Not Just For Christmas by Tracey Mayhew

Author:Tracey Mayhew
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tracey Mayhew

Chapter Twenty-One

Brandon

“So, Sophie’s been telling me about what she wants for Christmas…”

I know Jake is talking to me but, for the life of me, I can’t seem to focus on anything other than my thoughts about what had almost happened last night. I can’t work out if it was my hopes getting the better of me or if something had actually started to happen between me and Kate. Surely, it wasn’t just my imagination; the way she had looked at me-

“Yeah, she said she wanted us all to go to a tiger reserve in Africa so that she can adopt a tiger.”

“What?” I demand, confused.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “So, you were listening? I was beginning to wonder.”

I sigh, upset with myself for not paying him any attention; Jake had been with me through some of the hardest times of my life and I owed it to him now to pay attention and not zone out because of a woman, however infuriating said woman was. “Sorry,” I mutter sheepishly. “Does she really want a trip to Africa to adopt a tiger?”

At this, Jake rolls his eyes. “Tigers don’t even live in Africa, you idiot! Wrong continent.”

I blush at my obvious lack of attention. “Oh.” Rubbing my eyes, I fight the urge to yawn; needless to say, I hadn’t had much sleep last night.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were recovering from a wild night on the tiles,” Jake teases. “Mind you, considering our ‘wild night’ consisted of putting up Christmas decorations in a library, I’d wager this is more about the woman who runs the library or would I be wrong in that assessment?”

Looking up, I glare at him. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Use smug business speak to make your point.”

“Am I wrong?”

I hesitate, about to deny it, but know there’s no point; Jake knows me better than anyone, including myself, at times. Lying to him would be pointless. So, I do the most mature thing I can think of: I deflect. “I thought we were here to work, not talk about last night.”

“Actually, you’re here for my mum’s Sunday roast,” he retorts. He groans, waving a hand at the piles of paper and files littering the desk in his home office. “Come on, Brandon; you and I both know that there isn’t that much to do. We need that form from the council and there’s nothing we can do about it until tomorrow at the earliest.” Picking up a pile of paper, he shoves it to one side. “So, let’s just… not do the work for once and talk about you.”

I bristle at this. “I don’t want to talk about me. We could…” I pause, my mind grappling for alternatives. “We could talk about what I can get Sophie for Christmas, instead,” I suggest hopefully.

“Anything with cats, preferably black ones, will be perfect,” Jake retrots. “Thanks to Luna and Kate, black cats are all she can talk about these days.

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