence when she needed it. She donned a bright smile. “Good morning.” It wasn’t. “I am very pleased to be here.” She wasn’t. “I am sure that you hardly need me at all, but I am happy to be of any assistance I can to make sure your Christmas Fair goes off without a hitch.” Another lie—she wasn’t happy about any of this.

Five stony faces didn’t flinch, and she glanced at Susan, who was watching her with an encouraging smile. “Right, so how about we go around the circle again, and you can tell me what each of you is responsible for.”

“We usually start with tea and biscuits,” said the man—Simon, Chloe remembered.

“Oh, right.” She looked around the group, wondering who was in charge of making tea.

“Cecily, aren’t you going to put the kettle on, dear?” Susan prompted. Cecily seemed to remember herself, tearing her scrutinising eyes from Chloe and standing.

“Yes, of course. My apologies everyone.” She disappeared through a doorway, presumably to the kitchen. Right, so they were in Cecily’s home.

Chloe knew she had to crack the toughest nut and get Cecily onside, so she followed her into the kitchen, hearing a cacophony of loud whispers erupt behind her. Cecily was fussing about with a tea tray and the kettle was already on to boil.

“Cecily, I meant to say before what a beautiful home you have. I was admiring your thatched roof as we crossed the road.” Flattery, flattery, flattery—in her experience, the three best ways to earn someone’s trust quickly.

Cecily started and looked at Chloe, her lips parted in surprise. “Oh. Why, thank you.” Chloe could tell that it was difficult for Cecily to take a compliment.

“What year was it built?” Chloe took in the low ceiling with its exposed beams of dark wood, which contrasted with the whitewashed, uneven plaster. It really was a beautiful building; she hadn’t been lying about that.

Cecily started placing biscuits from a tin onto a large floral plate. “Well, the original structure dates back to the sixteenth century.” Chloe’s eyes widened. She was standing in a building that pre-dated European settlement in Australia. It was one of the things she adored about visiting England.

“Actually, and you can see this better from the outside, this was once four separate structures—stables for the estate—and at some point, in the 1800s, it was converted into houses—four of them. It was only last century, before the war, that it became one house. That’s when my grandparents bought it.”

Wow, once you got Cecily onto something she wanted to talk about, she opened right up. Still, she’d yet to crack a smile. “Well, it certainly is impressive, and it has a fascinating history.” Cecily nodded, her mouth remaining in a taut line. “Can I help?” Chloe asked as the kettle boiled and switched itself off.

“Oh, well, yes, I suppose. You could take these out to the sitting room.” She indicated the plate of biscuits and a stack of matching smaller plates. “Oh, and take the napkins too, dear,” she added. She’d got a “dear” out of Cecily. Progress.

Cecily continued to flit about her kitchen with skilful efficiency, and Chloe did as she was told. Thankfully, being the bearer of biscuits seemed to win her some much-needed brownie points.

She served the committee members in turn, and as they helped themselves to one or two biscuits, each rewarded her with a smile—except Simon, but Chloe was doubtful he’d ever smiled in his entire life. As he took a handful of biscuits, which Chloe thought was extremely rude, he gave her a bit of a grunt. Perhaps it was his way of saying “thank you”.

Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. “Get that will you, Chloe,” Cecily called from the kitchen. So far, co-chairing the Christmas Fair was a lot like being a dogsbody for a bunch of pensioners.

Chloe, still holding the plate of biscuits, took herself off to the front door and opened it. In five hundred million years she would never ever, ever, have guessed who would be standing on the front step, duffel bag over one shoulder and looking even more handsome than he did on the big screen.

She nearly dropped the plate.

“Hello,” said the world’s biggest film star as he wiped raindrops from his shoulders.

“Hello,” she said, unwittingly blocking the doorway.

“Do you mind if I come in?”

She shook her head, dumbly, then realised she was in the way. “Oh, sorry.” What is happening?

“Thanks,” he shuffled past her and raised a hand at the room of people. “Hello everyone, is my mum home?”

“In the kitchen, darling!” Cecily sang out.

Holy frigging hell. Cecily was Archer Tate’s mother.

