12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter three

"I like both," I say, "but at home, I tend to prefer tea. Very hard to get wrong." I shake a chai tea bag at him and drop it into my favourite mug, shaped like a bright-eyed robin. "What'll it be?"

He clucks his tongue and taps his thumbs together. "I think that, after four years of me making you coffee, it's time I tried it the way you make it."

He doesn't look convinced. I shake a heaped teaspoon of granules into the other mug, this one shaped like a penguin wearing a snowflake-printed scarf, and pour boiling water over both once the kettle whistles that it's done. I always loved the cliché of a whistling kettle and one of my favourite impulse purchases is the whistle attachment I added to the spout of my otherwise boring, bubbling kettle. It reminds me of childhood mornings getting ready in front of my parents' Aga, my mother wearily making tea as my sisters and I scuttled around getting ready for school.

Once the granules have dissolved in Casper's mug and the teabag has turned the water murky brown in mine, I splash milk into both and take a seat opposite Casper. It's weird having him in my kitchen. I've never had that many people in my house before, and certainly no-one from the café. One of the other staff, Diane, gave me a lift home once when my car was in the shop, but it was pissing it down then too, so she never made it inside. This feels like the unnatural blending of worlds. Especially unnatural considering the clash of Casper's and my attitudes towards the holidays.

My home is all about everything festive and fun, from cards on the mantelpiece to my elaborate tree and decorations in every room. Tinsel is strung up in the kitchen, wintry candles in the middle of the table amidst the remains of yesterday's wrapping endeavour, and the regular magnets on the fridge have been replaced by an assortment of Santas and reindeer and elves.

"What's the verdict?" I nod at the mug in Casper's hand once he's taken a sip.

"It could be worse," he says, "but I'm in no place to complain. I'm not sure what I would've done without you." He shakes his head and sighs, twisting his hands around the mug and occasionally lifting it to his lips, only to put it down again.

"Luckily for you, you don't need to find out."

"You're a real one." He gives me a smile, holding my gaze for a moment before it drops to the swirl of his coffee. "Just so you know, I'm not sure I want to talk about it all quite yet. I'm still trying to figure out what the fuck happened last night. I can't get my head around it yet." His head goes back to slowly shaking; he exhales another heavy sigh.

"In your own time, Cas. I'm not that well versed in emotions and I'm not great at advice, but I'm always happy to listen." I take the first sip of my tea and relish in the gentle, milky spice. The steam fogs up my glasses.

We drink in silence for a moment, listening to the rain as it starts to let up. That's probably nothing more than a sign that there's worse to come: the rain slows when the cold hits, which means deep puddles and soaked roads are going to freeze over before the snow starts to fall and turns driving into a death wish. It's the only thing I dislike about the season, and living in a valley where the rain seems to fall harder and stay longer, and the snow gathers for months on end. I have chains on my tyres and I know when it's best to stay home, well versed in the ways of Saint Wendelin by now,

"What were your plans today? I don't want to get under your feet."

"You're not gonna like it."

"I'm going to take a wild guess and assume that everything you do for the next twelve days is going to be Christmas-related," he says.

"Correct. And yesterday was my last day of work until after the new year, so the-"

"Wait, what? You get, like, three weeks off?" He stares at me, bug-eyed. "I thought you worked in an office?"

"An office in a university," I point out. "The students have a whole month of, and all the admin staff are off from Christmas Eve until the day after New Year's; I just choose to use a week or so of my holiday on the week before Christmas. I'd rather make the most of my favourite season than take a pointless holiday in summer."

"Don't you get three months off in summer?"

I laugh at his naivety, a sure sign that we haven't dug very deep in the last four years. "I'm not a student," I say. "Admin's a year-round job. Someone's got to be there for all the A-level kids freaking out about their grades or trying to get a last-minute place, and I'm happy to work during summer when everyone else would rather be in Spain, as long as I get my extra-long Christmas."

Casper digests this for a moment before he shrugs. "Fair enough. Well, there you go, we're getting to know each other better already. Your obsession with this shitty season has consumed you to the point that you'd rather spend your holiday freezing your arse off than baking to a crisp on a Spanish beach."

"Spot on. And today, I'm going to the Christmas market."

"Saint Wendelin has a Christmas market?"

"No. It's about twenty minutes away, so if you want me to drop you off anywhere, that's fine. Do you need to get anything from Eric's?"

His face crumples. "Yeah. But I can't face that yet."

"You're welcome to stay here, if you want, but I think distraction is the best technique for dealing with heartbreak in the early stages. Maybe, if you're too busy grumbling about festivities and rolling your eyes at me when I buy decorations and presents, you won't be thinking about Eric."

"Mmm."

"I'll throw your clothes in a fifteen-minute wash and it won't take long for them to dry. Then we can get on the road and you can discovery the wintry wonderfulness of a Christmas market. A mug of mulled wine will perk you up. You never know, now that there's some extra space in your heart, it could be that Christmas is all you need."

Casper finishes his coffee and crosses his arms, regarding me with a withering look. "I'll be the judge of that," he says, "though for some reason, I don't think Christmas is quite the same as a boyfriend."

"No, you're right." I squeeze his shoulder and pat his head when I squeeze past him to rinse out the mugs. "It's so much better."

*

only two days of nanowrimo left! this story has been my saving grace, contributing to almost half of my nano word count, so i hope you're enjoying it - plenty more to come!