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“It’s no trouble.”
She pulled a face. “I know you say that, but one of these days, someone is going to see me get out of your car and start asking questions neither of us wants to answer. The tube is safer.”
He made a grumbling noise that might have been agreement, or disapproval, but Portia didn’t care. She finished her coffee, kissed Marco then headed into the corridor, where a small closet contained her rarely-used items.
Grabbing a chair, she stood on it, reaching for the top, making a noise of frustration when she couldn’t quite grab the box.
“Do you need a hand,cara?”
She spun, nearly fell sideways, earning a look of worry from Marco who moved swiftly to steady her by holding her hips. Portia’s blood-pressure spiked but not because of her almost-fall.
“It’s just that box.”
“Allow me.”
She was independent and capable but with a sigh, she stepped off the chair and watched in frustration as Marco reached up and easily dislodged the item, pulling it free of the cupboard and placing it on the dining table.
“Thank you.”
“Christmas Decorations,” he read.
“Yep.”
He arched a brow enquiringly. “Well, it’s almost December,” she pointed out. “And I love Christmas.”
He scanned her face, surprise evident in his features.
“Is that weird?”
“It’s not weird. I just didn’t expect it from you.”
“Why not?”
“You’re so practical.”
“I’ve always loved Christmas. There’s something about this time of year…” But something caught in her throat because the last time she’d pulled out this box and put up a tree had been with Jack and she remembered saying that it would be their last Christmas together before getting married.
“Anyway,” she said with forced cheeriness. “I’ll tackle that after work tonight.”
“Would you like help?” He asked, surprising her, and perhaps himself, with the offer. But as soon as he’d said it, Portia knew that yes, she did want that. It would be an extra balm to make this first Christmas alone easier.
“Are you sure?”
“Even if just to make sure you don’t go scaling any more chairs,” he joked.
“Okay. You can be the safety officer.”
He came closer, wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re sure I can’t give you a lift?”
“No. But I’m looking forward to tonight.” She kissed him to say goodbye, but it was not a quick kiss; she lost herself in the magic of Marco, as she always did, and when she walked out of her flat a short time later, it was with a huge smile on her face.
The tree was decorated slowlyand with great explanations of each ornament, a sort of catharsis as she separated out the decorations that were special because they’d come from her parents over the years, and those which she’d bought with Jack. Some of the latter she’d kept, because why should they all be ruined? But any that were too heavy with memories of their time together, she separated out into a different pile, intending to offer them to Jack, or give away to a charity shop.
When the tree was done, they sat on the sofa, Marco down one end and Portia reclining so she could admire the visage best, her feet in Marco’s lap, his hand on her ankles.
“What about your tree?” She asked, earning a short laugh from Marco.
He turned to face her, then sobered. “I’m sorry, you’re serious?”
