the shop and watched as Ritchie bagged the nuts. His lips moving silently as he counted each one into the bag. He looked so earnest and endearing – entrancing even.
All the more reason he had to get going. Soon.
She moved to the front window, crouched onto her knees, opened the box and began to take out the tissue-wrapped decorations, unwrapping each one carefully, and tenderly setting them on the floor. Gingerbread men. Candy canes. Stars and snowflakes covered in silver glitter. There wasn’t a lot of room to work with on the windowsill, but enough that the food-related decorations could be propped up, and the others could be hung on invisible twine and dangled from the window, creating a snowy scene of festive delights.
‘I never knew you were a big fan of Christmas.’ Ritchie broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry. I would have absolutely bought you all the presents in the world if I’d known you cared so much.’
‘Well I didn’t see any point in making a big deal about wanting to experience it.’ Serena ran her thumb over a glass star. Wondered if it were as delicate as her heart. If it could crack as easily if mishandled.
‘That would be because I didn’t give you a chance.’ Footsteps echoed about the timber-panelled walls. Ritchie sank down beside her and picked up a snowflake. ‘I shouldn’t have forced my dislike of that particular holiday on all those around me.’
She took the decoration away from Ritchie, their fingertips brushing, sending sparks shooting through her hand, up her arm. She let out an involuntary gasp and pulled away, but not before seeing a jubilant grin appear on Ritchie’s face. Damn it.
‘You okay, sweet thing?’ Ritchie picked up a gingerbread man, placed it on the sill, took another and positioned it next to the first one, so their gingerbread hands were touching. ‘Did I give you an electric shock?’ There was mischief in his knowing tone.
Serena shook her head as his familiar scent, all musk and leather mixed together, impinged on her senses. On her common sense. That was the last thing she needed.
‘No. Not at all. I just realised there was yet another thing that I don’t know about you, despite all our years together, and it surprised me.’
‘And just what would that be?’ The humour in Ritchie’s eyes disappeared, replaced with shadows that told her to back away. To not ask questions.
Serena threaded twine through a snowflake and stood to pin it to the top of the window frame. ‘Ritchie, I know you don’t like Christmas. But what I don’t know is why you don’t like it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ritchie’s eyebrows drew downwards, inwards, then knitted together. His chest heaved up. Paused. Deflated.
‘What happened in your life to make you hate Christmas?’ The words came out slow and kind… like she was talking to a young child.
‘I just do. It’s commercial. And over the top.’ Ritchie’s head angled away, a shadow covering his features. He could hide his feelings, but the twitch in the vein at his temple was giving him away.
‘You’re a rock star, Ritchie. You are commercial. You are over the top. What is it really about Christmas that’s meant you’ve never once celebrated it since I’ve known you?’
Muscles tensed in his neck as his shoulders hitched up.
‘People don’t just hate Christmas for no good reason, Ritchie.’ Serena reached out and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged her hand off. ‘Yeah, well. It’s personal. And we’re not together, so I don’t owe you an explanation about why I don’t do Christmas.’
‘Fair enough.’ Serena picked up another snowflake, pushed against its pointy edge with her thumb, and allowed the pain to wash away the disappointment. Of course, Ritchie wasn’t going to talk to her about Christmas or his feelings. That was pure Ritchie. He may be able to help on the farm, to help her out, but he couldn’t be the one thing she needed. Although maybe Rabbits Leap might change your mind about the season. It only gets more full-on.’
‘Really?’ Ritchie turned towards her, his shoulders more relaxed now that touchy subjects had been pushed aside. ‘What else happens?’
‘It only gets better, or worse. Depending on your perspective.’ Serena rolled her eyes. ‘Any day now the villagers will spray fake snow around all the windows in the anticipation of real snow. And then they’ll set the nativity scene up outside the church. Then of course there’s the Rabbits Leap Farmer of the Year Awards that Mum was talking about. It’s basically the town’s Christmas party. A quiet affair. Locals only. Rustic as anything, but I’ve been told it’s a lot of fun. And it all ends the next day, on Christmas day, with a parade.’
‘A Christmas parade on Christmas day?’ Ritchie’s blue eyes widened.
‘The whole town gets involved. The local band, the Revolting Rabbits, march down the street tunelessly playing Christmas carols. The nativity scene comes to life and follows behind the band. Sweets are thrown out for the kids. Santa is usually still drunk from the night before and falls asleep on his sleigh. And it’s all just horrible really.’
‘Horrible?’ Ritchie peered at Serena. ‘Hold on. You like Christmas. Why are you calling the parade horrible? That’s what I’m meant to say. I’m the Noel naysayer, not you.’
Serena shuddered as she recalled her part in the parade for so many years. ‘There’s a donkey in the live nativity scene. It takes two people to make the costume work. From the time I was tall enough to fill the costume, which was at about seven years old, until the time I left Rabbits Leap, I was one half of the donkey.’
‘So?’ Ritchie pushed a lock of hair away from his face. ‘You played a donkey, big deal.’
‘It bloody well was a big deal.’ Serena stood and hung up another snowflake. ‘I wasn’t just the donkey. I was the arse end of the donkey. And I spent every Christmas being farted on for the full twenty minutes of the procession.’
She waited for Ritchie to sympathise. To rage against the injustice of being farted on in a donkey costume for years on end. Nothing came. She glanced down.
He was crumpled over at the waist, his forehead flat on the floor, his shoulders shuddering with soundless laughter.
‘Don’t you laugh at me, Ritchie Dangerfield. It’s not funny. I was always teamed up with Ridge bloody Harper and I’m sure he used to eat pickled onions by the jarful the night before just so he could fart his worst.’
‘That’s bloody hilarious.’ Ritchie panted as a fresh wave of laughter sent his shoulders shaking some more. ‘Serena, you were the arse end of an ass. And considering your recent treatment of me I feel it’s a prophesy of some sort. Played an ass. Became an ass!’ A fresh batch of laughter shook Ritchie’s shoulders.
‘I don’t need to be putting up with this. I’ve work to do.’ Serena gingerly stepped over Ritchie’s prostrate body. ‘Laugh at my Christmas tale of woe? Well you can finish doing the decorations.’
She took in his convulsing form. Her lips twitched, threatened to rise. As usual, Ritchie’s emotions were catching. But that didn’t mean she had to like it, and it didn’t mean she was warming to him again. Or that some part of her was still under his spell.
All it meant was that if he had been the arse end of a donkey she’d have found it funny too.
‘What is that heavenly smell?’ Ritchie collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and breathed in, allowing the rich and exotic scent to infuse his mouth and trickle down his throat.
‘You’re in a chocolate shop, Ritchie. What do you think it is?’ Serena replied, with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.
‘Chocolate. Obviously.