Merrily Ever After

Book 0: Catherine Walsh Christmas romcoms

by Catherine Walsh

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Close your eyes and make a Christmas wish . . .

Oliver wants to give his best friend Lara the happy Christmas she deserves, and he hatches a plan - with disastrous consequences.

Zoe just hopes the season will pass without a hitch for her and her almost four-year-old - but the universe seems to have other ideas.

Hannah is determined to show her girlfriend just how much she loves her - if only she could think away from the chaos of the Fitzpatrick household.

And Sean knows it will take something pretty spectacular to sweep Colleen off her feet...

Four short stories. Four Christmas wishes. But will it all end merrily ever after for the Fitzpatrick gang this holiday season?

From bestselling kindle sensation and the queen of Christmas love stories Catherine Walsh comes a brand-new short story collection for romance readers - featuring some of her best-loved characters from Snowed In and Holiday Romance.

And if you can't get enough of Catherine Walsh, her next novel How to Write a Love Story is available for preorder now!

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 60000

Sample

I should have bought more tinsel.

It’s the only thing I can think of as I balance on a stool in the dark living room, using the last of my tape to hang another string of fairy lights on the wall. Not that you can ever have too many fairy lights, but tinsel? Tinsel is supreme. There’s a reason it’s stuck around all these years. But I only bought enough for the tree and the archway and now there’s nothing left to affix to the mantelpiece. It’s affixless. All because genius here thought a bunch of paper snowmen would shake things up a bit.

Maybe the shops are still open.

There’s a loud bark from next door, and I glance outside as I step down, almost expecting to see Lara’s taxi pull up. But the street is quiet. Not that I’m surprised. It’s late, and besides me, the only other living souls awake appear to be the dog and a fox I saw scurrying around the bins at number twelve. Everyone else must be snug in their beds while visions of sugarplums … sing or something. I forget how the poem goes. I don’t even know what a sugarplum is. A pudding? I feel like they were obsessed with puddings in the nineteen hundreds. Puddings and chimney sweeps. And child labor. Cholera.

Hmm. I take out my phone and type in what is a sugarplum as I rub my increasingly bleary eyes. I haven’t had much rest over the last few days. Honestly, I should probably be asleep right now. Or, at the very least, in the pub. But instead, I’m here. Breaking into my best friend’s house on Christmas Eve just to— Hang on.

I frown down at the screen. It’s not even a plum. They’re dreaming about singing nuts? I search again. Why is it called a sugar—

In taxi now. Never traveling on Christmas Eve again

My scowl disappears as Lara’s text comes through.

Do you know what a sugarplum is?

It’s a comfit, isn’t it?

Like the duck?

That’s confit

And now I’m hungry.

Are you at your parents’ yet?

No, I’m at your house waiting for you to come home.

Heading there tomorrow

I mean, it’s not a lie. But what am I going to do? Ruin the best surprise of all time? I scan the room again, looking for a spot I might have missed. But there’s nothing. The place looks perfect.

Bar the tinsel, that is.

I groan inwardly, wondering if I have enough time to go get some, come back and disappear again.

I don’t usually second-guess myself. I’ve always been an act-now-and-don’t-look-back kind of a person. And besides, this was one of the least stupid plans I’ve concocted. I’d go so far as to say it was simple. Thoughtful. A nice thing to do by me, a nice person and her best friend.

Lara loves Christmas. It’s one of the few common factors between us. I think it’s because she loves knickknacks. Little thingamabobs. Sparkly, glittering thingamabobs of which the season is full. Basically, she’s a magpie.

From December first to January fifth every year, her house looks like elves have thrown up over it – a twinkling two-up-two-down that can be spotted from miles away. It’s usually the best decorated on the street. But last month her mother got sick, and she flew to Berlin to be with her. She said not to worry. That it would only be for a few days. But a few days turned into a few weeks, and she didn’t come home. Beyond the odd check-in, I tried not to bother her, but I knew she was having a hard time even though she’d never admit it.

