Meet Me Under the Mistletoe (2014)

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The last thing Mandy expects when she's out shopping a few days before Christmas and misses her train home, is to meet a guy. Not just any guy - but a really cute guy, Ryan, who's going to be at her friend's New Year's party. Will he be waiting for her under the mistletoe?

 Will he be waiting for her under the mistletoe?

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Carrier bags slammed against my legs, the handles digging groves into my wrists and fingers as I half-ran, half-stumbled up the stairs

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Carrier bags slammed against my legs, the handles digging groves into my wrists and fingers as I half-ran, half-stumbled up the stairs. I panted, out of breath, as I leapt up the last few stairs and dashed out onto the platform –

And saw the train pulling away.

I kept running a little way down the platform, momentum carrying me forward, hoping against hope that maybe the train would stop. It didn't, and I came to a halt, doubling over and gulping down the cold winter air.

At least it wasn't raining, too. I didn't think I could deal with rain right now.

I knew I was red in the face. It was so cold out today, what with snow being forecast later tonight, that I'd had to bundle up in my bobble hat and gloves and scarf, as well as my puffy pink coat. But between the station being too hot, and the fact I'd just run all the way from John Lewis, you could probably have fried an egg on my face.

It took me another few seconds to get my breath back, and I straightened up, hauling my bags up from the ground with me.

You'd have thought, that with it being a few days before Christmas, they'd have scheduled railway maintenance a little earlier in December. But no – there wouldn't be another train home for two hours.

Bloody fantastic. This was just my luck.

Footfalls sounded behind me, someone running, and before I could turn around to look, they ran right into me, sending me lunging forward, trying to keep my balance (and my many bags in hand).

"Hey, watch it!" I shouted at them, straightening up and turning around. I huffed, tossing my head to flick my hair out of my face and I glared. Sure, it was probably an accident, and you can't really blame someone when they're for running for their train – but I was not in the mood.

"I'm sorry," said a guy, the guy who'd just careened into me. He readjusted his hat – a navy blue knitted one that was too big at the back and sagged, his brown hair peeking out at wild angles from underneath it.

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