Once Chloe recovered from the shock of opening the door to the world’s biggest film star, the Christmas Fair meeting had gone quite well. After warm greetings from everyone, including Simon, and a kiss from his mother, Archer had left them to it, settling into the guest room while Chloe asked everyone to explain their roles and update the group on their progress.

It turned out that all Chloe would have to do was help Cecily manage the logistics on the day, so that everything from deliveries to set-up to packing up went smoothly.

The committee members departed, including Susan, all with promises to complete last-minute checks and to call if there were any problems, and Chloe had stayed to help Cecily clean up. At least, that’s what she’d told Cecily, who was putting the furniture back into its proper places while Chloe was up to her elbows in sudsy water.

Chloe eyed the dishwasher with annoyance as she washed another teacup. Why had she been tasked with handwashing everything if there was a dishwasher? And when was Archer going to come and talk to her? As far as she could tell, she was the only person in the entire village who was even close to his age. Maybe they’d hook up. That would certainly make it a Christmas to remember.

“Hello again.” The voice startled her, pulling from her daydream of hooking up with Archer Tate the film star, right back into his mother’s kitchen where he was standing beside her, a huge grin on his face.

In a millisecond, she took in the high cheekbones, chiselled jawline, cleft chin, full lips stretched tautly over perfectly straight teeth, and the strong dark brows and thick lashes that framed two of the most famous blue eyes on the planet.

“Hello,” she said, wishing she’d opted out of the orange and yellow floral rubber gloves.

“Chloe, right?”

“Yep.” Play it cool, as if you meet super-famous people every day. She had met famous people before. Well, people who were famous in Australia. Hardly the same thing. Although, she’d met Hugh Jackman once. He’d been just as lovely as everyone said he was.

“I’m Archer.”

She stopped herself from saying, “I know,” and instead replied with a casual, “Nice to meet you, Archer. I’d shake your hand but …” She held up her sheathed hands, then went back to the dishes. He picked up a tea towel and started drying. It was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen.

“So, I’m a little fuzzy on why a gorgeous Australian woman is in my mum’s kitchen doing the washing up.” Gorgeous. He’d called her “gorgeous”. Point one for the “hooking up” daydream.

“Oh, it’s just this thing I like to do. Travel to a different country, go village to village, then door to door, and offer to wash people’s dishes. It’s becoming a bit of a craze, actually. You may have heard of it? Hashtag dirty-dish-tourism?” She handed him the next clean cup.

“Oh, right! Yes, I think I saw that trending on Instagram not so long ago. I wasn’t quite sure what it was all about, and here I am meeting one of you in the flesh.”

She giggled and looked up at him. God, he was tall. He must have been well over six-foot. She’d need to stand on a stool if she ever got the chance to kiss him. Please let me kiss him, she thought. He smelled good too. Spicy, like Christmas. When he smiled down at her, the surrealness of the moment was overwhelming. She looked back at the soapy sink.

“Really, though, I’ve been roped into helping out with the Christmas Fair. Someone named Deirdre stepped in a rabbit hole and turned her ankle, so now I’m in charge. Well, co-in charge, anyway—with your mum.”

“Lucky you.” He took the next cup and dried it with the tea towel. Yummy forearms, she thought. She was a sucker for those.

“Well, to be fair, no pun intended,” she said, “there’s not much to do until tomorrow. Everyone seems to have their bits in hand. Oh—”

“Bits in hand?” Yep. He’d heard it and his mind had gone exactly where hers had—a shared adolescent response to her gaff. Her hand flew to her mouth as a reflex just as she started to laugh, filling her mouth with soap bubbles, which she then tried to wipe out of her mouth with the same sudsy glove, making it all worse.

By this stage, she was in a fit of giggles, spluttering out soap bubbles and helplessly flailing her arms about. “Hold still.” He was laughing too as he captured her chin with his hand and wiped her face with the tea towel. “Tongue,” he commanded. It was the only time she’d been told to stick out her tongue outside of a doctor’s office and she obeyed through the laughter. He wiped off her tongue and they both dissolved into a fit of laughter so intense, neither of them was making any noise.

