"Merry bloody Christmas!"

Barbara Havers put her groceries on her doorstep and sat down. Unusually for London, light snow was falling. It stayed on the ground and looked pretty but soon softened to sludge. She rested her head in her hands and stared at it, wondering how she could have been so stupid.

Her rational side kicked in. Calmly, she turned out the contents of her bag and replaced the items one by one. No keys. She checked all her coat pockets systematically. Nothing. Barbara sat back on the step and tried to remember exactly what had happened. Work had been long and tiring. Her boss, Tommy Lynley, had insisted she spend at least 30 minutes at the pub having drinks with the team. At 31 minutes, she had bid him goodnight and Merry Christmas and left. The Tube had been crowded but not unbearable and she could clearly remember opening her door and tossing her bag on the kitchen bench before making herself a coffee. The milk had been off. The label said the use by date was six days over. If she had to go to the shops, she decided to also pick up extra bread, and some real food. If she was off for three days, she would need to eat.

Now, with two bags of food, including her impulse purchase of a Christmas cake, she knew what had happened. She had grabbed her car keys from the hook, picked up her bag, and left her house keys still sitting on her bench. "Bloody hell. Where will I get a locksmith at this hour on Christmas Eve?"

A few years ago she would have gone next door and retrieved her spare key from Azhar. Now that he had moved, the only spare key she had given out was in Belgravia with Tommy. She groaned. The last person she wanted to see was him. Actually, that was a lie. She wanted to see him. That was the one constant in her life, a constant desire to spend time with him. But was not wise. One day he would look at her and realise she was in love with him. Then he would run. Worse, he would be disappointed in her. Tommy viewed their friendship as sacrosanct. Any taint of impure thoughts, of romance, would spoil it for him. She sighed. She had no choice but to drive to Belgravia, paint on her best-friend-but-no-more smile, and liberate her spare key from his study drawer.

Tommy Lynley had stayed as long as he could at the pub. To his great disappointment, Barbara had left early. He had hoped... He sighed, then groaned as his head hurt. For months he had tried to find a way to move their relationship forward. He had taken her to dinner, accompanied her to the movies and had even taken her to a few West End shows. Barbara had been totally oblivious to these being dates. To her it meant nothing more than a few pints together after work. She saw him as her best friend, someone she could drink with and go to events where being solo drew unwanted attention. Never once had he seen even a flicker in her eyes wanting it to mean more. Even when he had jokingly said 'it's a date' after she suggested they both go to the annual Christmas Carols at Trafalgar Square one evening the previous week, she had missed his real meaning. Draping his arm around her shoulder as they sang together had raised no more than a companionable smile. She had not even snuggled closer.

He sighed. It was time to find a cab and go home. He had plenty of bottles of whisky for company over the next few days. Even Barbara had given him a nice Macallan single malt. It seemed everyone wanted him sitting at home drinking himself slowly into a early grave. Well tonight, he was happy to oblige. "Merry bloody Christmas."

Knocking on his door had been futile. There were no lights on, and she knew he was still at the pub. She pulled out her phone to call him. "Oh what else? Bloody Christmas."

She threw her phone back into her bag. She had forgotten to charge it last night, and her charger was locked inside her house. With no real alternative, Barbara returned to her car. She would have to wait until Lynley came home.

Tommy noticed her car as soon as the cab turned into his street. Parked three doors up, he passed it as the driver searched for his number. Barbara's head was leaning against the window. His immediate delight was tempered by concern. Why would she be here now? It was almost midnight.

The driver fussed over change. "Keep the extra. Merry Christmas."

A twenty pound tip on a fifteen pound fare seemed excessive, but he could afford to be generous. As soon as the cab pulled away, he turned and raced over to Barbara's car. He smiled. She was not unwell, as he first feared, just asleep. He could hear her snoring through the glass. Lynley watched her for a few moments, wishing that she was asleep in his bed, in his arms. It was pointless dreaming.

"Barbara! Barbara."

She jerked awake, hitting her head on the door support. "Argh! Bloody hell!"

She looked up. Tommy was trying to hide a smile. She pushed the door open. "Why are you shouting?"

"Because you were asleep. Why are you sleeping in your car in my street?"

"Long story. I need your spare key. I managed to lock myself out when I went to buy milk."

"Seriously?"

Tommy glanced over her should into the footwell of the back seat. It annoyed her. Being a policeman and distrusting everyone had its uses, but not believing her was infuriating. "Don't you believe me? Why else would I be here on Christmas Bloody Eve?"

"Not because you missed me, obviously."

She frowned. He sounded bitter. She was the one who had waited for an hour and he was the one taking offence. "I miss my flat. You are the only one with a spare key."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"My phone's dead. I forgot to recharge it. Now, if you could just fetch my spare key, I will leave you in peace for the rest of Christmas Eve."

Tommy glanced at his watch then fished in his pocket for his keys. "Too late. It's nearly midnight."

"Wonderful."

He twisted a key off his key ring and slammed it into her outstretched palm. "Merry Bloody Christmas!" He turned and began to walk to his townhouse.

Barbara winced, then slammed her fists against the steering wheel. She could not let them part with bitter words. Not at Christmas. She got out of her car. "Sir, wait. I'm sorry."

Tommy's anger evaporated. He turned and walked back to her car. "So am I, Barbara. I can understand your anger at locking yourself out."

"Yeah, but it wasn't your fault."

He shrugged. "Who else are you going to take it out on? As it's Christmas, why don't you come in for a drink?"

Barbara frowned at him, but nodded. "I'd like to, but I have milk and stuff I should get into the fridge."

"My fridge has space. Put it in there. I'll remind you to take it."

