The Christmas Swap

Five stony faces didn’t flinch, and she glanced at Susan, who was watching her with an encouraging smile. “Right, so how about we go around the circle again, and you can tell me what each of you is responsible for.”

“We usually start with tea and biscuits,” said the man—Simon, Chloe remembered.

“Oh, right.” She looked around the group, wondering who was in charge of making tea.

“Cecily, aren’t you going to put the kettle on, dear?” Susan prompted. Cecily seemed to remember herself, tearing her scrutinising eyes from Chloe and standing.

“Yes, of course. My apologies everyone.” She disappeared through a doorway, presumably to the kitchen. Right, so they were in Cecily’s home.

Chloe knew she had to crack the toughest nut and get Cecily onside, so she followed her into the kitchen, hearing a cacophony of loud whispers erupt behind her. Cecily was fussing about with a tea tray and the kettle was already on to boil.

“Cecily, I meant to say before what a beautiful home you have. I was admiring your thatched roof as we crossed the road.” Flattery, flattery, flattery—in her experience, the three best ways to earn someone’s trust quickly.

Cecily started and looked at Chloe, her lips parted in surprise. “Oh. Why, thank you.” Chloe could tell that it was difficult for Cecily to take a compliment.

“What year was it built?” Chloe took in the low ceiling with its exposed beams of dark wood, which contrasted with the whitewashed, uneven plaster. It really was a beautiful building; she hadn’t been lying about that.

Cecily started placing biscuits from a tin onto a large floral plate. “Well, the original structure dates back to the sixteenth century.” Chloe’s eyes widened. She was standing in a building that pre-dated European settlement in Australia. It was one of the things she adored about visiting England.

“Actually, and you can see this better from the outside, this was once four separate structures—stables for the estate—and at some point, in the 1800s, it was converted into houses—four of them. It was only last century, before the war, that it became one house. That’s when my grandparents bought it.”

Wow, once you got Cecily onto something she wanted to talk about, she opened right up. Still, she’d yet to crack a smile. “Well, it certainly is impressive, and it has a fascinating history.” Cecily nodded, her mouth remaining in a taut line. “Can I help?” Chloe asked as the kettle boiled and switched itself off.

“Oh, well, yes, I suppose. You could take these out to the sitting room.” She indicated the plate of biscuits and a stack of matching smaller plates. “Oh, and take the napkins too, dear,” she added. She’d got a “dear” out of Cecily. Progress.

Cecily continued to flit about her kitchen with skilful efficiency, and Chloe did as she was told. Thankfully, being the bearer of biscuits seemed to win her some much-needed brownie points.

She served the committee members in turn, and as they helped themselves to one or two biscuits, each rewarded her with a smile—except Simon, but Chloe was doubtful he’d ever smiled in his entire life. As he took a handful of biscuits, which Chloe thought was extremely rude, he gave her a bit of a grunt. Perhaps it was his way of saying “thank you”.

Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. “Get that will you, Chloe,” Cecily called from the kitchen. So far, co-chairing the Christmas Fair was a lot like being a dogsbody for a bunch of pensioners.

Chloe, still holding the plate of biscuits, took herself off to the front door and opened it. In five hundred million years she would never ever, ever, have guessed who would be standing on the front step, duffel bag over one shoulder and looking even more handsome than he did on the big screen.

She nearly dropped the plate.

“Hello,” said the world’s biggest film star as he wiped raindrops from his shoulders.

“Hello,” she said, unwittingly blocking the doorway.

“Do you mind if I come in?”

She shook her head, dumbly, then realised she was in the way. “Oh, sorry.” What is happening?

“Thanks,” he shuffled past her and raised a hand at the room of people. “Hello everyone, is my mum home?”

“In the kitchen, darling!” Cecily sang out.

Holy frigging hell. Cecily was Archer Tate’s mother.

Once Chloe recovered from the shock of opening the door to the world’s biggest film star, the Christmas Fair meeting had gone quite well. After warm greetings from everyone, including Simon, and a kiss from his mother, Archer had left them to it, settling into the guest room while Chloe asked everyone to explain their roles and update the group on their progress.

It turned out that all Chloe would have to do was help Cecily manage the logistics on the day, so that everything from deliveries to set-up to packing up went smoothly.

