Louise couldnât quite believe her eyes. On almost every available surface there were candles, and a fire was crackling brightly. There was holly and ivy on the mantel, and in the corner, near one of the windowsâ¦a Christmas tree!
Not a huge one, but at least five feet high, bare except for a silver star on top. She spotted a box of decorations sitting on the floor, waiting to be hung. She picked a bauble out of the box and fingered it gently.
How� Who� Ben!
Not knowing what else to do, she sat cross-legged in front of the fire, staring at the patterns on the tiles until they danced in front of her eyes. Was this guy for real? Tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped them away hastily. No one had ever gone out of their way to do something so special for her before.
Louise stood up and placed a hand over her mouth. Oh, this was dangerous. All at once she saw the folly of her whole âdaydreaming is safeâ plan. It was backfiring spectacularly. Her mind now constantly drifted towards Ben Oliver. And now her brain was starting to clamour for more than just fantasies. Especially when he did things like this. She was aching for all the moments sheâd rehearsed in her head to become realâ¦
As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book, or living in a dream world. Things havenât changed much since then, but at least in writing sheâs found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started pre-school she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten loveâwriting.
Fiona lives in London, but her other favourite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland, and the Kent countryside on a summerâs afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavoured. Of course she still canât keep away from a good book, or a good movieâespecially romancesâbut only if sheâs stocked up with tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favourite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.
Recent titles by the same author:
SAYING YES TO THE MILLIONAIRE
ENGLISH LORD, ORDINARY LADY BREAK UP TO MAKE UP HER PARENTHOOD ASSIGNMENT
Dear Reader
Everyone has their own family Christmas traditions, donât they? I discovered that all-important fact when I got married. In my family we used to rush downstairs on Christmas morning and tear open our presents before breakfast. Imagine the sheer self-restraint I had to show when I discovered that my husbandâs family opened theirs after Christmas dinner, and only when all the washing up was done and everyone had a cup of tea in their hands. How I managed to hold out that first year, Iâll never know.
Anyway, my husband and I have managed to combine our familiesâ different Christmas cultures and have come up with a few of our own too. One thing I absolutely cannot be without on Christmas day is bread sauce! It sounds odd, but itâs a traditional English accompaniment to roast turkey, and so easy to make!
First, fill a pan with a pint of milk. Stud an onion with three cloves and place in the milk, along with a bay leaf. Bring the milk to the boil, then remove from the heat. Discard the onion and the bay leaf, add four ounces of white breadcrumbs and season. Cook for five minutes, stirring until the sauce has thickened. Remove from the heat and stir in one ounce of butter and four tablespoons of single cream. Spoon into a serving dish, sprinkle with grated nutmeg and, voilà , you have a little bit of heaven to go with your Christmas lunch. Once youâve tried it, youâll never go backâI promise!
Christmas blessings and a happy New Year
Fiona Harper
CHAPTER ONE
MOST women would have given at least one kidney to be in Louiseâs shoesâboth literally and figuratively. The shoes in question were hot off the Paris catwalk, impossibly high heels held to her foot by delicately interwoven silver straps. The main attraction, however, was the man sitting across the dinner table from her. The very same hunk of gorgeousness who had topped a magazine poll of âHollywoodâs Hottestâ only last Thursday.
Louise stared at her cutlery, intent on tracing a figure of eight pattern on her dessert spoon and eavesdropped on conversations in the busy restaurant. Other peopleâs conversations. Other peopleâs lives.
Her dinner companion shifted in his seat and the heel of his boot made jarring contact with the little toe of her right foot. She jerked away and leaned over to rub it.
âThanks a bunch, Toby!â she said, glaring at him from half under the table.
Toby stopped grinning at a pair of bleached blonde socialites who were in the process of wafting past their table and turned to face her, eyebrows raised. âWhat?â