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having Christmas dinner here tomorrow.” She handed over the Santa suit. “I take it you’re not going to wear the beard this time?”
    “C.J. wouldn’t be too happy if I got the beard covered in food.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’ll need to get this suit dry-cleaned before I hand it back—or maybe this suit’s mine from now on.”
    “I’m not sure if I feel more guilty that you’re going to be totally naked under that, or…”
    “Turned on?” he asked softly.
    She licked her lower lip. “It’s certainly turning out to be a Christmas to remember—and nothing like what I was expecting.”
    “Me, neither,” he admitted.
    And then he dropped the towel.
    She blew out a breath. “Carry on like that, and you’re not getting any dinner.”
    He put on the Santa suit. “You do realize you’re standing below a mistletoe ball?” Then he gave her a truly mischievous grin and broke into song. “’Tis the season to kiss Santa, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la-la.”
    How could she resist? She stepped forward into his arms.
    By the time he broke the kiss, she was shaking. “Kitchen. Now.”
    “Mmm. Sounds interesting. What did you have in mind?”
    Oh, the pictures that put in her head. She felt the color rush into her cheeks. “Behave. Bad boys don’t get a present from Santa.”
    “Speaking as Santa, I should inform you that I can be just as bad as I like.” He stole another kiss, then relented. “Come on, Chief Elf, let’s go and make dinner.”
    Ellie had to think about what was actually in the cupboards. “Do you like pasta?”
    “Love it.”
    She glanced at the clock as they went through to the kitchen. “We’re, what, five hours behind London?” At his nod, she sighed. “It’s too late to text the picture of the snow angel to my brother, then.”
    “It’s not that late.”
    “It’s Christmas Eve. And my niece and nephew will be awake at four o’clock tomorrow morning, opening their stockings very noisily, so he and my sister-in-law are going to need every minute of sleep they can get.”
    “You’re really missing your family, aren’t you?” Mitch asked.
    She nodded. “I’ve sent them presents, and I’ll Skype them tomorrow, but it’s not the same as being there with them and playing all the games.”
    “That’s what you do at Christmas?”
    “Boxing Day, really. On Christmas Day, we have bookings for lunch. Had ,” she amended. “Sorry. After five years, it’s hard to get used to the fact that it’s not my restaurant any more.” She bit her lip. “Tomorrow’s the first year in I don’t know how long that I’m not cooking Christmas lunch for fifty.”
    “So catering the kids’ party today was a walk in the park for you.”
    “Yes. But I used to love doing Christmas dinner, working out the menu choices and planning what I was going to do for the petits fours.” She shook herself. “What about you? How do you normally spend Christmas?”
    “Work,” he admitted. “It’s a chance to catch up with paperwork. The gym’s not open on Christmas Day, but there’s a pool in my building so I can have a quiet swim first thing and go for a run later.”
    “And then Christmas dinner somewhere?”
    “Probably a TV dinner,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
    “So food is fuel, not a pleasure.”
    “I didn’t say that. I know my way around a kitchen. But I guess work takes up a lot of time.” He paused. “So what would you normally cook for Christmas lunch?”
    “The same as what you’d have over here, I’d guess. Turkey, stuffing, chipolatas wrapped in bacon, roast potatoes and parsnips, brussels sprouts and red cabbage.”
    He shook his head. “We tend to have the same kind of thing as we do at Thanksgiving—turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, and cranberry sauce, followed by pumpkin pie.”
    “You don’t have Christmas pudding?”
    He looked blank. “Christmas pudding?”
    “It’s a steamed pudding with a lot of dried fruit in it,” she explained.