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Mark hadn’t envisioned himself standing out in the cold on Christmas Eve, but after years of being with Bridget, he knew he shouldn’t assume.
It was nearing eleven at night, and he was standing on the pavement in front of his home with his packed suitcase at his side as snow tumbled out of the sky. He had left the house in such a huff that he hadn’t even properly dressed for the weather--beneath his wool overcoat was one of his expensive suits, and his oxfords were currently getting soaked through as he stood in the winter wetness.
Normally, before a flight for work, he would be inside the house with Bridget. Sometimes they’d be sharing a mug of tea, or she’d be sitting on the bed as she watched him pack his suitcase. On the rare occasion that Mark was running incredibly early, they would have a quick romp on some surface of the house, a going away present from Bridget that left Mark breathless and terribly hesitant to leave.
Tonight, though, was different. He was supposed to be flying to Cairo for a meeting. From the second he brought it up to Bridget, it had been a point of contingency. She had exploded, arguing that he couldn’t possible be flying out on Christmas Eve for a meeting. It took several rounds of arguing for Mark to finally get her to calm down, explaining that the details weren’t set in stone and that it probably would fall through.
Sadly, it hadn’t fallen through. He put off telling her for as long as he possibly could, but inevitably it had to be brought up. Mark had waited until the week before his flight to tell Bridget, and he had been met with stony silence. The days that followed were tense and uncomfortable, but Bridget had been cordial enough that Mark hadn’t thought anything was truly wrong.
It wasn’t until he started packing his suitcase earlier in the night that all of Bridget’s fury came unleashed. She had perched in her usual spot at the top of their bed, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched Mark fold his underpants.
“I don’t understand why you have to go. It’s Christmas Eve. Surely the world can hold off for two days before it needs saving?”
Mark had looked at her over the waistband of the boxers in his hand. He dropped his gaze to the suitcase in front of him and neatly placed the underpants on top of the stack that was already stowed there.
“Bridget, you know I have no control over these things.”
“You’re a bloody barrister, Mark. Top in your field! I’m sure you could pull some strings if you tried.”
Mark let out a long, drawn out sigh as he placed his hands on his hips.
“Bridget,” he started. “I’m just as upset as you are about this. You know I’d much rather be here for the holidays than in Egypt, but it is what it is.” He started to zip his suitcase shut. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Funny, you said that at Easter two years ago when you had to fly to Mykonos.”
Without making eye contact, Mark pulled his suit jacket on and smoothed down the collar.
“You’ve nothing to say to that, hm?” she continued.
“Darling, I don’t know what you want me to say.” Mark stood at the foot of the bed, his fists once again on his hips as he looked at Bridget across the expanse of mattress. It was unnerving how a place that he held reverent--the bed where he and Bridget made love and spooned innocently and watched reruns of Eastenders before drifting off--suddenly felt like a warzone. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Bridget turned her gaze towards the window. Mark wasn’t sure if it was because the fight was over, or because she was trying to hide the tears that were filling her eyes. He followed her line of sight and saw that snow was now swirling outside of the window. The light from the streetlamps was illuminating the snowflakes as they dipped and drifted. A gust of wind whistled past the house, and Mark couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his back at the noise.
“I just wanted to watch White Christmas with you and drink hot cocoa with loads of Bailey’s in it,” Bridget sniffed. “And now it’s bloody snowing out, which means you aren’t even going to be here for an actual white Christmas.” She angrily swiped at the tears on her cheeks.
She sat at the top of the bed in petulant silence. Mark was wrapping his phone charger cord up and stashing it in the front pocket of his suitcase as she watched him.
Bridget shifted slightly before huffing and muttering, “Daniel never would’ve left me like this.”
“I’m sorry?” Mark said. His voice was lethal, an octave lower than it normally registered and just above a whisper.
“I said,” Bridget replied, “Daniel would have never left me at Christmas.” She punctuated the consonants in Daniel’s name with sharp clarity, her eyes glittering at him from across the room.
“Right. Well. I don’t have time for this nonsense. My taxi will be here any moment.” Quickly, Mark swept up his things and left the room without looking back at Bridget. He could hear her calling out behind him, but the blood pumping in his ears was drowning out what she was saying.
Mark took the stairs two at a time, his suitcase thumping behind him. Picking up his cellphone and wallet from the table by the front door, he hastily shoved them into his pockets before donning his overcoat. He didn’t bother with a scarf or a hat--Cairo was warm, he wouldn’t need them. Turning towards the front door, he unbolted the lock before turning back around to grab his suitcase.
Bridget was now standing at the foot of the stairs, his hands balled into angry fists at her sides. She was red faced and breathing heavily as she watched him.
