The 14 Days of Christmas

We had very different definitions of what “fun” involved, and I couldn’t help but wonder if pretend-me was someone Celia was more interested in than real-me.

“Pretend-you sounds a lot like real-you. Am I the man you invented for yourself?”

Before she had a chance to answer, the road turned to the right, revealing the village of Snowsville. It was covered in fairy lights—and not just the trees. Every shop and house on the main street was strewn with them.

“Wow,” she said, her bright, colorful stories giving way to reality. “It looks really beautiful.”

Even as a man who didn’t like Christmas, I couldn’t argue with that. Along with the lights, the Christmas stalls were all covered in red velvet ribbons, which gave the market a different feel to Snowsly’s, where each stallholder decorated the stall as they wanted—bar the meticulously placed lights.

“I’m beginning to think this isn’t such a great idea. What if we get caught? And what if Snowsville’s market is so good, it sends me spiraling?”

“If we get caught, we get sent to a South American prison for a couple of years. No big deal.” A small smile curled around her lips. “And I won’t let you spiral. Trust me. Come on,” I said, pointing out a parking space. “Let’s snow and be two different people for a couple of hours.”

Her smile shined brighter than the fairy lights. “Snow time like the present.”

Twelve

Sebastian

After a little wrestle with Celia’s Mini, I managed to extract myself. I held out my arm to her and she took it.

“You’re right,” she said. “No way we’re going to get caught. You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be offended. Where did I look like I came from? Mars?

“Said the elfin princess who can’t stop Christmas punning.”

“But my hair is covered,” she said, reaching around her hat to check that nothing had escaped.

“People aren’t going to be on the lookout for spies from the next village,” I said. “They’re going to be focused on having a good time and making money.”

This time, it was her turn to give me a cynical eye roll.

We wandered up the road. There weren’t as many stalls as Snowsly had, and rather than them being set up on the smallish green, one of the roads toward the top of the hill had been closed off and lined with huts.

Celia was definitely jumpier than usual, and I couldn’t tell if it was just excitement or if she was really nervous about being caught snooping.

“Shall we get our sea legs by getting a cup of hot chocolate?” I nodded toward the cart set up at the top of the road.

“You think they’ll add a dash of brandy if I ask them nicely?”

We wandered over to the stall, greeted the Santa-hatted hot chocolate seller, and placed our order.

He placed two cardboard cups on a barrel upended by the side of the cart. “You come far?” he asked.

“We’re on a mini-moon,” Celia blurted. “Like a honeymoon but smaller. We’re newlyweds. We’ve come from Oxford. Or just outside. A village called Wheatley.”

The seller gave Celia a look that was somewhere between sympathy and suspicion. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head in an effort to calm her.

“You live here?” I asked the vendor before Celia had given the poor guy a rundown of our entire, invented, life story.

“Moreton,” he replied. “Help yourself to mini marshmallows.”

Celia scooped a spoonful into my cup and then into her own. “Thank you,” Celia called over her shoulder. Then to me, under her breath, “Do you think he suspected anything? The kiss on my head was inspired.” She grinned up at me, and I had to hold back from pulling her into my arms and kissing her properly. Maybe later.

“I’m not sure you need to offer quite so much information. Lying isn’t top of my skill set, but if people aren’t asking questions, there’s no need to provide answers.”

“You’re right. I’m a maniac.” She sighed before taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “At least my punning seems to be under control. Sometimes it takes on a life of its own.”

“Long may the hiatus last.” I lifted my arm and she grinned, hooking hers underneath. I was unexpectedly enjoying the feeling that we were together here, alone, pretending to be a couple.

“This hot chocolate has nothing on Howard’s,” she said as we headed toward the start of the market.

I didn’t point out that what we were drinking was also ninety-nine percent less likely to be a contributor to a cardiac arrest.

The first stall we came to sold wooden toys and advent calendars.

Celia frowned. “I don’t recognize these stalls being shops in Snowsville. But then Snowsville doesn’t have that many shops . . .”

I guided us over to look at the wooden toys. Some painted, some just oiled or waxed. Many of them were Christmas decorations.