Spike slammed the crypt door and shook the cold rain off his leather duster. He stopped as he caught a faint flowery scent in the air.
Buffy.
Removing his coat, he strode down the steps and sniffed.
She'd been here, while he was out.
He followed the scent downstairs and over to his bed.
There on the covers was a small neatly wrapped present.
He read the card.
'Thought you needed a hand. Merry Christmas. Love, Buffy.'
"Love?"
Spike tore the glittery paper off and arched a brow at the book.
"Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus?"