By the time he left Oxford, the first few threads of conviction were beginning to unravel.
He hadn’t contacted her to say he was coming; he hadn’t contacted her in months, to be truthful. But he always came home for Christmas; she’d be expecting him.
By Northampton, snow was falling, as was his confidence, but his mood lifted as he left Leicester behind. Frankly, whose wouldn’t?
After Leeds, it was plain sailing to York, and he arrived outside her house to find a party in full swing.
Her engagement party…
She’d obviously seen the light long before he did.
One of my favourite Christmas songs – get well soon, Chris. And one of my favourite blog hosts, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, takes the Friday Fictioneers one step nearer to Christmas. And closer to the shortest day… which leads us ever closer to … yay!