So I thought I would do what I could to cheer her up. That I’d dress up her house for her. Nothing too big at first. Some lights. Some shiny things for the tree. I even roped in some people to help. An old acquaintance of mine who makes posh people’s flour hooked me up with a guy who sells artisanal gingerbread houses. My mate Zac sorted me out with the champagne in the fridge. When my cousin Andrew arrived unexpectedly with a pretty blonde called Molly, I made them both assist in putting up each and every decoration. And yes, okay, maybe a bit more than that, and yes, I might have gone overboard once things got going, but a job worth doing is worth doing well. I can’t help that I’m passionate and accidentally bought too many glue sticks. Besides, who doesn’t want several meters worth of garlands strung around the place? The Grinch?

I tuck my phone back into the pocket, restless. I should be gone by now. That was the original plan. Santa Claus doesn’t hang around to watch you open the presents, and I need to get some sleep if I’m going to survive Christmas Day with my parents and seventeen members of our extended family.

But despite all of that, I linger, fidgety and unsure as I glance around.

Knowing I wouldn’t have long, I chose to focus my attention on the living room and the kitchen. But now I’m thinking I should have done her bedroom as well. Or left something on her pillow. A present, perhaps. There’s only a 50 percent chance that could be construed as creepy.

Maybe 60.

But I definitely should have hung up more tinsel.

Somewhere has to still be open.

I open my phone again because surely the whole point of living in this city is for twenty-four-hour conveniences, and it’s at that moment a car pulls into the neighbor’s yard, its headlights sweeping into the room.

On reflection, the child-sized elf in the corner was a poor choice of decoration, and as its painted eerie smile catches the light at just the wrong angle, it resembles more of a festive demon arrived to suck out my soul than a ten-quid statue I found in the discount bin at Poundland. It’s horrifying enough that it’s like a punch straight to my heart, and I mutter a curse as I jump back and then full-on yell as I stumble over one of the extension cords and go sideways into the Christmas tree.

I drop my phone as I manage to right myself. But I’m not quick enough to save the real star of the show.

The tree. The painstakingly decorated, beautifully arranged, surprisingly heavy tree slowly tilts before crashing to the ground with a dramatic symphony of rustling foliage and chiming bells and one comedically timed bauble that rolls to a gentle stop by my feet.

For a moment all I do is stare at it. I actually think I might be in genuine shock because at first I’m not even aware of the dog once again barking his head off. I definitely hear the bang of the car door though, and I duck down, crouching among the scattered decorations as the porch light turns on next door.

The barking stops, but the crunch of gravel is unmistakable as a figure approaches the dividing walls between gardens and peers in. I freeze for so long my leg goes numb, but I don’t move until finally, after what feels like an hour, the lights turn off and they go inside.

I turn my attention to the destruction. Forget the tinsel, it will be a miracle if I can clean up this mess in time.

I heave the tree back into place, glad no one is around to see me poke myself in the eye with a pinecone, and haul as many decorations as I can into my arms, putting them on the branches with what I like to think of as chaotic artistry.

At least that’s what I tell myself as I start to fumble with the more delicate ones. The clock is ticking now, and I’m starting to get stressed, which only stresses me out more because I don’t usually get stressed. I’m the calm presence in the room. But now I’m running out of time and the dog is barking again and some of the felt stars I stuck to the wall have fallen off, which makes me worry about the tape I used.

I’ve just put the last candy cane on when headlights appear outside again, only this time they linger at the end of the driveway.

Lara.

I stash the remaining ornaments behind the tree, and step into the hallway as the engine turns off. I get a fresh bout of nerves as I wait, listening to the approaching footsteps pause outside the front door.

She’s probably looking for her house keys. In fact, that’s definitely what she’s doing. She’s always forgetting the small things. At least when it comes to herself. The woman will rattle off a whole medical textbook and then forget to put milk in her tea. Forget to look after herself.

But that’s okay.

That’s what I’m here to do.

I look back at the living room, feeling a little calmer. It’s not perfect, but she’ll love it. I know she will.

I smile, and with a deep breath, open the door with my arms spread wide. I expected a gasp. Maybe a moment of surprise followed quickly by unrestrained joy. Mostly, I expected my best friend. What I didn’t expect was to come face to face with a tall, burly police officer standing on her welcome mat. One who looks like he’s never gasped in his life and who definitely does not look happy to see me.

