Page 16 of Miss Christmas

“We better get going then.” Merry smiles, and I’m not entirely sure why, but when she does, it seems it could thaw the fucking ice outside. It’s so warm.

“You should smile more,” I say without thinking, as she shrugs.

“Haven’t had that much to smile about,” she admits, heaving herself to her feet. “Do you have anything warm I could wear to walk over there?”

I glance around, momentarily distracted by the way she naturally pouts when she’s being kind.

“My hoodie is in the wardrobe. When you open the door, it’s hanging up,” I mutter, nodding at the wardrobe in question. “I’ve got some wellies you can wear. There’s no way you’ll make it in this.”

She nods gratefully, and I reach into one of the drawers in the wardrobe, tossing some t-shirts and joggers onto the bed.

“They’re gonna be miles too big for ya, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thanks, Dylan,” she says in a small voice, her eyes meeting mine.

There’s a flicker of desire deep within me which I push away, refusing to entertain anything like that again. Emotions aren’t good for anything, and it’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman.

That’s all this is.

Desire.

“I’ll leave you to it then, and I’ll grab the wellies from downstairs.”

Turning away before she can fix me with that gaze of hers, I head down the stairs, wondering what kind of nightmare made a grown woman cry. The only thing I can come up with is that it’s probably something she’s lived through.

A real nightmare.