Christmas Eve

She heard the door open, and then the familiar thud of his briefcase being mercilessly thrown on the floor followed. Clementine snorted and shook her head.

"Remind me why I decided it was a good idea to have the office party on Christmas Eve," he asked, entering the room, pulling off his tie.

"Because yesterday you had to go to mine, and the day before there was that dinner at Richards', and–"

She had to stop, because he leaned in and kissed her firmly.

"Mmm, someone's been nicking biscottis from the tin," he murmured and kissed the tip of her nose. "Let me wash my hands and change."

"No!" Clementine exclaimed in fake horror, and hooked her finger to the collar of his white button-up. "The shirt has to stay!"

He chuckled.

"What? Your space pirates haven't satisfied you today, have they?"

"No," Clementine groaned and let him go. "Sometimes I think the readers won't get this sequel. I was so frustrated, I almost killed that copper you like in the Cox book!"

"Not Sergeant Baby Cheeks!" He gave her a theatrical judgemental look. "You're a dangerous woman, Popplewell."

He laughed and left the room. Clementine took another sip of her tea.

"We need to call Lyn," she shouted towards the bathroom. "The girls wanted to thank you for the present. And Lyn wanted to 'thank you' too."

She heard him laugh in the hallway, and he came in - as Clementine obviously noticed and noted to herself - rolling up the sleeves on the same shirt. Mmm, the man's pressing all the right buttons! A white shirt, dark denim, and bare feet? Someone's clearly hinting on something.

"They did ask for a puppy," he said.

"Well, it'll make you even more popular in their books. In Lyn's, meanwhile–" She trailed away and gave him a pointed look.

"So, how's my Alphabet Gang doing today?" he asked, coming up to her, for a proper kiss, probably.

A few minutes later she swatted his shoulder and gently pushed him away.

"Dinner first," she ordered, and he guffawed.

"Will this cooking slavery ever end? It's been two years!" he exclaimed and went to the fridge. He looked inside. "Popplewell, where are the last two slices of strudel?"

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow.

"The Gang was hungry," she said with a shrug.

"The Gang at the moment are cumulatively the size of a large aubergine, Clementine," he said sardonically. "Those strudel slices were bigger than them."

"You just wanted it for yourself. I'll bake you another one," Clementine dismissed.

"You better," he grumbled and took a pack of chicken breasts out.

"Oh, remember that interview I gave a couple of weeks ago? On being the uncrowned Queen slash King of modern hard-boiled fiction?" she said, nibbling on a baby carrot from the plate he'd placed in front of her.

"Oh, it's out? I love reading about your 'path to fame,'" he drew out sardonically. "They always get it wrong."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's once again something about the 'male dominated world of crime fiction,'" she scoffed. "I'm starting to think we should have thrown that 'identity reveal' party you'd suggested."

She could see his shoulders shake in his beautiful whole-body laughter.

"A net of balloons above the stage, and then– bam!" She mimicked an explosion with her hands. "My giant portrait rolls out on the backdrop, and each ballon says, 'Evelyn Cox has a vagina!'"

He guffawed and put a pan on the hob.

"Well, you're the one who chose to give 'a civilised interview to a respectable literary magazine,'" he quoted her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just thought they'd get over it in a couple of months. Instead, it's still, 'Ahhh, how come she's a woman!' and 'Is she really Evelyn Cox, or is she a puppet cleverly placed by the mighty John Holyoake?'"

"Sorry, love," he said and threw her a sympathetic look.

"Ugh, it's alright. The Gang is making me stroppy today," she grumbled and drank more of her tea. "And the lack of coffee. I miss my Sage! And my morning caffeine induced jitters!"

"Five more months, and you can drug yourself again, as much as you want," he said.

"Well, technically when A and B are born, I'll have to work around their feeding schedule, but yeah," she said in a dreamy voice. "Mmm, coffee!"

"I had a thought today," he said slicing a bell pepper. "Were you an A or B?"

"During pregnancy? I'm not sure. But Lyn was the first to come out, so to say," Clementine said. "You?"

"Fred is older. He never lets me forget it," he said with a chuckle. "We need to call Nana by the way. He texted me that he'd taken her laptop to get fixed, so Skype's working again."

Clementine climbed off her chair. A kitchen island might have been an ace idea, considering Holyoake's height, but how are you going to be perching on these chairs in a few months, you clot? She came up to him, wrapped her arms around his middle, and rubbed her nose to his back.

"I changed my mind," she muttered into him. "I decided I don't want to sell the cottage. We met in it, and–" she sighed. "Am I being unreasonably soppy?"

He chuckled, pushed his arm back, and patted her backside. Just as always. Clementine tingled in adoration.

"It's your cottage, Clemmie. You can do whatever you want with it."

"I know. And the logical part of me says I should sell it, and invest the money. But–"

He turned around in the circle of her arms, hugged her back, and looked at her down his long nose.

"But?"

"It was just so– And I know we don't even visit it." She pressed her cheek to him. "But remember how it was? We were stuck in self-isolation, and you cooked for me, and I seduced you with my amazing Christmas tree decorating skills."

"I definitely remember that tree," he purred. "Given, I mostly recall the carpet under it. And it wasn't the tree that seduced me. That would be your tap pants."

Clementine giggled.

"And my skating?"

"Oh, that definitely helped." He kissed the top of her head. "Don't sell the cottage, Clemmie."

"Yeah. Maybe, something good will come out of it. Maybe, we can take A and B there when they are bigger," she murmured.

"Teach them to skate," he added softly.

"Bake jammy dodgers with them," Clementine whispered.

"Oh, your jammy dodgers," he laughed. "Talk about seduction. Oh that reminds me, can we watch The Third Man again today?" he asked.

"Because I fell asleep mid-way yesterday?" Clemmie asked shyly.

"Because you fell asleep mid-way yesterday," he said, smirking, and then quickly kissed her lips. "The two Holyoakes are exhausting you, aren't they?"

"There's only one Holyoake exhausting me," Clementine said in a pretence confrontational tone. "These–" She patted her stomach. "These are Popplewells."

"Only if they're gingers," he said. "C'mon, love, let me finish cooking, and we'll go watch. Maybe, if you're chewing, you won't conk out."

"I can't help it!" she said - and yawned. Like a character in a well-written scene in a romcom. "You've always been beneficial for my sleep, Mr. Tickles," she added with a snort.

"Back at you," he said and kissed her.

She ended up falling asleep before Martins got to the book club. Silly, silly Clementine!

Happy, happy Clementine.