The committee members departed, including Susan, all with promises to complete last-minute checks and to call if there were any problems, and Chloe had stayed to help Cecily clean up. At least, that’s what she’d told Cecily, who was putting the furniture back into its proper places while Chloe was up to her elbows in sudsy water.

Chloe eyed the dishwasher with annoyance as she washed another teacup. Why had she been tasked with handwashing everything if there was a dishwasher? And when was Archer going to come and talk to her? As far as she could tell, she was the only person in the entire village who was even close to his age. Maybe they’d hook up. That would certainly make it a Christmas to remember.

“Hello again.” The voice startled her, pulling from her daydream of hooking up with Archer Tate the film star, right back into his mother’s kitchen where he was standing beside her, a huge grin on his face.

In a millisecond, she took in the high cheekbones, chiselled jawline, cleft chin, full lips stretched tautly over perfectly straight teeth, and the strong dark brows and thick lashes that framed two of the most famous blue eyes on the planet.

“Hello,” she said, wishing she’d opted out of the orange and yellow floral rubber gloves.

“Chloe, right?”

“Yep.” Play it cool, as if you meet super-famous people every day. She had met famous people before. Well, people who were famous in Australia. Hardly the same thing. Although, she’d met Hugh Jackman once. He’d been just as lovely as everyone said he was.

“I’m Archer.”

She stopped herself from saying, “I know,” and instead replied with a casual, “Nice to meet you, Archer. I’d shake your hand but …” She held up her sheathed hands, then went back to the dishes. He picked up a tea towel and started drying. It was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen.

“So, I’m a little fuzzy on why a gorgeous Australian woman is in my mum’s kitchen doing the washing up.” Gorgeous. He’d called her “gorgeous”. Point one for the “hooking up” daydream.

“Oh, it’s just this thing I like to do. Travel to a different country, go village to village, then door to door, and offer to wash people’s dishes. It’s becoming a bit of a craze, actually. You may have heard of it? Hashtag dirty-dish-tourism?” She handed him the next clean cup.

“Oh, right! Yes, I think I saw that trending on Instagram not so long ago. I wasn’t quite sure what it was all about, and here I am meeting one of you in the flesh.”

She giggled and looked up at him. God, he was tall. He must have been well over six-foot. She’d need to stand on a stool if she ever got the chance to kiss him. Please let me kiss him, she thought. He smelled good too. Spicy, like Christmas. When he smiled down at her, the surrealness of the moment was overwhelming. She looked back at the soapy sink.

“Really, though, I’ve been roped into helping out with the Christmas Fair. Someone named Deirdre stepped in a rabbit hole and turned her ankle, so now I’m in charge. Well, co-in charge, anyway—with your mum.”

“Lucky you.” He took the next cup and dried it with the tea towel. Yummy forearms, she thought. She was a sucker for those.

“Well, to be fair, no pun intended,” she said, “there’s not much to do until tomorrow. Everyone seems to have their bits in hand. Oh—”

“Bits in hand?” Yep. He’d heard it and his mind had gone exactly where hers had—a shared adolescent response to her gaff. Her hand flew to her mouth as a reflex just as she started to laugh, filling her mouth with soap bubbles, which she then tried to wipe out of her mouth with the same sudsy glove, making it all worse.

By this stage, she was in a fit of giggles, spluttering out soap bubbles and helplessly flailing her arms about. “Hold still.” He was laughing too as he captured her chin with his hand and wiped her face with the tea towel. “Tongue,” he commanded. It was the only time she’d been told to stick out her tongue outside of a doctor’s office and she obeyed through the laughter. He wiped off her tongue and they both dissolved into a fit of laughter so intense, neither of them was making any noise.

That was when Cecily made her appearance.

“What on earth has got into you two?” Chloe glanced up at Cecily through her fringe from her doubled-over position. She and Archer straightened in unison, their laughter instantly subsiding. Maybe Archer was slightly afraid of Cecily too.

Cecily tutted and shooed them away from the sink. “Thank you for your help, Chloe. I’ll finish up.” Chloe was being dismissed, but she didn’t want to leave. This was the most fun she’d had in ages. And besides, Archer Frigging Tate! Just wait ’til she spoke to Lucy, who for some reason, the entire time she’d known her, had never once mentioned that she lived across the street from Archer Tate.

