wind gusts around us, flinging the snow about like confetti, and it’s magical to walk like this. The snow isn’t settling on the sand, but it makes the beach look almost monochrome in this strange light. We’re the only ones here, and it almost feels as if we’ve come to the edge of the world. We walk from one end of the beach and back again, and I wonder at the way my life has turned out.
I smile at the thought.
His gaze stays on me as he flings our wet coats into the back of the car and retrieves the takeaway bag. “What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Just marvelling at the way my life has changed from one year to the next. This time last year I was in London going into a club.”
“And now you’re eating Chinese takeaway with plastic forks looking at the beach after Christmas carols.” He shoots me a sideways look. “Happy?”
I spear a prawn in my sweet and sour and look out at the snow-swept landscape and then back at the face that’s so dear to me. “So very happy,” I say decisively.
He grins at me as we fall on our food.
I come awake with a jerk as Silas moves away from me in bed. The cold air rushes into the spot where his body was, and I grumble. “Where are you going? Come back.”
“The phone’s ringing,” he whispers, piling the covers back around me. “Go back to sleep, darling.”
“Not on Christmas Eve,” I mumble, and he strokes my hair back before grabbing his phone.
“Silas Ashworth,” he says and then stands up as the person on the other end talks. “I’ll take this in the bathroom,” he whispers, kissing my forehead.
The covers are a warm nest around me and full of the scent of our lovemaking, and for a few minutes I drift, caught between dreams and waking. I come fully awake at the click of the bathroom door which sends light washing over the floor.
“What’s happened?” I ask, sitting up and squinting at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Bill Langley’s horse has gone into labour and Theo can’t get to him because of the snow.”
“And you can?”
Silas nods, stepping into his boxers and pulling a set of navy scrubs from the chest of drawers. He slides his legs into the trousers. “Yes, it’s not far from here. I won’t have a problem.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve,” I groan. “You might not be back for Christmas morning.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says again, regret deepening his voice. “I hate that I’m spoiling our first Christmas.”
I blink awake and mentally slap myself. This isn’t his fault. It’s his bloody job. “You’re not spoiling anything,” I say robustly. “You’ll be back when the horse is okay, and whenever that is, we’ll open presents.” I look out the window where the snow whirls against the mullioned glass. “It might just be us anyway.”
He crosses to the window. “You might be right. The snow’s thick.” He comes to the bed, hugging me and burying his face in my neck. “Go back to sleep, Pika. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I won’t notice,” I say, throwing the covers back. “Because I’m coming with you.”
“What?”
“That incredulity in your voice is rather loud,” I say tartly.
“Darling, it’s a horse birth. You’ll hate it.”
“I’ll hate it more not being with you on Christmas morning. Anyway, I’ve watched One Born Every Minute. I think I’m prepared.”
“No, Maggie watched it in the kitchen, and you had to put a tea towel over your eyes and have a lie-down afterwards.”
“Fluids, Silas. There were fluids. That’s all I have to say.”
He watches me throw my skinny jeans on, and an old black jumper of his which is thick and soft and almost comes down to my knees. I pull socks on and stamp my feet into my old combat boots and then wind a red scarf around my neck before pausing to stare at him. “You okay?”
He jerks as if I’ve startled him. “I like seeing you in my clothes,” he says and pulls me to him. “Are you really coming with me?” The wonder in his voice makes my heart bang in my chest.
“Of course I am,” I scoff. “Where you go, then so do I.” He blinks, and I grin up at him. “But maybe put a shirt on. I don’t think Mr Langley will appreciate the wonder of your chest in quite the same way I do.”
When we emerge from the bedroom, Chewwy is waiting, sitting