That was when Cecily made her appearance.

“What on earth has got into you two?” Chloe glanced up at Cecily through her fringe from her doubled-over position. She and Archer straightened in unison, their laughter instantly subsiding. Maybe Archer was slightly afraid of Cecily too.

Cecily tutted and shooed them away from the sink. “Thank you for your help, Chloe. I’ll finish up.” Chloe was being dismissed, but she didn’t want to leave. This was the most fun she’d had in ages. And besides, Archer Frigging Tate! Just wait ’til she spoke to Lucy, who for some reason, the entire time she’d known her, had never once mentioned that she lived across the street from Archer Tate.

“Oh, sure, no problem.” Chloe removed the still-sudsy rubber gloves and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“You sure, Mum? We don’t mind helping out.”

Chloe was beyond surprised at what Cecily said next. “I’m fine with it, love. Why don’t you take Chloe on a walk around the village? She only arrived yesterday, and I’m sure she’d love to see more of it than the inside of this house.”

Was Cecily playing matchmaker?

Archer met Chloe’s eyes. “How does that sound?” he asked.

Hmm, let me have a think? What to do, what to do? What human being on the planet would say no?

“Sure, that sounds great,” Chloe replied, casually. No biggie—just going to mosey about the village with Archer Tate.

“Archer, I’ve that large umbrella in my wardrobe. You can take that,” Cecily said to him.

“Oh, right, perfect. Thanks, Mum.”

He disappeared, leaving Chloe alone with his mother. “You know,” said Cecily as she pulled the plug from the sink. “Archer just broke up with that horrid girl …”

Horrid girl? Oh, she means the aptly named Madison Strumpet. Chloe had seen the headlines splashed all over Women’s Monthly—a terrible name for a women’s magazine, she thought. “Oh?” Play it cool, play it cool.

Cecily turned to face her, wiping her hands on a fresh tea towel. “That Madison. She never deserved him, and she broke his heart running off with that actor.” She said the word “actor” as though it was akin to “devil”, clearly ignoring that her son was one too. “In any case, he’s single now—still nursing a bruised heart, but single. Just so you know.”

Chloe nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Yep, she’d definitely won over Cecily.

Chapter 10
Jules

“Hey,” Matt said, bursting back through the door from the stairwell, “thanks for keeping an eye on the wine.” He lifted the box from the floor and added, “I’m guessing you’re okay with your other bag?” Something clicked in Jules’s mind.

“Other” bag … as in one bag?

The horror of her mistake hit her like a punch in the gut. “Oh, shit,” she said breathlessly.

Concern crossed Matt’s face. “Are you okay?”

Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes locked onto his. “Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she half-whispered, half-whined.

“Jules?”

“I left my carry-on …” She could barely get the words out.

“You left it somewhere?”

She nodded, mouth agape. “On the bus. From the airport.” Tears welled up, stinging her eyes.

“Okay, hey, it’ll be okay. Let’s get you upstairs and we’ll call them, okay?”

She felt a tear escape down her cheek, and she brushed it away like she was swatting a mosquito. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything. “I’m so stupid,” she spat out. How could she have forgotten her carry-on?

“Hey, don’t say that. We’ve all done stuff like this, okay? Come on, just follow me. We’ll sort it out.”

Jules was unconvinced. There was no way in hell that someone didn’t take off with her bag, the bag with all the presents she’d brought for Chloe’s friends, the bag with her—

Oh, SHIT!

With her passport.

There was never a good time to call a call centre, but this was possibly the worst—calling an airport shuttle bus company three days before Christmas. Jules had been in the queue on speakerphone for forty-two minutes. At this rate, she wouldn’t have any nails left.

Ash and Matt had been great, though, reassuring her. They’d each left something important somewhere. Ash had left her work laptop at Friday night drinks, only realising the next Monday morning. She got it back. And Matt had left his phone in the back of a cab. He got it back.

Perhaps there was hope. Jules hoped there was hope, because how was she supposed to fly back to the States next week without a passport?