“Oh, sure, no problem.” Chloe removed the still-sudsy rubber gloves and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“You sure, Mum? We don’t mind helping out.”

Chloe was beyond surprised at what Cecily said next. “I’m fine with it, love. Why don’t you take Chloe on a walk around the village? She only arrived yesterday, and I’m sure she’d love to see more of it than the inside of this house.”

Was Cecily playing matchmaker?

Archer met Chloe’s eyes. “How does that sound?” he asked.

Hmm, let me have a think? What to do, what to do? What human being on the planet would say no?

“Sure, that sounds great,” Chloe replied, casually. No biggie—just going to mosey about the village with Archer Tate.

“Archer, I’ve that large umbrella in my wardrobe. You can take that,” Cecily said to him.

“Oh, right, perfect. Thanks, Mum.”

He disappeared, leaving Chloe alone with his mother. “You know,” said Cecily as she pulled the plug from the sink. “Archer just broke up with that horrid girl …”

Horrid girl? Oh, she means the aptly named Madison Strumpet. Chloe had seen the headlines splashed all over Women’s Monthly—a terrible name for a women’s magazine, she thought. “Oh?” Play it cool, play it cool.

Cecily turned to face her, wiping her hands on a fresh tea towel. “That Madison. She never deserved him, and she broke his heart running off with that actor.” She said the word “actor” as though it was akin to “devil”, clearly ignoring that her son was one too. “In any case, he’s single now—still nursing a bruised heart, but single. Just so you know.”

Chloe nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Yep, she’d definitely won over Cecily.

Chapter 10

Jules

“Hey,” Matt said, bursting back through the door from the stairwell, “thanks for keeping an eye on the wine.” He lifted the box from the floor and added, “I’m guessing you’re okay with your other bag?” Something clicked in Jules’s mind.

“Other” bag … as in one bag?

The horror of her mistake hit her like a punch in the gut. “Oh, shit,” she said breathlessly.

Concern crossed Matt’s face. “Are you okay?”

Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes locked onto his. “Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she half-whispered, half-whined.

“Jules?”

“I left my carry-on …” She could barely get the words out.

“You left it somewhere?”

She nodded, mouth agape. “On the bus. From the airport.” Tears welled up, stinging her eyes.

“Okay, hey, it’ll be okay. Let’s get you upstairs and we’ll call them, okay?”

She felt a tear escape down her cheek, and she brushed it away like she was swatting a mosquito. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything. “I’m so stupid,” she spat out. How could she have forgotten her carry-on?

“Hey, don’t say that. We’ve all done stuff like this, okay? Come on, just follow me. We’ll sort it out.”

Jules was unconvinced. There was no way in hell that someone didn’t take off with her bag, the bag with all the presents she’d brought for Chloe’s friends, the bag with her—

Oh, SHIT!

With her passport.

There was never a good time to call a call centre, but this was possibly the worst—calling an airport shuttle bus company three days before Christmas. Jules had been in the queue on speakerphone for forty-two minutes. At this rate, she wouldn’t have any nails left.

Ash and Matt had been great, though, reassuring her. They’d each left something important somewhere. Ash had left her work laptop at Friday night drinks, only realising the next Monday morning. She got it back. And Matt had left his phone in the back of a cab. He got it back.

Perhaps there was hope. Jules hoped there was hope, because how was she supposed to fly back to the States next week without a passport?

“Hello, thank you for calling Sky Bus. This is Alicia. How can I help you?” Jules’s eyes flew to the phone. All the tension of the past hour threatened to overwhelm her, and she took a deep breath before she spoke, so she didn’t lose it.

She explained what had happened and gave a detailed description of the carry-on, as well as her best recollection of what time she’d boarded the bus. She was put on hold. Her stomach churned again, and this time it had nothing to do with jet lag or being overtired or the good-looking guy who stood watching her, his chocolate brown eyes intensely focused on her.

“Are you there?” said Alicia.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“We’re pretty sure we’ve got your bag.” Relief coursed through Jules and she blew out a long breath.

