You’ve seen Mark Darcy in the reindeer jumper his mother gave him, now meet Marco Cavelli in this season’s Christmas knit!
For single mum Maggie, Christmas has always been a family occasion – her daughter Ellen filling the house with her bubbly warmth and mistletoe, her dad Paddy having one too many festive tipples, and the traditional family Christmas tree looking like a drunken elf vomited a rainbow all over it.
But this year, with both Ellen and Paddy away for the holidays, Maggie’s facing a truly blue Christmas – alone with nothing but a bottle of Baileys and an M&S turkey dinner.
Until walking the snowy streets of Oxford, Marco Cavelli quite literally crashes into her life – and, complete with broken leg, becomes her unexpected houseguest. All dreamy brown eyes and 6’5” of gorgeousness, the man is hotter and more delicious than a freshly baked mince pie.
Though Maggie always thought it’s a truth universally acknowledged that you never kiss a man in a Christmas jumper?
The next FABULOUS book from Debbie Johnson, author of best-selling Christmas number one, ‘Cold Feet at Christmas’ and the summer hit ‘Pippa’s Cornish Dream’.
EXTRACT Chapter 3
The second time she saw him, she had her
head up Gaynor Cuddy’s skirt. Gaynor was the first of her Christmas
brides, and had come in for her final fitting. She was a
larger-than-life girl, Gaynor, and had ordered an even larger dress – in
fact, Maggie had decided, it was entirely suitable to feature in an
episode of Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. Even if Gaynor wasn’t, to her
knowledge, a gypsy, and instead worked as a call centre manager and
lived in quite a swish flat off the Woodstock Road with her boyfriend
Tony.
Hooped and embroidered to within an inch of its life, the
frock was pretty much done. It had taken over a year to make, and about
three miles of satin and tulle to construct. She’d exhausted the stock
of every faux pearl merchant within a 100 mile radius, and risked
permanent curvature of the spine, hunched over attaching them
.
Now,
after much trial and tribulation and detailed accounts of how little
Gaynor had had to eat for the last month, it was perfect. Or, more
accurately, it was perfect for Gaynor. Some of her other clients would
faint with shock, but Gaynor was happy – and that was all that mattered
to Maggie.
The reason she head her head up the skirt was to
fiddle with the bridal under-garments. In keeping with the OTT frock,
Gaynor had decided she wanted to have a garter belt that could double as
a gun holster – where she planned on hiding a small fake pistol to whip
out for comedy effect after the ceremony. It wasn’t an everyday
request, but perfectly doable with a bit of fast stitching and the
occasional dollop of cheat glue.
She’d normally be doing this in
the fitting room, but, well. It just wasn’t big enough – so she was out
on the shop floor of Ellen’s Empire, crawling around in discarded scraps
of material and the stray threads of cotton that always seemed to coat
the tiles, no matter how much she swept up.
As she worked, the
hoop held over her head, Gaynor rattled on about the reception (200 of
their closest friends, including Maggie), and their honeymoon (the
Seychelles, not including Maggie), and the fact that she planned to eat
her own bodyweight in Terry’s Chocolate Orange the minute the dress was
off, before she did anything else at all. Tony would undoubtedly be
delighted with that schedule.
Maggie couldn’t hear everything
clearly, and just kept shouting the occasional encouraging sound as she
practised inserting the little gun into the holster, and pulling it back
out to test its quick draw qualities. Yup. It seemed to be working just
fine, and would definitely make for an entertaining photo or seven. Not
quite a shotgun wedding, but she got the gag.
As she decided she
was finally happy, she slipped the gun out again. It, too, was
decorated with faux pearls – and had been filched from a Calamity Jane
fancy dress outfit Gaynor had found online. Maggie took one more deep
breath before trying to fight her way out again, carefully lifting the
hooping, listening to the swish of acres of material, before crawling
back out.
At exactly that moment – with her backside inching
away, head still submerged in Gaynor’s flounce – the doorbell to the
shop rang. Perfect timing. She should really have flipped the sign to
‘closed’.
Maggie climbed to her feet, wiping multi-coloured
threads off the knees of her jeans, and turned to face her visitor.
Gaynor giggled, and she realised she was brandishing the fake pistol in
his direction.
“Don’t shoot! I’ll go peacefully!” he said, face
creasing into a grin. A grin she recognised. The grin that belonged to
the Man from the Park.
Her face already flushed from getting way
too up close and personal with Gaynor’s stockinged thighs, she tucked a
wild lock of her hair behind her ear, and tried not to look embarrassed.
There was, she told herself, nothing to be embarrassed about.