“Hello, thank you for calling Sky Bus. This is Alicia. How can I help you?” Jules’s eyes flew to the phone. All the tension of the past hour threatened to overwhelm her, and she took a deep breath before she spoke, so she didn’t lose it.

She explained what had happened and gave a detailed description of the carry-on, as well as her best recollection of what time she’d boarded the bus. She was put on hold. Her stomach churned again, and this time it had nothing to do with jet lag or being overtired or the good-looking guy who stood watching her, his chocolate brown eyes intensely focused on her.

“Are you there?” said Alicia.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“We’re pretty sure we’ve got your bag.” Relief coursed through Jules and she blew out a long breath.

“Brilliant! I told ya,” Ash shouted from the kitchen. Matt patted her shoulder and Jules staved off the hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat.

“That’s great. Thank you, Alicia. Where do I go to collect it?’

“You came into the Southern Cross station, yeah?” Jules looked at Ash for confirmation and she nodded.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So, there’s a little office there. They’ll have your bag. Just bring two pieces of photo ID and you’re good.”

Matt leant over and whispered, “I’ll take you.”

She whispered, “Thanks,” and wrapped up the call. She sat back in the dining chair and let out a sigh.

“Come on. I’ll drive you over.”

“Are you sure? I can just walk over. It’s not that far.” It was that far, and she was wrung out, but she didn’t want to be a nuisance.

“Nah, I’ll take you. It’s all good.”

A niggling thought leapt to the forefront of Jules’s mind. “Hold on, she said I needed to bring two pieces of photo ID, right? I’ve got my Colorado driver’s licence, but my passport is in my carry-on.” She looked between Ash and Matt.

Ash waved her off. “I’m sure it will be fine.” Ash seemed far more optimistic than she was.

“Yeah, that’s just common sense, right?” added Matt.

Jules nodded, not wholly convinced.

“Did you want to shower first, though?” asked Ash.

Jules looked down at her wrinkled tank and her dull, grey, post-flight skin. She must have looked terrible—she felt terrible.

“You look fine,” added Ash. “I just know that whenever I travel, the first thing I want to do when I arrive is shower.”

Jules would have killed to stay in the apartment and shower—and rest—but she also knew she wouldn’t be able to rest properly until she had her carry-on safely in hand.

“Let’s go,” she sighed.

“Back in a bit,” said Matt, leading the way out of the apartment.

It turned out that the errand took a quite a lot longer than “a bit”.

*

Several hours later, Jules was back at the apartment, showered and fed—four pieces of toast with peanut butter—and semi-reclined on Ash and Chloe’s couch, trying to keep her eyes open. Her fatigue probably wasn’t helped by the wine Ash had insisted on opening. It was delicious, though.

“I still can’t believe I left my bag on that bus,” she moaned. “What an idiot.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. You’d just flown long-haul. No one is in their right mind after getting off a plane from across the world. I never am.”

“Seriously, though, when I realised it was a catch-22, I nearly lost it. They can only open a bag with the permission of the owner, but they couldn’t confirm my identity as the owner to their satisfaction without opening the bag.” She knew she was labouring the point. She’d given Ash the digest version as soon as Matt had dropped her back at the apartment, but she couldn’t help dwelling on the “what if” of losing her passport.

She needed sleep.

“I seriously can’t believe they didn’t just give it to you. I mean, were there dozens of hysterical women calling up about a lost bag with that exact description?”

Jules’s eyebrows shot up on the word “hysterical” and she looked pointedly at Ash, a smile tugging at her mouth. Ash caught the look. “Well, not hysterical exactly. Um, concerned, upset, worried.”

“Anyway, common sense finally prevailed after the supervisor called his supervisor at home, and she gave him permission. The passport was bad enough, but that’s the bag with all the presents in it.”

“You brought presents?” The smile broke across Jules’s face.

“Of course. It’s Christmas.”

Ash grinned. “I love presents.”

“Chloe mentioned that,” she teased. “Actually, I should put them under the tree,” she added. It was a nice thought, but her body refused to budge. Instead, she glanced at the Christmas tree.

