One Winter Weekend

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

H is technique had changed, grown better.

He no longer had the excited anticipation of a teenager, eager to explore and claim. Patrick’s kisses had matured just like he had, and Emily found that even more irresistible.

When their lips finally parted she was breathless, and her knees just a little shaky. Thankfully he hadn’t released his grip on her so the fear of falling was eliminated, though the smile on his face didn’t help the situation.

“Shall we eat?” he asked then, as if nothing at all had happened.

Compose yourself Emily. It wasn’t that good of a kiss.

Who was she kidding? Yes it was.

“Sure,” she mumbled, stepping round him and heading back to the living room.

Sitting at the table, she discovered something else new and improved about Patrick. He could cook.

The table was laid tastefully, with matching dinnerware and cutlery. “Did this come with the flat too?”

“No, this bit is all my doing,” Patrick replied. “You seem to forget that our family owned a restaurant,” he reminded her.

“Touché. So what are we eating?”

He practically beamed with pride as he began to uncover the festive meal he’d prepared, course by course.

They started with the amuse bouche, a bite-sized puffed pastry filled with ham, cheese and chives, followed by pheasant wrapped in bacon with chestnut stuffing, roasted mushrooms and vegetables.

Afterwards, as was fitting in Paris, Patrick served a cheese platter with small salad, and then topped it all off with a Yule Log.

“I can believe you made everything but the log,” Emily challenged, as she dabbed the corners of her mouth and set her napkin aside.

“Guilty as charged.”

Emily smirked at him.

“What? I’m not a baker. I cook,” he stated matter-of-factly, as he began to clear the table.

“Do you want a hand with that?”

“No, you just go and take a seat on the couch, and I’ll be right with you,” Patrick ordered.

“If you say so,” she replied, taking her glass and walking over the couch, a spring in her step.

She made herself comfortable as she watched him continue to clear the table, before pushing up his sleeves and beginning to wash up.

It was strange, but there was something so cosy and domestic about the whole situation that she couldn’t take her eyes away. When he finally settled on the couch beside her, he looked tired but was smiling.

“I did ask if you wanted help,” she teased.

“I know, but you’re my guest. I wasn’t about to ask you to work for your dinner.”

“Fair enough,” she replied. “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, picking up the TV remote. “We watch Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street, and we fall asleep on the couch.”

“Is that so?”

He grinned. “I had it all planned.” He turned on the TV, the opening scene for the movie immediately appearing.

“You did plan this …” she giggled.

“Yes I did. It’s one of the things I really missed after you were gone. Not having you for our traditional Christmas week movie-watching sessions.”

“Well then,” Emily replied, settling in alongside him and resting her head on his shoulder, as the movie began. “We need to make up for that.”

She’d missed this too - all of it - and it felt so amazing to have it back again.