Certainly, she’d just crawled out from another woman’s crotch, and yes,
she was pointing a toy gun at him. But he didn’t know that she
recognised him. That she’d been ruthlessly mocked by her own daughter
for leching over him. That several times, often late at night, she’d
found herself remembering him – his height, the wide shoulders, the easy
way he carried his bulk. The infectious love he’d obviously felt for
his toddler son.
The toddler in question was also with him, and
staring wide-eyed at the huge dress. Once his mind had processed it, he
ambled towards the table that held Maggie’s small but perfectly formed
Christmas tree. She’d made all the decorations herself with spare white
silk and taffeta, and sprinkled them with glitter. It was...tasteful.
Definitely a lot more tasteful than the one she had at home, which
looked like a drunken elf had vomited a rainbow all over it.
The
boy reached out, hands grubby from some chocolatey treat, and the man
immediately walked over towards him and gently but firmly pulled him
away.
“No, Luca – you have to be decontaminated before you touch anything like this.”
The child looked up at him, obviously debating whether he could make a break for it.
“No want show!” he said, defiantly, stamping one wellington-clad foot.
“I know you don’t want a shower, but you’re gonna get one – just as soon as we’re finished here.”
He
hoisted the little boy up into arms that – Maggie couldn’t help but
notice – were delightfully big and brawny. She had a momentary flash of
him in Russell Crowe’s Gladiator outfit and felt her cheeks burn even
brighter. She reminded herself that in reality, he was wearing yet
another Christmas jumper – this one featuring Santa Claus with a bobble
on his hat. He must have a collection of them at home.
“That’s
okay,” she said, walking towards the tree and picking off one of the
decorations. “These were made by Christmas pixies. They left a load of
them – you can take one with you, if you like?”
The child looked
at her, and looked at the sparkling bow she was holding out. Then he
looked at the man, eyes big and hopeful. After getting a nod of
approval, the boy grabbed it out of her hand as fast as one of those
frogs catching a fly on a nature video. Scary reflexes.
“Thank
you,” said the man. “That’s really kind. He’ll probably try and eat it,
but what the hell...I was wondering if you could help me with a suit
that needs altering. I have a Christening to go to, and my own got lost
on the ‘plane journey over from the States. I got the nearest I could
find, but...well, it’s a little on the tight side.”
Maggie bit back a small gulp, and laid a hand on the Christmas table for support.
“I bet!” piped up Gaynor, with perfect comic timing, “you’re the size of the jolly green giant!”
“Not gween!” replied Luca, before promptly stuffing the corner of the Christmas ribbon into his chocolate-coated mouth.
“Oh...I
see...well, I’m really sorry, but I don’t do men...” Maggie stammered,
realising as she said it that she might possibly have created the wrong
impression. Or, unintentionally, the right one – she hadn’t actually
done a man in many years. Her friend Sian said she was convinced ‘it’
had grown over again now, like when you leave your ear-rings out too
long. Sian was classy like that.
He raised his eyebrows, his wide
mouth managing to somehow smile with the upward tilt of just one
corner. Gawd, she thought, he had a gorgeous mouth.
“I mean I don’t do men’s clothes. Obviously.”
“Obviously,”
he replied, seeming to be quite enjoying her blush-a-thon. “Well, can
you recommend anyone? Anyone who does do men?”
“I do men!” said Gaynor, before guffawing like Barbara Windsor after three bottles of Rioja.
Luca
joined in, giggling away even if he had no idea what he was laughing
at. He really was adorable – if slightly on the terrifying side.
“You could try Lock’s, up near Cornmarket. He should be able to help.”
He
nodded his thanks, and maintained eye contact for just a fraction
longer than the circumstances merited. Please leave, she thought, and
let my face fade back to its normal shade. But for some reason he wasn’t
moving – his bulk was between her and the door, making her feel trapped
and hot and way too bothered.
He maintained that annoyingly intense eye contact and grinned wickedly at her, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Maggie
tried to smile back, aiming for friendly-but-firm, but thought she
probably looked a bit like the Elephant Man as she did it. Her insides
were going a bit squishy, and there was a strange ringing noise in her
ears. She felt like she should say something more, try and at least
appear like a normal intelligent human being, but her vocal chords had
decided to go on strike. He was just so...shiny. And big. And healthy.
There was a kind of glow around him – the Ready Brek boy crossed with GI
Joe. For some reason, it made speech completely impossible.
“I need to go doo-doo,” said Luca.
At least someone wasn’t stuck for words.
Debbie's next book is sure be an awesome read aswell. Keep your eyes pealed for The Birthday that Changed Everything Out in Jan!!
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