“I’m glad I brought my moustache and bowler hat.”
“Oh and I have some camo-paint. If you don’t think it’s too much?”
I shot her a glance to see if she was serious, but the grin she was holding in exploded across her face, giving her away.
“Is it bad that I’m a little bit excited to be pretending to be someone else for the night?” she asked. “Should we rehearse our personas? In case we get asked questions.”
Her enthusiasm wasn’t limited to Christmas apparently. “I’m not sure they’re going to put a bag over our heads, haul us to the nearest police station, and start interrogating us, but if it’s going to distract me from the cramp crawling up the entire left side of my body, let’s rehearse.”
She paused at a Give Way sign and turned right. I didn’t see any signs to Snowsville but no doubt she knew where she was going. “So I was thinking we’re newlyweds. We’re having a mini-moon in the Cotswolds because we’re saving for a deposit for a house in . . . Manchester.”
Newlyweds? That was an interesting choice.
“I’m not sure either of us can pull off a Mancunian accent. I know I can’t.”
“Sebastian!” she said, her tone chastising. “You should believe in your-elf.” She grinned and then fell silent for a couple of beats. “You’re right. Oxford, then. Then being in this neck of the woods makes sense—we’re staying close to home.”
“Did we get married in Oxford?” I asked, curious as to how much thought she’d put into our cover.
“Yes. A small church in my parents’ village of Wheatley. Close friends and family only.”
“And what is it I do for a living?”
“You’re a salesman—nope, you’re a civil servant. I work as a teaching assistant but I’d really like to train to be a teacher, though I’m not sure it’s worth it when we want kids as soon as possible. I probably won’t want to go back to work for a while afterward.”
“Kids?” Newlyweds meant lots of sex and I could heartily sign up to that idea with Celia. But kids?
“We’re going to aim for three but will feel blessed with just one. I’m from a family of five so—”
“Are you really?” I asked, intrigued. Having been an only child, I always wondered what it would be like to feel you had someone by your side, even when your parents let you down. I’d always had Granny but because she didn’t live with us, she wasn’t always around.
“Nope. A baby brother came along when I was fourteen. I’d have liked a sibling more my own age. Neil was only four when I left for university. We’ve never really done that thing where you make forts under the dining room table, lie for each other, or plan to run away to escape the parents from hell. You know what I mean?”
Better than she could imagine.
“But you and I want three kids,” she continued and I laughed. “We love the idea of a house filled with noise at any point of the day.”
I couldn’t think of anything worse, but this was just pretend so I was prepared to play along. “Are we actively trying to get pregnant at the moment. Like, should we practice?”
Her eyes went wide and a pink bloom crept up her cheeks. “I’m not sure anyone would need to know about our sex life.”
I chuckled, enjoying the thought that she might be thinking what it might be like. “Where did we meet?” I asked.
“I was working a second job in a coffee bar and you were a regular customer who’d come in every lunchtime. Obviously, I had a crush on you.”
“Obviously?”
She shrugged and her cheeks burned red and I couldn’t help but enjoy it.
“Did I obviously have a crush on you too?”
She tried to bite back a smile. “Not at first. I was just some girl behind the counter taking your coffee order. But I started writing you jokes and poems on your cup. It got your attention.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I was obviously won over by your excellent puns.”
“Exactly!”
I was amused by her certainty. “Did I ask you out?”
She pushed her lips into a circle. “Would pretend-you have asked me out? You’re a civil servant . . . A man who doesn’t notice . . . Nope, you didn’t ask me. One time you came in, I was at one of the tables. You sat down next to me. We got talking—our first date was almost accidental. And then you asked me.”
Pretend-me didn’t sound a lot like the real me. I did little by accident and if I wanted something, I wasn’t afraid to ask. “I’m not sure I like pretend-me.”
“You’re sweet.” She glanced at me, wearing a you-can’t-hate-the-elaborate-cover-I-came-up-with expression.
“I’m not sweet. I hate Christmas, remember?”
“Yes, but this isn’t real-you. It’s pretend-you. Pretend-you is . . . Pretend-you loves Christmas. We should have bought matching Christmas jumpers. That would have been snow fun.”