The 14 Days of Christmas

I laughed. “There will be no fires. I won’t allow it.”

A group of people on the other side of the green started shouting and waving. “Sebastian,” I heard someone call.

I squinted at the group of people barreling toward me. “Griffin!” I’d told him what I was up to and asked him to rustle up some social media influencers. He’d never let me down before. I just hadn’t expected he’d bring them himself. By helicopter.

“I wanted to see the place that pulled you away from the Caribbean.” He took my arm and gave me a half hand shake, half hug.

“You were in the helicopter?” Of course he was. I don’t know why I bothered to ask.

“Gotta get my use out of it. And it only took us thirty minutes from London. There’s so much space out here.” Spot the Londoner who never leaves the city.

“Very different from Mayfair,” I said. Griffin usually liked London. And sun-soaked beaches. And nothing in between.

“Celia, this is Griffin. Griffin, Celia. Griffin’s my oldest friend,” I explained. “Who’s apparently flown from London to experience Snowsly’s Christmas Market.”

“There’s no better place at Christmas,” Celia said, her eyes reflecting the lights of the Christmas tree at the center of the green.

“Good to meet you, Celia.” Griffin glanced at me, then at Celia, then back at me. I could tell he was having a conversation with himself, noting how attractive Celia was, speculating as to whether there was anything between us. He was undoubtedly wondering if she found him attractive.

He was nothing if not predictable.

“You’ve been having fun,” Griffin said. He winked at me, having worked out my bond with Celia. We’d known each other a long time.

“Oh, and I brought one or two friends,” Griffin said, his hand waving in the direction of the other four members of his group. “You said you were trying to get some social media coverage. These guys are . . . you know. They’re on Instagram.”

A smile unfurled on my face. Griffin was a master of the understatement. “They’re on Instagram?”

“And one’s on TikTok, whatever the hell that is. But they love this kind of thing. Figured I might as well fill the helicopter.”

I punched Griffin on the arm. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. I’m here to do my Christmas shopping. It’s busy,” he said, surveying the green, “but not as bad as bloody Bond Street this time of year.” He turned, waved his hand in the air, and headed to the first stall.

“Well, if he gets his credit card out, we can about guarantee Snowsly will have their best year ever. He makes me look like I’m living paycheck to paycheck.” Griffin might just be the richest man in England. But what I liked about him is that he underplayed everything—his wealth, his loyalty, and his kindness.

“How do you know him?”

I turned to Celia. “Funny story. I met him on Christmas Day, on a beach in the northern part of Western Australia. We were both eighteen and away from home. Haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

“You don’t mean that.”

I smiled. Celia always believed the best about everyone. I wondered for a second what that would be like. “No, I don’t. Speaking of exaggerations, I can guarantee you when Griffin says the people he’s brought ‘have Instagram,’ they’re some of the most powerful influencers in the British Isles.”

Celia bounced on her toes, though whether she was excited or trying to keep warm, I couldn’t quite tell. “So, barring flood or fire, it looks like we’re all set to have a great rest of the season.”

I glanced up at the sky as snow began to fall. “It’s not looking like rain. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed about the fire.”

I grabbed her hand, threading my fingers through hers as she grinned up at me. Yes, the tree looked festive and the market stalls had their lights perfectly positioned. But there was nothing more beautiful than seeing Celia happy.

Twenty-One

Sebastian

It didn’t matter that I thought this was a terrible idea. Granny was determined.

“It’s a sprained ankle and I’ve been off it for almost two weeks. I’m going stir crazy at the Manor.” Sitting in the wheelchair, wrapped up in nine layers, she waved her walking stick in front of her like I needed directions to the village green. “I’m going to put the Snowsly bauble on the tree if it’s the last thing I do.”

The swelling around her ankle seemed to have subsided, so I’d relented and agreed to take her out. It was coming up to five and the sky was almost black, but even from the top of the hill, the sparkling lights of the Snowsly Christmas Market were visible.

“I want to see all the signs up, and these picture stations that you lot keep talking about.”

“I’ve shown you photographs,” I said. “Anyway, we’ll pass them on our way. I’m not sure why you’re still complaining.”