She’d only noticed it after she’d returned with her carry-on. It was beautiful, but it would be Jules’s first Christmas with a fake tree. And it wasn’t even fake, as in, “I’m pretending to be a fir tree.” It was made from silver and white tinsel and decorated with blue ornaments—only blue. Even the Christmas lights were blue.

“So, what did you bring for Matt?” Jules couldn’t decide if Ash had emphasised “Matt” on purpose. Was she getting at something?

“You’ll see,” she deflected. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“But how did you know?”

“What gifts to get?”

“Yeah.”

“Chloe told me who was coming on Christmas Day and I ran some ideas past her and, of course, I know you, so …”

“Seriously, no hints?”

“No!” She laughed. “Chloe said you would ask.”

“Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh. She also told me where she hid her present to you, so you wouldn’t find it before Christmas and peek.”

Ash’s mouth popped open, hung there for a moment, then snapped shut. She lifted her chin and, saying nothing, topped up their wine glasses.

“Well, it’s very nice of you to bring presents for all of us. You didn’t need to.”

Jules shrugged. “You’d have done the same.”

“Matt’s a good guy, by the way.” It was an extremely unsubtle change of topic—so Ash had been hinting at something earlier.

Jules pretended she didn’t get it. “He is. He did not need to do all that for me today. I mean, at that point when the supervisor said no to me retrieving my own bag … let’s just say, I was not my best self. I nearly gave up. But Matt was great—awesome, actually. It was his idea to escalate the whole thing.”

Matt was a good guy and an extremely good-looking guy. She wondered if he and Chloe had ever … She let the thought trail off as she sipped her wine.

“He had a rough time a little while back but, you know, he’s probably ready …” Ash left the rest of the thought unsaid.

Regardless of Ash’s intentions, Jules wasn’t up for contemplating Matt’s readiness for a romantic entanglement. “Ash, this wine is great, but I am beyond exhausted. I think I’m going to have to call it a night.”

“No worries. You did well. Look, it’s nearly eight o’clock.”

Jules glanced at the large clock on the wall in the kitchen. “They say it’s the best way, right? Staying up as long as you can to get on the right time?”

“Yeah. I always try to do that when I fly back to Melbs from overseas.” Jules took her unfinished wine to the kitchen. “I’m glad you like the wine, by the way. We’re having it at Christmas. Matt made it.”

“He made it?”

“Yeah. He didn’t tell you he was a winemaker?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of a big deal in the wine world. He won a ‘winemaker of the year’ award last year—the first Indigenous person to win it. Anyway, he can tell you about it himself.”

Adding “talented” to the growing list of adjectives to describe Matt, Jules sleepily brushed her teeth in Chloe’s bathroom, quickly slathered on some night cream and fell into Chloe’s bed.

A hot Aussie winemaker, who saved the day … was her last thought as she drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

*

“This way!” Jules followed Ash closely through the market, amazed at how well Ash manoeuvred through the crowd. “Just the prawns and the ham left to pick up,” Ash called over her shoulder. They came to a stop at a deli counter that was three people deep, all of them raising their hands and shouting over the hullabaloo of everyone else shouting.

“This place is for the prawns. I pre-ordered so it shouldn’t take too long,” shouted Ash. “Then we go over there for the ham.” She pointed at a shopfront two counters down.

“Is it always like this?” Jules was comparing the South Melbourne market—it was the size of a city block, packed to the rafters, and all under one roof—to farmers’ markets back home, with their relaxed atmosphere, outdoorsiness, and space. Of course, none of them were open at this time of year. The thought of all that produce snap-frozen from the cold air made her chuckle to herself.

“What, the market? It’s a little crazier than usual ’cause of Christmas, but it’s always busy. It’s ’cause everything’s high quality here—the meat, the seafood, the fruit and veg.” They shuffled forward as more people ahead of them turned away from the counter and pushed through the crowd with half-hearted “excuse mes”.

“And this is where you and Chloe normally shop?” Jules was trying to get a picture of what everyday life was like for Chloe and Ash.

“Um, sometimes. We’ll make the effort if we’re having a dinner party or for special occasions. It’s expensive, though, so we usually go to Woolies.”