“I will see you when I get back. We’ll sort this mess out then,” Mark said, rummaging in his pocket for his key. He opened the front door and was met with an angry gust of wind forcing its way into the foyer. It whipped around his ankles and cut across his cheeks, taking the breath from his lungs. He turned back towards Bridget and said, “I do love you, despite you thinking I’m a monster. I’ll let you know when I land.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he crossed the threshold from the warmth of the house and into the cold December night. He shut the door a bit more forcefully behind him than he normally would, and he heard the unmistakable sound of Bridget chucking something at the other side of it.
It wasn’t until he was on the curb with snow falling heavily around him that Mark thought to look at the time. His cab wasn’t due to arrive until eleven, but according to his watch, it was only 10:30.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered. He squinted into the night, bringing his hands up to his mouth to try and get some feeling back in them. The snow was now falling in thick droves, settling on his shoulders and soaking into his hair. His feet were already frozen and he knew it was only a matter of time before the wool of his overcoat would be soaked.
Unfortunately for Mark, his pride was something he didn’t easily give up. Going back into the house would be awkward and most likely end poorly, so that was out of the question. To go to a pub or coffee shop was pointless since his cab would be arriving within the half hour. He wasn’t entirely friendly with his neighbors, which meant the best option for him was to wait for his cab in the impending snowstorm.
Mark begrudgingly sat on the edge of his suitcase, his arms wrapped around his torso as he tried tucking his neck further into his coat. He immediately regretted not grabbing a scarf, or a hat, or even gloves. His feet were slowly morphing into two blocks of ice, and the usual cup of tea he’d share with Bridget before his flights was the only thing he could think of.
Somewhere above his head, he heard the creaking of a window opening. He kept his gaze steadily trained on the Prius parked across the street.
“Mark,” he heard. “Stop being an arse and come back inside.”
Without looking at Bridget, he replied, “I’m fine, thanks.”
He could hear Bridget give an exasperated huff before saying, “This is absolutely ridiculous. I’m sorry I said what I said. Just come in. It’s Christmas Eve for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m sure Daniel would be happy to keep you company if you’re feeling lonely,” he replied, burrowing deeper into his collar.
“You’re an arse,” Bridget said before slamming the window shut again.
Maturity was not one of Mark’s strong suits in these rows with Bridget. For someone who could valiantly defend those in need and travel to war ravaged countries to fight for justice, it surprised even him how utterly childish he could be when his feelings were hurt.
He looked down at the soaked tip of his shoe as he dug it into the snow on the pavement. His knees were slightly knocking together now as the wind ripped down the street, a force that blew snow and ice into his face. The Bailey’s that Bridget had mentioned earlier seemed more and more appealing the longer he sat outside, but he refused to cave in and reenter the house.
The world around him was slowly becoming blanketed in thick, white snow, muffling the sounds of London that usually echoed down his quiet street. Nobody was out for a nighttime stroll, not even to walk their dog, and Mark could see the twinkling of Christmas bulbs on people’s front steps and in their front windows. He chanced a glance back behind him towards his and Bridget’s house, and felt a slight clench in his chest at the sight of their own Christmas tree in the bay window.
It was a tall, narrow spruce that he and Bridget had purchased a few weeks back. After struggling with it for hours, Mark finally had gotten it upright in its stand while Bridget sat behind him, cackling into a glass of red wine. He had then promptly taken the glass from her, set it on the coffee table, and snogged her senseless, just to get some peace and quiet. The rest of the evening had been spent decorating the tree together--Bridget on her tiptoes, placing ornaments high on the branches while Mark snaked his arms around her waist and kissed the crook of her neck.
It mockingly winked at him now, all cheeriness and warmth wrapped up in a few branches and baubles. He looked down at his watch, bereft at the idea of having to sit outside in the cold for a second longer. It was still only 10:45. Grabbing the lapels of his overcoat, Mark shivered in the wind as he tried to think of warm thoughts.
After thinking of tea and hot baths and the beaches of the Caribbean, his thoughts drifted to Bridget. She was always so warm, radiating heat and happiness off of her like some kind of emotional space heater. He couldn’t put a number to the days he’d come home from the office, grumpy and tired, only to have his mood completely turned around by Bridget’s embrace. In bed--especially on these cold, winter nights--he’d end up wrapped around her like some kind of heat-seeking missile. And then there was the lovemaking…
One particular moment stuck out in his mind. He had come home from the Inns of Court on a cold February night to find Bridget already in bed. Instead of sleeping, though, she was waiting for him under the sheets with next to nothing on. He had quickly shucked his suit off, finding himself growing ever harder as Bridget writhed under the sheets while holding his gaze. He could see her hand flicking under the covers, rubbing gentle circles against her sex that were making her moan.
“Please, Mark,” she had whispered, her eyes darting down to where her hand was still working.
“My nose is freezing,” Mark had said as he climbed over her. He bracketed his hands on either side of her head before dipping down to nuzzle into her neck to prove his point. He trailed slow, sucking kisses along her neck, her clavicle, and her chest before stopping to pay particular attention to her left nipple.
