All I Want Series Boxset, Books 1-3: All I Want for Christmas, All I Want for Valentine's, All I Want for Spring Read Free Page B

I wasn’t sure I agreed.
    I loved this part of Christmas — the build-up. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the day itself too, but it was the anticipation that thrilled me every year. When I was little, my parents would bring me to the West End to see the Christmas lights as an annual treat. We’d get hot chocolate, hot dogs and cinnamon donuts, and the size and sparkle of the event never failed to amaze me. Even now, years later, the sight of the West End Christmas lights still flush my insides with festive cheer. They also make me miss my dad so much, I have to stop and catch my breath.
    I’d styled my shoulder-length chestnut hair with a new product, but it felt odd, like a dry alien life-form perched on top of my scalp. However, my foundation was smoothed in, my lipstick so bright it could stop ships. I’d done a fashion show for Holly the night before and we’d settled on some tailored black trousers and a black shirt — simple, but effective. The stage was set, now I just needed my Juliet. Or Ruby, as the case may be.
    I bought myself a glass of Merlot and nabbed a table at the back of the pub. It was November 28th and already the place was overrun with Christmas spirit — by that, I mean drunk office workers. Scarves lay abandoned on the scuffed wooden floor as drinks were hoisted, ties were loosened and heels crunched on broken glass. London had come alive to celebrate the imminent birth of baby Jesus.
    I recognised Ruby straight away from her profile picture — she had crazy curly hair, so she was easy to spot. She struck me as the kind of person who was always catching her breath, always rushing, always late. She just had that aura about her.
    It was her love of tennis that had drawn me to her profile — that, and the fact she made a good joke about cats. I was desperate for a cat, but Holly wasn’t keen — I was still working on her. If I ended up with Ruby, not only were we sextile, we’d also have cats. Perhaps three of them.
    She squeezed past the crowd to sit down in the chair I pushed out for her. Ruby was carrying a pint of lager and a posh-looking laptop bag that screamed “steal me!”.
    She shook off her coat and smoothed herself down, before we smiled shyly at each other and shook hands. She had a strong handshake, not too firm, just right.
    Ruby turned out to be in the music industry. I pricked up my ears — not only cats and perfect compatibility, but also free gig tickets on the horizon. This was getting better. She was around my age but needed a better moisturising routine — the skin around her eyes and mouth was dry and drawn — but winter could do that to you. She was wearing a floral perfume that she’d clearly just reapplied, and her pink lips were rounded and glistening with lip balm. I leaned closer to get a look at the logo that was stamped liberally around her shirt.
    “Is it a squirrel?” I pointed my finger at one of the animals sitting happily on her breast. However, Ruby moved at that critical moment and my finger brushed her nipple.
    She shot backwards as if I’d just slapped her.
    I held up a hand as my cheeks hissed into red action. “Sorry — I was just pointing at the animal on your breast.” More blushing. “I mean, your shirt. Is it a squirrel?” This wasn’t going well.
    Luckily, Ruby had a sense of humour. She peered down at her shirt. “That’s a funny-looking squirrel — it was a rabbit last time I looked.” She gave me a grin. “So, is this a usual habit — feeling up your dates within five minutes?” She took a sip of her pint, never taking her eyes from me.
    I blushed a deeper shade of red. “I normally give it at least ten.”
    But after that, things took a turn for the better. One thing I didn’t have to worry about was flowing conversation. Ruby liked to talk. And talk and talk, which suited me as I was happy to listen, smile, nod and assess. Was Ruby going to be my future girlfriend? I was just happy that the chat was about celebrities,