Barbara opened her back passenger door. He understood he was expected to carry them. He smiled. Years ago she would have been far too independent, and too reserved, to even suggest that.

Barbara was surprised at how devoid of Christmas his fridge seemed. There was not one item of a festive nature, or luxury. "Are you going to Howenstowe after all?"

Tommy looked up from where he was searching her grocery bags for the milk. "No, Mother is in France with her best friend from her schooldays, and no one else will be there. Why?"

"There's nothing to eat in your fridge."

"Yes, there is. I have vegetables, meat, milk. I'm not going to starve."

Barbara took the milk from him and put it on a shelf. "There's some ice cream there too."

Tommy handed it to her. "A bit soft but it will be okay. You must have been cold waiting in the car."

Barbara shrugged. "It wasn't too bad, but don't change the subject. You have nothing special here for Christmas."

"I didn't think you were big on Christmas."

"I'm not really, but I do like the food."

Tommy laughed. "Well, had I known you would arrive on my doorstep at midnight, I might have planned my menu differently."

"There's some cake in the bag. I Was hungry. That's why I went to the supermarket."

Tommy grinned at her and shook his head. He found the cake and then pointed to a drawer beside her. "The knives are in there."

Barbara cut four slices of cake while Tommy poured two glasses of milk. "Cheers," he said, clinking his glass against hers. "Merry bloody Christmas."

"Merry bloody Christmas." She could not help but smile. He was grinning at her. His soft eyes had that look, the one that always made her insides melt. She had to look away, but her eyes refused to cooperate. She felt tears begin to well.

"What's wrong?"

His voice was tender and caring. It forced her to look down. She wiped off the tear that fell on the bench top. "Nothing."

"It's something."

She looked up. "I'm just being silly. I used to imagine when I was young that one day I would have finished putting excited children to bed, then help my husband put out water and carrots for the reindeer before eating Santa's milk and cake with him in the kitchen before we put out Santa sacks for them and went to bed for a few hours until they woke and came in, jumping on our bed and yelling with excitement that Santa had come."

"That's a beautiful image." Tommy's expression was one she had never seen. He just looked at her, staring beyond her face into her soul. "As a child I insisted we put out a bucket for each reindeer. I even worked out how far apart to put the buckets."

Barbara smiled. A lock of hair hung over his eye. When that happened, she had always wanted to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. This time she did, letting her fingers brush across his face. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"You should have a brood of children," he said, "four at least."

"Not at my age. Two maybe. A boy and a girl."

Tommy picked up a piece of cake but instead of eating it, he held it up for her to take a bite. She did. He smiled so hard she felt her heart pounding in her chest. He offered her to have another bite.

Barbara ate, then lifted the other piece. Tommy continued to look at her while he ate it.

For the first time, Tommy could see beyond her last defence. More tears formed in her eyes. This time he was faster. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand. With his thumb he wiped the tears from one eye, but let those from the other side fall.

"Two children," he murmured.

She was trembling under his hand. "What?"

"We will have two children."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you, Barbara?"

She shook her head. He leant forward and brushed his lips tentatively against hers. When she did not object, he began a series of light kisses. Barbara exhaled slowly through her nose and moaned softly. Tommy pressed his mouth against hers a little harder and longer. It was not long before she returned the pressure, light at first as if she feared he would break if she kissed him too hard.

Tommy twirled his fingers in her hair and pulled her face closer. His kisses lingered until he felt her lips soften and part slightly. He slipped his top lip between hers, and began to grind her bottom lip gently. Barbara groaned and her resistance stopped. Eager lips sought his in a fiery exchange. Tommy moved closer and pulled her into his arms. Lost in the moment he did not notice that their mouths had opened until her tongue touched his, beginning a gentle exploration. Now it was his turn to groan.

Their faces stayed close as they caught their breath. "I've wanted that for so long," he whispered.

"Me too."

"Will you let me make love to you?"

She laughed softly. "Is that my Christmas present?"

"No, but hopefully the start of a long tradition. Every year after eating our cake, we will make love before the children wake up."

"You haven't asked me anything yet. Only assumed."

Tommy dropped to one knee. "Barbara Havers, I love you more than words can say. Until tonight I thought it was unrequited, but now that I know you love me too, let's not wait on protocol. I want to marry you, tomorrow if I could. Will you help me put out water and carrots ever year? Will you feed me milk and cake then make love to me? Will you have my two children? Barbara, will you make me happy by agreeing to marry me?"

He watched her nod as tears streamed down her face. He wanted to hold her and kiss them away, but he waited to hear her words. "I love you too. Yes. Marriage, two children, carrots, and cake. Yes."

Tommy rose and hugged her. Their kiss was fiery. He took her hand to lead her upstairs. "And will you let me make love to you tonight?"

She nodded, but refused to budge. "Here, in the kitchen. Our own tradition."

Tommy frowned. "Are you sure? My bed is more comfortable. We can make love for hours up there."

"Tommy?" She tried out his name for the first time. "It's not going to be slow, not the first time."

Tommy grinned at her so hard his cheeks hurt. "No, you're right. It's probably not." He lifted her gently onto the counter. "It doesn't mean..."

"I know, Tommy." Barbara grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. Her kiss was hard and demanding. He understood.

Afterwards, as they lay in his bed having just made long, slow love to each other, Barbara traced her fingers over his chest.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, hoping she was not disappointed.

"Is your kitchen soundproof?"

"I've no idea," he said with a chuckle, "I've never screamed out in their before. But I'll have it soundproofed before the children are born. We can't have them thinking we are killing Santa."

Barbara laughed softly. "Yes, and what would your neighbours think of us yelling Merry bloody Christmas like that?"

"So do I need to have any other rooms soundproofed? Did you have any fantasies about New Year?"