The 14 Days of Christmas

“Thank you, Sebastian, for flying me over,” Lemon said. “And thank you, Ivy, for having me for lunch.”

“It’s delightful to have you with us,” Granny said. “And you, Griffin.”

It was good to have Griffin here. It was fitting. We’d spent almost every Christmas together since we were eighteen together.

Lunch had been delicious and Celia’s crackers a triumph. Each cracker contained a handmade Christmas decoration, which everyone loved. And I was going to be sure to smuggle some pigs in blankets back to the cottage with me when we left. Maybe I’d even grab another slice of Christmas pudding.

“Sebastian, my darling boy, I want to show you something. Will you help me out around the back?” Granny pushed herself up from where she sat at the head of the table.

“Shall I grab your Zimmer frame?”

“No need. I’m feeling much better now.”

I frowned. “Maybe a walking stick. You don’t want to—”

“Sebastian,” Granny groaned at me.

I got to my feet and pressed a kiss onto Celia’s head, ignoring the resultant aww from Barbara.

“Now that our plan has worked and you two are an item, can we start playing ‘Last Christmas’ again?” Howard asked. “It’s my favorite Christmas tune and I’ve missed it this year.”

An awkward silence settled on the table.

“Every time that song started up, it jumped to the next track,” I said. “That was deliberate?”

Keely shrugged and Barbara cleared her throat. I glanced around at the rest of the table who seemed to be finding their empty plates incredibly interesting.

“We were just trying to make this year less painful for Celia,” Granny said. “Now, come on, follow me—”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Celia said. “And much appreciated, but what was that thing you said Howard, about your plan had worked now that Sebastian and I were an item?”

“Oh, he’s just drunk,” Granny said. “Can you lend me your arm, will you?”

I shook my head. “I think you might have some explaining to do.”

“Nothing to explain at all,” said Granny. “Like we’ve all said before, we all thought you two would be a perfect match. And now you are.”

I growled, unconvinced that we were getting the whole story, but Celia patted my hand and I let it go. I’d get the truth out of Granny at some point.

“Are you sure I can’t just get you whatever you need?” I asked.

“Yes I am,” Granny said. “Follow me.”

I glanced back at Celia as I followed Granny out of the sitting room. Celia looked so happy. So content. So completely gorgeous. I was a lucky man.

“Should you really be walking this much?” I asked as we turned back on ourselves and Granny grabbed a coat and scarf from the rack. “We’re not going outside, are we?”

“Not for long. Follow me,” she said.

I didn’t understand why we had to do anything straight after lunch. But I wasn’t about to argue with Granny. I grabbed my coat and slid it on as we headed outside.

The rush of cold air hit my body like a brick wall. It had been so cozy around the dining table. Why did we have to leave, and for the frigid outdoors of all places?

She maneuvered with ease over the stone patio and across to the waist-high wall that marked the edge of the gardens of the Manor and the start of the fields and farmland that she’d been leasing out as pasture land for as long as I could remember.

“You see this field,” she said, nodding toward the adjacent property. The grass was covered in a sheet of icy frosting. The animals that normally fed here were tucked up, warm in one of Fred’s barns.

“Yes, you still renting it out as pasture for Fred’s cows?”

“Not for years. Too disruptive for guests and anyway, it’s too close to the village. The cows used to get startled by the guests wanting photographs.”

“So it’s just been empty?”

“Not exactly. I’ve had . . . wheels in motion. And a couple of months ago, I got this.” She pulled out some papers I hadn’t noticed tucked under her arm.

“Not an offer for sale?” I asked, taking the papers from her. The farmland around the Manor meant that views were unobstructed and guaranteed to stay that way. If she needed the money, I could give her whatever she wanted.

She didn’t answer, but nodded, urging me to open the papers.

There were about fifteen pages of formal-looking documents and plans, and then something on the top right-hand corner caught my attention. Outline Planning Permission.

“Oh and the document at the back,” she said, indicating another set of papers.

It read Deed of Transfer, and had my name at the top.

“Granny, what’s happening?”

“It’s your Christmas present. But only if you want it. You’ve got five years to decide whether you want to build. That’s how long the outline planning permission lasts.”

“Planning permission for what?”

“A family home,” she said simply. As if she’d just announced she was getting new cushions for the sofa. “I know you love your life in London, but sometimes you need a place that takes you away. And now, you and Celia—you might want a place in the village.”