Jules assumed that Woolies was just a regular a grocery store. And hearing Ash say that the market was expensive reminded her—she wanted to pay her fair share for what was going to be a spectacular Christmas feast.

“By the way,” she started, just as the couple in front of them moved aside and they took their place at the front of the line. “I want to contribute to all of this.”

Ash flicked her a look. “You don’t need to do that. It’s all good.”

The man behind the counter pointed at Ash and she rattled off her pre-order to him. He left the counter to get it.

“I want to. If Chloe were here, she’d be contributing, right?”

“Yeah, but you’re a guest.”

“Yeah, sorta, but Chloe’s one of my best friends—like a sister really—and you’re one of her best friends, so by proxy, this is like having Christmas with my extended family. I’d be contributing back home.” Ash looked unconvinced. “Please just let me?”

Ash pursed her lips. “Sure, okay, but no money changes hands. We are down a dessert with Chloe gone. She usually makes a pav.”

“A pav?” Where did Aussies come up with these words?

“A pavlova. Like a meringue.” And why did they shorten everything? Does Chloe always talk in Aussie-isms? Jules asked herself. Maybe she did and Jules just didn’t notice. Ash peered up her expectantly.

“Right. Well, I’m not sure my baking skills extend to making a pavlova, but I am awesome at Christmas cookies. That’s one of the ways I earn my keep back home. Actually, my cookies are kind of legendary.” She shrugged in mock modesty.

The man behind the counter handed over a large package of prawns wrapped tightly in butcher’s paper. “You’re talking about proper American cookies, right?”

Jules laughed. “Yeah, sure, I guess they’re American.”

Ash took off her backpack and squeezed in the package of prawns, then zipped it up. “But you mean those shortbready ones with all the fancy icing and stuff? Those, right?”

“Yes, they are fancy, very fancy,” Jules replied with mock seriousness.

“Well, if you’re sure—and please be sure because I’ve always wanted proper American cookies at Christmas—then we’ll stop at Woolies on the way home for baking stuff. That can be your contribution. How’s that?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“And then, we’re going out for coffee. I am dying for a proper coffee.” Ash forged ahead to the next counter where they would collect the ham, shoving her way through the dense, but amiable crowd. Jules stayed right on her tail, not wanting to get lost. She had no idea from which direction they’d come in.

Ash continued, “I mean, there are some great places for it here. Like that one.” She pointed to a tiny hole-in-the-wall—more of a counter than a coffee shop—with a long line of people who all looked like they were Jonesing for their coffee hit. “But look at that frigging line!”

She turned to Jules, “Okay, so we get the ham, we bike over to Woolies, get the baking stuff, then drop all this at home, and grab coffee? Sound good?” Jules could see why Ash and Chloe were such good friends. They were both super organised and, just like Chloe, Ash seemed to enjoy being in charge. Jules wondered if that made them the most formidable team ever, or if sometimes it was “the clash of the titans”.

“Sounds good,” Jules replied. Ash smiled, just like Chloe did whenever her plan was accepted. Two little planners living together. No wonder the apartment was immaculate. As soon as she got up that morning, Jules had made Chloe’s bed, almost as though Chloe was hovering over her, “Tuck that corner in! No, tighter!”

Jules never made her bed back home. What was the point? She was just going to mess it up again that night. But she’d seen Chloe make her bed in a five-star hotel. The thought tugged at Jules’s heart a little. Gosh, she adored that funny little Aussie.

She hadn’t realised how far they’d progressed in the line until Ash declared that they were done. “Let’s get the flock outta here,” Ash declared, elbowing her way to the exit. Another weird Australian saying, Jules thought as she followed obediently.

The outside of the market was almost as chaotic as the inside, but the sun was shining. Jules retrieved her sunglasses from the neck of her tank top and put them on. It’s summer. It’s hot. This is heaven.

Not for the first time, she wondered at the odd luck that had made her a Colorado native. She much preferred this warmer weather and she knew the winters were mild here. Maybe I was an Australian in a previous life, she thought, unlocking Chloe’s bike from the bike rack. I wonder what it would be like to actually live here, she mused.

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