“Brilliant! I told ya,” Ash shouted from the kitchen. Matt patted her shoulder and Jules staved off the hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat.

“That’s great. Thank you, Alicia. Where do I go to collect it?’

“You came into the Southern Cross station, yeah?” Jules looked at Ash for confirmation and she nodded.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So, there’s a little office there. They’ll have your bag. Just bring two pieces of photo ID and you’re good.”

Matt leant over and whispered, “I’ll take you.”

She whispered, “Thanks,” and wrapped up the call. She sat back in the dining chair and let out a sigh.

“Come on. I’ll drive you over.”

“Are you sure? I can just walk over. It’s not that far.” It was that far, and she was wrung out, but she didn’t want to be a nuisance.

“Nah, I’ll take you. It’s all good.”

A niggling thought leapt to the forefront of Jules’s mind. “Hold on, she said I needed to bring two pieces of photo ID, right? I’ve got my Colorado driver’s licence, but my passport is in my carry-on.” She looked between Ash and Matt.

Ash waved her off. “I’m sure it will be fine.” Ash seemed far more optimistic than she was.

“Yeah, that’s just common sense, right?” added Matt.

Jules nodded, not wholly convinced.

“Did you want to shower first, though?” asked Ash.

Jules looked down at her wrinkled tank and her dull, grey, post-flight skin. She must have looked terrible—she felt terrible.

“You look fine,” added Ash. “I just know that whenever I travel, the first thing I want to do when I arrive is shower.”

Jules would have killed to stay in the apartment and shower—and rest—but she also knew she wouldn’t be able to rest properly until she had her carry-on safely in hand.

“Let’s go,” she sighed.

“Back in a bit,” said Matt, leading the way out of the apartment.

It turned out that the errand took a quite a lot longer than “a bit”.

*

Several hours later, Jules was back at the apartment, showered and fed—four pieces of toast with peanut butter—and semi-reclined on Ash and Chloe’s couch, trying to keep her eyes open. Her fatigue probably wasn’t helped by the wine Ash had insisted on opening. It was delicious, though.

“I still can’t believe I left my bag on that bus,” she moaned. “What an idiot.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. You’d just flown long-haul. No one is in their right mind after getting off a plane from across the world. I never am.”

“Seriously, though, when I realised it was a catch-22, I nearly lost it. They can only open a bag with the permission of the owner, but they couldn’t confirm my identity as the owner to their satisfaction without opening the bag.” She knew she was labouring the point. She’d given Ash the digest version as soon as Matt had dropped her back at the apartment, but she couldn’t help dwelling on the “what if” of losing her passport.

She needed sleep.

“I seriously can’t believe they didn’t just give it to you. I mean, were there dozens of hysterical women calling up about a lost bag with that exact description?”

Jules’s eyebrows shot up on the word “hysterical” and she looked pointedly at Ash, a smile tugging at her mouth. Ash caught the look. “Well, not hysterical exactly. Um, concerned, upset, worried.”

“Anyway, common sense finally prevailed after the supervisor called his supervisor at home, and she gave him permission. The passport was bad enough, but that’s the bag with all the presents in it.”

“You brought presents?” The smile broke across Jules’s face.

“Of course. It’s Christmas.”

Ash grinned. “I love presents.”

“Chloe mentioned that,” she teased. “Actually, I should put them under the tree,” she added. It was a nice thought, but her body refused to budge. Instead, she glanced at the Christmas tree.

She’d only noticed it after she’d returned with her carry-on. It was beautiful, but it would be Jules’s first Christmas with a fake tree. And it wasn’t even fake, as in, “I’m pretending to be a fir tree.” It was made from silver and white tinsel and decorated with blue ornaments—only blue. Even the Christmas lights were blue.

“So, what did you bring for Matt?” Jules couldn’t decide if Ash had emphasised “Matt” on purpose. Was she getting at something?

“You’ll see,” she deflected. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“But how did you know?”

“What gifts to get?”

“Yeah.”

“Chloe told me who was coming on Christmas Day and I ran some ideas past her and, of course, I know you, so …”

“Seriously, no hints?”

“No!” She laughed. “Chloe said you would ask.”

“Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh. She also told me where she hid her present to you, so you wouldn’t find it before Christmas and peek.”

Ash’s mouth popped open, hung there for a moment, then snapped shut. She lifted her chin and, saying nothing, topped up their wine glasses.

“Well, it’s very nice of you to bring presents for all of us. You didn’t need to.”

Jules shrugged. “You’d have done the same.”

“Matt’s a good guy, by the way.” It was an extremely unsubtle change of topic—so Ash had been hinting at something earlier.

Jules pretended she didn’t get it. “He is. He did not need to do all that for me today. I mean, at that point when the supervisor said no to me retrieving my own bag … let’s just say, I was not my best self. I nearly gave up. But Matt was great—awesome, actually. It was his idea to escalate the whole thing.”

Matt was a good guy and an extremely good-looking guy. She wondered if he and Chloe had ever … She let the thought trail off as she sipped her wine.

“He had a rough time a little while back but, you know, he’s probably ready …” Ash left the rest of the thought unsaid.

Regardless of Ash’s intentions, Jules wasn’t up for contemplating Matt’s readiness for a romantic entanglement. “Ash, this wine is great, but I am beyond exhausted. I think I’m going to have to call it a night.”

“No worries. You did well. Look, it’s nearly eight o’clock.”

Jules glanced at the large clock on the wall in the kitchen. “They say it’s the best way, right? Staying up as long as you can to get on the right time?”

“Yeah. I always try to do that when I fly back to Melbs from overseas.” Jules took her unfinished wine to the kitchen. “I’m glad you like the wine, by the way. We’re having it at Christmas. Matt made it.”

“He made it?”

“Yeah. He didn’t tell you he was a winemaker?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of a big deal in the wine world. He won a ‘winemaker of the year’ award last year—the first Indigenous person to win it. Anyway, he can tell you about it himself.”

Adding “talented” to the growing list of adjectives to describe Matt, Jules sleepily brushed her teeth in Chloe’s bathroom, quickly slathered on some night cream and fell into Chloe’s bed.

A hot Aussie winemaker, who saved the day … was her last thought as she drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

*

“This way!” Jules followed Ash closely through the market, amazed at how well Ash manoeuvred through the crowd. “Just the prawns and the ham left to pick up,” Ash called over her shoulder. They came to a stop at a deli counter that was three people deep, all of them raising their hands and shouting over the hullabaloo of everyone else shouting.

“This place is for the prawns. I pre-ordered so it shouldn’t take too long,” shouted Ash. “Then we go over there for the ham.” She pointed at a shopfront two counters down.

“Is it always like this?” Jules was comparing the South Melbourne market—it was the size of a city block, packed to the rafters, and all under one roof—to farmers’ markets back home, with their relaxed atmosphere, outdoorsiness, and space. Of course, none of them were open at this time of year. The thought of all that produce snap-frozen from the cold air made her chuckle to herself.

“What, the market? It’s a little crazier than usual ’cause of Christmas, but it’s always busy. It’s ’cause everything’s high quality here—the meat, the seafood, the fruit and veg.” They shuffled forward as more people ahead of them turned away from the counter and pushed through the crowd with half-hearted “excuse mes”.

“And this is where you and Chloe normally shop?” Jules was trying to get a picture of what everyday life was like for Chloe and Ash.

“Um, sometimes. We’ll make the effort if we’re having a dinner party or for special occasions. It’s expensive, though, so we usually go to Woolies.”

Jules assumed that Woolies was just a regular a grocery store. And hearing Ash say that the market was expensive reminded her—she wanted to pay her fair share for what was going to be a spectacular Christmas feast.

“By the way,” she started, just as the couple in front of them moved aside and they took their place at the front of the line. “I want to contribute to all of this.”

Ash flicked her a look. “You don’t need to do that. It’s all good.”

The man behind the counter pointed at Ash and she rattled off her pre-order to him. He left the counter to get it.

“I want to. If Chloe were here, she’d be contributing, right?”

“Yeah, but you’re a guest.”

“Yeah, sorta, but Chloe’s one of my best friends—like a sister really—and you’re one of her best friends, so by proxy, this is like having Christmas with my extended family. I’d be contributing back home.” Ash looked unconvinced. “Please just let me?”