“Jump! Jump! Jump!”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I turn my gaze from the inky black water below and glance over my shoulder as the final few people make their way up the ladder and onto the roof of the science building. At least a dozen others stand watching in a huddle behind me, filming on their phones and drinking from neon-colored bottles we bought for next to nothing at the supermarket. They’re drunk. Happily, stupidly, deliriously drunk. And so was I until a couple of minutes ago.

Until she showed up.

Beside me, Tommy flexes his muscles, all two of them, and the entire roof breaks out in cheers. Or most of them do.

“This is so dumb,” Tommy laughs, and I nod, slapping him on the back even as my eyes flick to the side. To the girl who hasn’t spoken a word. Lara Stevens.

I didn’t expect to see her tonight. In the week I’ve been at this university, a week of parties and pub crawls and everything but learning, I haven’t seen her out past 9 p.m. And I’ve looked. Hard. It’s become a habit now. Ever since I first caught sight of her on moving day, I can’t seem to enter a room without checking to see if she’s there. But the only time she’s around is in those afternoon hours when we overlap and even then I only catch glimpses. The dinner line at the canteen. Through the windows of the library.

On top of the science block at 1 a.m. is the last place I expected her to be. And right now, the last place I want her to be since I’m wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a sparkling blue tutu.

Not that I’m shy. I’ve never been shy. And when I stripped off my T-shirt thirty seconds ago, it was to several pairs of roving eyes and appreciative wolf whistles. Just none from her.

Not only did she not wolf whistle, she didn’t even look impressed. She actually looked significantly unimpressed. And now she’s not even looking at all.

I thought I caught a brief glance when she first arrived, but she hasn’t turned my way since, which is slightly confusing because I work pretty hard on my body, truth be told. A lot of rowing and protein powder and, okay, maybe some good genes too.

People look at me.

So why won’t she?

There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I turn away as someone hands me a bottle. I take a swig automatically, but it doesn’t go down as easily as it did before. Too sugary and yet too bland all at the same time. Still, I force a smile and hand it back, keeping up appearances.

“Where the fuck is Jeremy?” someone shouts and there’s a chorus of catcalls as people lean over the side of the building, looking for him. Jeremy is who we’re waiting for. Who’s fetching the shots we’re to drink before we jump into the lake below. I forget why. Forget what we’re jumping for as well. Honestly, I’m not even sure how this all started, but it seemed like a great idea when we were all in the student bar getting shit-faced. Some genius proposed a game of truth or dare and I’ve never turned down a dare in my life so now I’m here. In a tutu. And, since I’m no longer enjoying the effects of questionable alcohol, I’m starting to slightly regret it.

I look to the side again, trying not to be too obvious as Lara chats with a friend. Dark curls. Brown eyes. Unlike me, she’s fully dressed, wearing jeans and an oversized cardigan. She wears no jewelry, but there’s a university-branded lanyard with her student pass around her neck. We were all given them in our orientation packs. I lost mine on the first day, but I’m glad she didn’t. It means I know her name. I know a few other things too.

Mother from Berlin. Dad from Glasgow. Raised in Manchester. That much I gleaned from her social media. That and that she liked a dog-themed meme page three years ago. Crumbs were all I could get. And now here’s my chance to finally talk to her and she’s acting like I don’t exist.

“Who’s that?” Tommy asks, nodding her way with an interest I don’t like.

“None of your business,” I say shortly, but he just laughs.

“Where the hell is Jer then?” he asks, stretching his arms out as he glances at the gaggle of girls watching his every move. “That fucker said he’d—”

“Run!”

The shout is distant, but we all hear it, and I join Tommy as he leans over the edge of the building to investigate.

“Security!” someone shouts below, and as I peer down the dimly lit pathway, I can just make out Jeremy running alongside the lake, waving his hands wildly over his head. “Security’s coming!” he yells. “Go!”

“Oh shit,” Tommy says, sounding just a little bit gleeful as he points a finger to where several flashlights bob up and down, heading our way. “Everyone down!” he calls. “They’ve seen us.”

There’s a chorus of screeching and yelling, which will surely only attract more attention, and a sudden rush to the fire escape. It’s the way we all came up, so the only way we can all get down.

It’s a bit hard with some of the girls in heels and somewhere in the back of my mind I register that it’s a mirac. . .