Heedless of anyone watching, I take his lips in a long, slow kiss and when I close my eyes, the darkness is lit with the lights from the fire engine and the ambulance.
When we separate, I smile at him. “Reach in my back pocket.”
“I suppose I can do that now,” he says demurely. “We are engaged, after all.” He reaches in, finds the envelope, and glances up at me.
“Open it,” I encourage.
He slides his finger under the flap and upends it, and two platinum rings fall out onto his palm. He gazes into my eyes and swallows hard. “They’re gorgeous.”
“Look inside,” I say hoarsely. “I had them engraved.”
He turns them so he can read by the glare of the lights and I see a tear slip down his cheek. “Fuck, Silas,” he says.
I grin. “I am maybe the master of romance,” I say smugly.
He chuckles. “I actually think you are.” He traces the words and reads them aloud. “‘Wherever you are is my home – my only home.’”
He leans into my side, and I cover his clenched fist holding the rings and bring it up to my lips to drop a kiss on it. “It’s from Jane Eyre. I thought it was appropriate, as that too had a house with mad people in it.” He laughs, and I kiss his head. “I actually had a romantic proposal planned,” I confess, watching the firemen leave and nodding my thanks to the paramedics as they pack away. “I was going to whisk you over to the cliffs at Boscastle and propose over a picnic and champagne.”
“What was in the picnic?”
“Bits from Lester Deli,” I whisper.
He groans. “Is the champagne cold?” I nod, and he grins. “Let’s drink it in bed. And if you’re good, I’ll let you propose again.” He leans close. “I promise to put out.”
“Let’s lock the door first,” I say faintly, and when he laughs, I glare at him. “And make sure no tours are around.” He grins, and I shake my head. “You think it’s funny. I think it’s scarred me.”
His laughter floats around us as we wander back to the house lit against the darkening sky. The dogs snuffle about and pad next to us, and I draw him close. Romance might be relative, but so is happiness, and right now at this moment, I can’t believe that anyone could ever be happier than me.
Merry Ozzy Christmas
Oz
The back door opens, letting in the cold, fresh air as I pull the last tray of mince pies out of the oven. I look around and smile at the sight of Silas. This smile seems to be a disgustingly regular occurrence, but who could blame me? Have you seen him? You’d smile too.
He grins happily at me as he unravels his long scarf and chucks his navy peacoat over one of the chairs. His eyes slide to the tray on the counter, and I swear they nearly cross in pleasure.
“Ooh, mince pies. And hot too. Lovely!”
Silas has an addiction to mince pies that’s quite frankly incomprehensible considering the amount that his tenants and customers give him over Christmas. I’m surprised he isn’t the size of a house, but he never puts on any weight despite eating his own body weight in pastries.
I smile helplessly as he grabs and hugs me, pushing his face into my neck and making me yell out loud when his cold nose finds my exposed skin.
“Fuck off, Silas, you wanker. Your nose is cold.”
He looks me up and down and laughs. “I’m surprised my nose managed to penetrate those layers you’ve got on. If anyone tries to arrange a last-minute trip up Mount Everest, you’ll be set.”
I look down at my outfit of skinny jeans, fleece-lined boots, and one of Silas’s old jumpers that absolutely swamps me. They’re keeping me warm along with the huge pashmina scarf I have wrapped around my shoulders which I’m sure used to belong to his mother. “I’m sure I would be ready,” I say tartly. “Given the nosebleed coldness of your house.”
He grins. “You’ll get used to it.” His smile fades out, and he glares at me. “And it’s your house too, Oz. I keep telling you this.”
I wrap my arms around his waist, burrowing under his jumper to run my fingers across the silky skin of his lower back. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. Don’t forget you’re hosting Christmas with me.”
“How could I possibly forget? I have a list to prove it.”