Page 18 of Under the Mistletoe with You

The wind roars outside again.It’s pitch black out there now.It makes him want to light candles and curl up in a blanket fort.

What a weird fucking day.So many thoughts have been racing – and continue to race – around his head that this brief pause means he finally notices he’s got a cracking headache.He presses the warm cup against it, hoping the heat will ease the tension, but it is quickly too hot.He almost spills the cup all over himself as he thrusts it away and back to the table.

Everything is officially Too Much.

‘This is a cute little place you’ve got here.’Nash has re-entered the living area, presumably on the hunt for his freshly made mug of tea.

He sits down next to Christopher and the three-seater couch suddenly feels a lot smaller, not least because Nash is spread out all over it, legs apart and head back.

Make yourself at home, Christopher thinks sourly, and then feels immediately guilty for not being charitable about it all.

No wonder he has a headache.

Christopher blinks a few times, and realises Nash is staring at him with intense concentration.‘Yes?’he asks nervously.

‘What did you do to your head?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’ve got a big pink mark on it.’

‘Oh Christ.’Christopher feels the skin with the back of his hand.Hot but not burned, at least.‘Occupational hazard.’

‘Extreme-sports version of making tea, was it?’

‘Something like that.’

Christopher normally likes silence, but unearned silence with a stranger is far from companionable.He feels as ifhe should be entertaining Nash, but Christ, he’s tired.He doesn’t trust his slightly burned brain to not come out with absolute nonsense.The wind rattles the windows again, as if to highlight how much ‘not speaking’ is going on inside.

It could be worse.He could have fallen and maybe broken a leg and be being forced to watchFrozen 2with multiple children.

But even if it could be worse, it doesn’t make itnotannoying.To Christopher’s growing irritation, whenever Nash takes a sip of tea, he follows it by breathing out with anahh.

Every single time.

Be charitable.Be nice.Calm down,Christopher repeats to himself over and over again.And then ...

‘Are all British places so little?’Nash asks.He does this so airily, which somehow makes it seem all the more annoying.

Unstoppable irritation bubbles under Christopher’s skin.‘It might not be the biggest, but it’s the right size for me,’ he replies, coldly.

At this, Nash does that raised-eyebrow-smirking thing again.

Realising what he’s just said, Christopher splutters.‘That’s not what I mean.It’s small but perfectly formed.’

This sends Nash’s eyebrows right up into his stupidly perfect hair, a laugh rumbling in his chest.

How?Howdid he make it worse?

All Christopher can do is grab his too-hot cup of tea and take a huge sip.He winces with the heat, but it’s a relief from the constant hum of stress under his skin.

‘I’m just razzing you,’ says Nash with a lazy smile.

Christopher can’t decide what is more mortifying – how obviously embarrassed he is, or how clearly aware of that Nash is.

‘What I was trying to say,’ Christopher says, a little too conscious of his words, ‘is that that there’s enough space for me for nowin this flat, and yes, I suppose our buildings are much smaller over here.’

‘Do you have a spare room too?Like an office?’