"Can you believe there are Christmas decorations in the shops already?" Blythe exclaimed. "My, how time flies."

"You just noticed them now, Mum? They've been up since September," Jake said with a grin. He tossed his books on the kitchen table and opened the refrigerator door.

"We'd better hurry up and confirm our Christmas plans then," mused Blythe. "I think your father said something about going to Port Stephens for a week, although he's yet to confirm with the house owner. Look, this is the house he was thinking of renting."

She turned to hand the advertisement to her son, only to catch him swigging orange juice straight out of the carton.

"I hope you're planning on finishing the rest of that carton, Jacob Knightley," she said sternly.

Jake downed the remainder of the orange juice quickly.

"Sorry, Mum. I was just so thirsty," he apologised sheepishly.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced at the advertisement.

"It looks like a nice house, but how are we all going to fit in there?" he pondered.

His mother laughed. "Four people in a four-bedroom house? I think we'll manage."

Jake tossed the carton in the recycling bin and slowly turned to stare at his mother. "Four people?"

"Yes, honey – your dad and I, you and John – that makes four," Blythe said in amusement. "Don't tell me I've added that up wrong!"

"Uh…" Jake said awkwardly. He scratched his head, opened his mouth and quickly closed it again. It was clear that he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should say it.

"What's on your mind?" his mother prompted. It wasn't like Jake to not say what was on his mind. He was normally very straightforward.

"What about the Woodhouses?" he blurted out. "Aren't they coming too?"

Blythe looked at him in surprise. "No, honey. They've probably made their own plans for Christmas."

"No, they won't!" Jake exclaimed. "Mum, you know Mr Woodhouse never plans anything special for the girls. And we've always spent Christmas with them. Ever since Emma was born."

Blythe looked at her son's earnest green eyes and felt her heart melt.

She had been looking forward to a holiday alone with her husband and boys, but Jake had a point. They had shared Christmas with the Woodhouse family for the past five years and their time together had become a holiday tradition of sorts. And in her heart, she knew it wasn't likely that Mr Woodhouse would think about celebrating Christmas of his own accord, even with his two precious daughters.

"Or if he did try to plan something special, it would be gruel with fruit on it instead of plain gruel," Jake said dolefully. Blythe couldn't help but smile at her son's theatrics, but he did make a good point.

"I'll talk to your father and see what we can do, honey," she acquiesced. "But if he insists that we go on our own, I don't want any arguing, OK?"

Peter yawned as he turned his key into the lock and opened the front door. He smiled at the sight of his lovely wife curled up in an armchair, reading a book.

"What are you reading there, honey?" he asked softly, looking over her shoulder.

"Pride and Prejudice," Blythe replied, putting her book down so she could give her husband a kiss.

Peter rolled his eyes slightly. "Again? With the number of times you've read that book, you probably have it memorised by now!"

"It's a classic!" his wife exclaimed. "Besides," she added, her eyes sparkling with amusement, "it always reminds me of how we first met."

"Are you comparing me to Mr Darcy?" Peter chuckled. "Should I be offended?"

"Well, we did have a pretty stormy first meeting," Blythe recalled fondly.

She glanced at the clock. "Gracious, look at the time! You must be starving."

"You're the best, honey," Peter said gratefully as he accepted the plate of lasagna and salad that his wife had prepared for him. As he began eating, his eyes drifted towards the flyer sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

"I have some bad news for you, Blythe," he admitted. "I got a call from the owner of the house in Port Stephens today. His niece decided she wanted to rent the house and since we haven't actually paid a deposit yet, he's decided to lease it to her."

Blythe's mouth opened slightly. "But, Peter, that's…"

"And furthermore," Peter interrupted, "I've checked out the websites and it looks like most of the accommodation in Port Stephens has been booked up over the Christmas holidays. There's only one place that's available but it's for eight people…"

His wife gasped. "Oh, Peter, that's…"

"I'm not sure what we should do for Christmas now," Peter continued. "Maybe we should go down to Melbourne? Or what about Tasmania?"

Blythe put her hands on her hips but there was a growing smile on her face.

"Peter Knightley, would you just be quiet and let your wife finish speaking?"

Her husband looked at her in astonishment, but had the good sense to keep quiet this time.

"We'll be going to Port Stephens for Christmas, just like you wanted," she declared triumphantly.

Peter was aghast. "But, Blythe, we don't need a house for eight people…"

"Oh, yes, we do," she said firmly. "If the Woodhouses come with us."

She seized the opportunity to tell her husband about her conversation with Jake and his touching request to spend Christmas with the Woodhouse family.

"Look at this shell, Jake!" four-year-old Emma squealed in delight, as she picked up a luminous creamy shell and eyed it with awe. "Ooh, and there's another shell… and another!"

She darted happily around the beach, picking up all the unique shells she could find, as Jake chased after her.

Isabella was gingerly dipping a foot in the water whilst John, already in the ocean, was urging her to just jump in.

Mr Woodhouse was sitting under a gigantic beach umbrella, applying SPF 50+ sunscreen.

Not that he really needed it as he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, mused Blythe. But that was Mr Woodhouse for you – always overly cautious.

She leaned back in her beach chair and sighed contentedly as warm rays of golden sunshine danced upon her face.

"What's on your mind, honey?" Peter asked affectionately, looking up from his detective novel.

Blythe smiled lovingly at him. "Just that I'm glad the four-bedroom house fell through and that the Woodhouses could come to Port Stephens with us."

Her husband smiled back. "Me too. Merry Christmas."

Author's Note: I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! Wishing you all the best for 2015.