Louise couldn’t quite believe her eyes. On almost every available surface there were candles, and a fire was crackling brightly. There was holly and ivy on the mantel, and in the corner, near one of the windows…a Christmas tree!
Not a huge one, but at least five feet high, bare except for a silver star on top. She spotted a box of decorations sitting on the floor, waiting to be hung. She picked a bauble out of the box and fingered it gently.
How…? Who…? Ben!
Not knowing what else to do, she sat cross-legged in front of the fire, staring at the patterns on the tiles until they danced in front of her eyes. Was this guy for real? Tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped them away hastily. No one had ever gone out of their way to do something so special for her before.
Louise stood up and placed a hand over her mouth. Oh, this was dangerous. All at once she saw the folly of her whole ‘daydreaming is safe’ plan. It was backfiring spectacularly. Her mind now constantly drifted towards Ben Oliver. And now her brain was starting to clamour for more than just fantasies. Especially when he did things like this. She was aching for all the moments she’d rehearsed in her head to become real…
As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book, or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started pre-school she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.
Fiona lives in London, but her other favourite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland, and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavoured. Of course she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up with tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favourite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.
Recent titles by the same author:
SAYING YES TO THE MILLIONAIRE
ENGLISH LORD, ORDINARY LADY
BREAK UP TO MAKE UP
HER PARENTHOOD ASSIGNMENT
Dear Reader
Everyone has their own family Christmas traditions, don’t they? I discovered that all-important fact when I got married. In my family we used to rush downstairs on Christmas morning and tear open our presents before breakfast. Imagine the sheer self-restraint I had to show when I discovered that my husband’s family opened theirs after Christmas dinner, and only when all the washing up was done and everyone had a cup of tea in their hands. How I managed to hold out that first year, I’ll never know.
Anyway, my husband and I have managed to combine our families’ different Christmas cultures and have come up with a few of our own too. One thing I absolutely cannot be without on Christmas day is bread sauce! It sounds odd, but it’s a traditional English accompaniment to roast turkey, and so easy to make!
First, fill a pan with a pint of milk. Stud an onion with three cloves and place in the milk, along with a bay leaf. Bring the milk to the boil, then remove from the heat. Discard the onion and the bay leaf, add four ounces of white breadcrumbs and season. Cook for five minutes, stirring until the sauce has thickened. Remove from the heat and stir in one ounce of butter and four tablespoons of single cream. Spoon into a serving dish, sprinkle with grated nutmeg and, voilà, you have a little bit of heaven to go with your Christmas lunch. Once you’ve tried it, you’ll never go back—I promise!
Christmas blessings and a happy New Year
Fiona Harper
CHRISTMAS WISHES, MISTLETOE KISSES
BY
FIONA HARPER
For Mum, I love you.
CHAPTER ONE
MOST women would have given at least one kidney to be in Louise’s shoes—both literally and figuratively. The shoes in question were hot off the Paris catwalk, impossibly high heels held to her foot by delicately interwoven silver straps. The main attraction, however, was the man sitting across the dinner table from her. The very same hunk of gorgeousness who had topped a magazine poll of ‘Hollywood’s Hottest’ only last Thursday.
Louise stared at her cutlery, intent on tracing a figure of eight pattern on her dessert spoon and eavesdropped on conversations in the busy restaurant. Other people’s conversations. Other people’s lives.
Her dinner companion shifted in his seat and the heel of his boot made jarring contact with the little toe of her right foot. She jerked away and leaned over to rub it.
‘Thanks a bunch, Toby!’ she said, glaring at him from half under the table.
Toby stopped grinning at a pair of bleached blonde socialites who were in the process of wafting past their table and turned to face her, eyebrows raised. ‘What?’
‘Never mind,’ she muttered and sat up straight again, carefully crossing her ankles and tucking them under her chair. Her little toe was still warm and pulsing.
The waiter appeared with their exquisite-looking entrées and Toby’s eyebrows relaxed back into their normal ‘sexily brooding’ position as he started tearing into his guinea-fowl. Louise’s knife and fork stayed on the tablecloth.
He hadn’t even bothered with his normal comments about the carbs on her plate. She was supposed to be getting rid of that baby weight, remember? Never mind that Jack had just turned eight. His father was still living in a dream world if he thought she was going to be able to squeeze back into those size zero designer frocks hanging in the back of her wardrobe.
But then Toby had emotionally checked out of their marriage some time ago. She kept up the pretence for Jack’s sake, posed and smiled for the press and celebrity magazines and fiercely denied any rumours of a rift. He hadn’t ever said he’d stopped loving her, but it was evident in the things he didn’t do, the things he didn’t say. And then there was the latest rumour…
She picked up her cutlery and attacked her pasta.
‘Slow down, Lulu! No one’s timing you,’ Toby said, eyes still on his plate.
Lulu. When they’d first met, she’d thought it had been cute that he’d picked up on, and used, her baby brother’s attempts at her name. Lulu was exotic, exciting…and a heck of a lot more interesting than plain old Louise. She’d liked being Lulu back then.
Now she just wanted him to see Louise again. She stopped eating and looked at him,