“I know how you can warm it up,” she said in a gasp. Mark had felt her hand dig into his hair, urging him lower and lower as her other hand, fingers slick with her own wetness, trailed along his jawline...
“Bugger,” he now grumbled. He didn’t want to think about how much colder his nose was now than it had been then.
Suddenly, Mark heard the front door of the house open behind him. He allowed himself to peek over his shoulder, and saw Bridget stomping down the snow-covered steps with a thermos in one hand and a pile of fabric in the other. She had on a pair of mittens and a knit cap with a pompom on the top. Unbidden, a warmth erupted in Mark’s chest that he hadn’t anticipated at the sight of her.
“Since you’re being a complete tit, I surrender,” Bridget said as she stopped in front of his crouched form. “Here, take this.” She shoved the hot thermos into his frozen hands before allowing a large, tartan scarf to billow out in front of her. Mark dropped his head to let her wrap it around his neck twice before tucking it into the open notch of his overcoat. She then produced a pair of knit gloves from her own coat pocket and a ridiculous looking fur trapper hat, complete with ear flaps.
“It’s the only thing I could find on such short notice,” she said, seeing the look of chagrin on Mark’s face.
“Thank you,” he said, his pride finally capitulating. He wrapped his hands around the thermos tighter to try and get some blood flow back into his fingertips.
“You’re welcome.” A moment of awkward silence hung in the air before she continued. “I really am sorry. That was a terrible thing to say to you. I was just upset and hurt, not that that validates any of what I said.” She dropped her eyes down to the snow boots on her feet as she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Think you can forgive me?” she muttered, not lifting her eyes.
“Of course I forgive you,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry about this whole entire mess. Truly, you know I would only want to be here on Christmas, but sadly the things that I want oftentimes are overshadowed by responsibility.” He placed the thermos next to his suitcase and held out his arm.
Bridget smiled before taking his outstretched hand. With a gentle tug, Mark pulled her down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. He buried his frozen face into the warmth of her cheek and hair, causing her to shriek and giggle at the sensation. He smiled against her skin, reveling in the heat and the smell of her perfume. Mark pressed a kiss to the soft column of her neck, and Bridget hummed low in her throat.
“You’re so warm,” he said.
“Well, you’ve been sitting out here in a blizzard. I’m surprised you don’t have hypothermia.”
“Don’t count it out just yet. I’m pretty sure my feet are frozen solid.” Mark felt Bridget lean forward to look down at his snow soaked shoes.
“Mark,” she said in a concerned tone. “You really didn’t think this through, did you?”
“Oh, I thought about it plenty. But you know how I am...emotionally constipated and all that.”
Bridget laughed at this, snuggling in closer to his chest and bringing her arm around him. In that moment, they both felt a vibration come from Mark’s nether region. Mark’s eyes widened as Bridget cocked an eyebrow in his direction.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said slyly.
Mark closed his eyes in exasperation and shook his head. “It’s just my phone,” he said. “It’s probably my cab, letting me know when they’ll be here.”
Bridget switched legs and perched herself on Mark’s knee as he rummaged around in his pants pocket for his phone. After some fumbling, he finally pulled it out and held it in front of his face. Pulling off his glove with his teeth, Mark squinted at the screen as he unlocked it.
“Turns out it wasn’t a phone call,” he said after several seconds of tapping and swiping.
“Oh?”
“Mm, it looks like you’ll be getting your Christmas wish,” Mark continued. He looked up to see Bridget staring at him, her mouth in a deliciously curious pout and her eyes sparkling in the Christmas lights shining from next door. “It was a notification from Heathrow. Apparently my flight has been cancelled due to inclement weather.”
In one second, Mark was looking at Bridget, and in the next he was spread eagle on the snow covered pavement. Bridget was on top of him, assaulting his face with kisses and caressing his cheekbones with her mittened hands. He couldn’t help the laughter bubbling in his chest, even as he felt the snow soaking through the last dry part of his coat.
“Oh, Mark, I’m so happy,” Bridget said, her eyes shining as she looked down at him.
“I can tell,” he quipped. Gingerly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, causing Bridget to straddle his lap. “And I am, as well. Although I won’t lie to you, I’m absolutely frozen.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry!” she said, bolting up and offering him her hand. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up.”
Mark grabbed the thermos and his suitcase from their spot on the pavement and wrapped his free arm around Bridget’s shoulders. She looped her hand around his waist and gave his hip a squeeze as she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Does the offer of Bailey’s and hot chocolate still stand?” he asked, looking down at her with a smile.
“You can have whatever you want,” Bridget replied, beaming up at him from underneath her hat.
“In that case,” Mark said as he opened the front door, “you better rid yourself of these layers and meet me upstairs. I have a cold nose that needs warming up.”
With a flick of her wrist, Bridget had flung her hat across the entryway, discarded her jacket on the floor, and was running up the stairs with gleeful laughter. Mark followed close behind, moving as quickly as his frozen limbs would allow him.