Christmas Cracker 3-Book Collection: Three Cosy Christmas Romances. Lindsey Kelk

how do you feel about being on a reality show?’ Dan says, pulling my hand inside his coat pocket to keep warm. I snuggle into his arm, drawing in his citrusy scent, and make a conscious effort to focus on enjoying the moment, instead of worrying about what might have been with Tom.

      ‘Well, it was a shock at first, seeing myself on TV without warning,’ I say, looking at the pavement. ‘And then I felt let down by … ’ My voice trails off.

      ‘But you’re having fun now? It’s changed your life,’ he says.

      ‘Yes. It has.’

      ‘Will you pursue a career in the spotlight, once the reality show is over?’

      ‘I’m not sure. I like some things about it, others not so—’

      ‘Ah, let me guess … YouTube. I was shown a clip of you.’

      ‘Oh no.’ I cringe.

      ‘You made me laugh, which is why I agreed to be your surprise date, and I’m glad that I did. We’re having a good time, aren’t we?’

      ‘Yes. But it is a bit surreal, though, if I’m honest.’

      ‘Really? Why?’

      ‘Well, you know … you’re famous.’

      ‘So are you.’ He nudges me and I smile.

      ‘So why did you agree to be on the show?’ I ask.

      ‘Guess I just wanted to reach a wider audience.’ He shrugs his shoulders and laughs at his own joke. ‘Besides, it’s fun, especially if I get to hang out with you. You’re normal. It’s refreshing, and makes a change from the people I usually meet.’ He swings my arm playfully and it makes me laugh.

      ‘Ahh, thank you.’

      ‘My pleasure. Seems to me we’re in similar places right now, relationship-wise, so we might as well keep each other company.’ Dan stops walking and we turn to face each other. He takes my other hand in his. ‘If that’s OK with you?’ He grins, and I grin back. I’m having a really nice time with him, and it sure beats sitting at home alone on a Saturday evening with my phone at the bottom of the laundry basket, just so I’m not tempted to send Tom another trivial text message to like ‘congratulate him on his engagement’, or ask if I can have my Adele CD back – that was a particularly low moment when I just wanted a response from him. A reaction, anything, even a short, sharp ‘NO’ in reply would have been a comfort. It’s so rubbish that I haven’t even had a chance to ask him why we ended up the way we did. But it’s done with; I’m drawing a line under it. I take a deep breath and puff a big cloud out into the frosty night air, as if to mark my decision.

      ‘I’d like that, Dan.’

      ‘Good. Me too,’ he says, and we carry on walking.

      We reach the bandstand on the promenade, which is illuminated by a trillion tiny golden lights set in snowflake shapes against the inky night sky. The rhythmic swirl of the sea laps the shore. The icy air makes my cheeks numb. I press my free hand up to my face in an attempt to keep warm, when Dan swings me around to look me straight in the eye.

      ‘Georgie, can I kiss you?’ He pulls me in close.

      ‘Um, yes. OK,’ I say, instantly wishing I’d thought of something slightly more inviting to say, but before I can utter another word, his lips are on mine. Soft and warm. It feels nice. Not electric. Just nice and comfortable. Instinctively, I close my eyes and melt into the moment. My pulse quickens. We finish kissing and pull apart. A spark of light catches my eye. Dan sees it too and, as we turn together, there’s another spark. A camera. He grins at me. I grin back.

      ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he says, raising an eyebrow and lifting a lock of hair away from my face. I nod. ‘After three,’ Dan whispers in my ear, and a few seconds later he moves one hand up between my shoulder blades and circles my waist with the other. ‘Let’s give them something to talk about.’

      And in one swift movement, he leans forward, dips me back, and plants a massive kiss on my lips, holding it for several seconds in true, sweepingly romantic Hollywood movie-style, almost taking my breath away. As my hair swings back in the breeze, my right leg pops up against the side of his thigh, and I cherish the feeling. It’s exhilarating. Glamorous. Fun. A wonderful life … or so it seems.

       18

       Three shopping weeks until Christmas

      It’s Monday, my day off, so I’ve decided to surprise Dad with an impromptu visit, I’ve brought banana sandwiches and ginger beer just in case he’s free and we can take a trip to Mum’s grave, followed by a stroll along the promenade. Just the two of us. It will give us a chance to talk, for me to let him know I’m pleased he’s met Nancy, and see if he wants to invite her to Sam’s house for Christmas lunch.

      I press the intercom and wait for him to answer. There’s no reply. I press again; perhaps he’s in the bathroom. But still no answer. I rummage in my bag to find my mobile. His number rings before going straight to the answer service. My heart drops with disappointment. I’m just about to leave when an old woman wearing a festive red Santa hat decorated with tinsel, and dragging a tartan wheelie shopper, comes to the door. She presses the security pad.

      ‘Ooh duck, you’d better come on in – can’t have you standing out in the cold. Not when you’re, well, you know … ’ she says, standing aside as the automatic door buzzes open.

      ‘Thank you. Err,’ I mutter, wondering what she’s going on about, but before I have a chance to ask, she’s off up the path, bellowing out to the minibus driver to make sure he waits for her. I’m hovering in the hallway when my mobile rings. It’s Dad.

      ‘Georgie, I’m so sorry, I missed your calls. Are you OK?’ he says, sounding different – panicky, edgy perhaps.

      ‘Yes, I’m fine thanks, are you?’ I brace myself, desperately hoping he hasn’t slipped back into his old ways and got in trouble again – gambling is an addiction, after all. And I know he’s never missed a meeting since he left prison all those years ago, but it’s still there, secreted in the back of my head as a possibility, I don’t think that will ever go away. And I couldn’t bear it, for his sake too, if he succumbed again. I know he’d be devastated. And what would Nancy think? Dad could lose everything he’s worked so hard to rebuild.

      ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he quickly replies.

      ‘Dad, I’m actually outside your flat, but you’re obviously not here. I’ll come back another time.’