Golden Christmas Read Online Free

socks.
    When she reached the door to Jonathan's
apartment, she tapped, then opened it a few inches and called out.
"Jonathan. It's Vicky. May I come in?"
    In the distance she heard his faint
reply.
    Honey trotted straight through to the
bedroom, confirming Jonathan's whereabouts. Vicky followed and
stopped in the hall outside his room. "I just wanted to check how
you are," she said.
    Jonathan appeared in the doorway, tying the
belt of a green-and-red tartan dressing gown over his pajamas, his
hair mussed. "You saw Owen outside?"
    "He was in a hurry, so I brought Honey
back."
    "Thanks. And thank you for taking Honey out
yesterday evening." He put a hand to his scar and grimaced. "My
brain's a little bruised this morning, but I'm on the mend. Would
you like a cup of tea?"
    "I don't want to put you to any trouble."
    He ignored her comment and moved towards the
small kitchen. He obviously knew where everything was because he
filled the electric kettle and switched it on as if he could see
what he was doing.
    "Have you eaten breakfast?"
    Vicky laughed. "A long time ago. It's nearly
midday."
    Jonathan gave a self-deprecating smile.
"Internal clock's a bit wonky today."
    Vicky pushed her hands in her jacket pockets
and glanced around, wondering how quickly she could leave without
being rude. When the silence grew awkward, she searched for
something to say.
    "Your cousin mentioned some puppies."
    A grin spread across Jonathan's face, and
there was no mistaking his pleasure. "Do you want to see them?"
    "I don't really mind."
    "If you'd like to come, I'll treat you to
lunch at the pub. They have great food there."
    Vicky pushed back the hair that had escaped
from her ponytail and cast around for a polite way to turn him
down. Yet what was the harm? It was only lunch in a village pub,
and she didn't really want to sit in her cold rental place.
    "Okay. That would be nice. I'll go and
change, and will pick you up in an hour."
    • • •
    Jonathan ran a hand over his lower face, feeling for
stubble he'd missed when he shaved. Satisfied he was done, he set
the electric razor on its shelf and picked up his comb to tame his
hair. It felt like an unruly mess, very different from the last
time he'd seen himself in a mirror.
    In his mind's eye, he pictured his reflection
when he'd shaved that morning at Camp Bastion. He'd taken his small
square mirror outside and set it against a rock, then lathered up
and dragged the razor across his skin with the unforgiving heat of
Afghanistan on his face. Back then, his hair had been short and his
skin tanned.
    He touched his fingers to the slick, steamy
glass of the mirror over his sink and wiped it, wondering what he
looked like now. His fingers moved to his scar out of habit, and he
rubbed the irritating ridge of tissue. He imagined it as an ugly
slash across his forehead. What did Vicky think of it? Did it put
her off?
    A knock sounded on his front door, then he
heard her shout hello.
    "I'm in the bathroom. Won't be a moment."
    Jonathan ran his fingers back through his
hair, trying to judge if it was neat or not, and blew out a breath.
His hair was the least of his worries. He turned and reached for
the door frame, sliding his fingers down to the door handle. Then
he made his way along the hall to his bedroom and opened his
wardrobe.
    He touched the row of shoes on the rack. The
weather forecast on the radio had threatened snow, so he needed
something with good tread. His balance was not as good now he
couldn't see. He had to be careful when it was slippery.
    The tips of his fingers found the textured
leather of his walking shoes, and he picked them up and carried
them through to the sitting room. Vicky's presence pinged his
senses and energized him like an electric charge. He couldn't stop
himself grinning like an idiot. "Hi there. What's the weather
like?"
    "Not snowing yet, but the sky has that heavy,
leaden look as though it's just waiting to dump all over us."
    Jonathan laughed. Vicky had a lighter