Holly's Christmas is turning into the Christmas from hell. But a desperate last-minute search for cinnamon might just lead to a chance meeting and a little Christmas magic...

She's an idiot.

That's the only answer.

It's not like the whole universe is working its butt off to make sure that Holly has the worst Christmas ever, or anything... But that's sure as hell what it feels like to Holly.

It had started when she'd come home from uni, just over a week ago. She'd barely said hello to her brothers and parents before rushing back out of the door to drive to Jonathan's house.

It had been three weeks since she'd seen Jonathan, and she missed him like crazy. Long distance relationships were hard, but they were making it work. And she'd bought him the best Christmas present ever, too - a signed cricket ball by his favourite player that she'd won on an eBay bid.

And then she'd barely said hello to Jonathan before he told her that he didn't feel that they were working out anymore, and long distance was too hard. And when she'd asked, he grudgingly admitted that he'd been seeing someone else at his own uni.

So, yeah, finding out her boyfriend was cheating on her was not the best start to the Christmas holidays.

Holly grits her teeth remembering the goddamn cricket ball. Eighty pounds down the drain. She'd been all set to sell it herself on eBay to someone else, but her brother Henry is crazy about cricket, so it had been boxed and wrapped up for him now.

The Christmas holidays had started to look up a couple of days ago when she'd gone out for a night with some of her friends to a bar, and then to a club. She was so up for letting down her hair (not literally, though - a pixie cut isn't exactly the kind of hairstyle you can let down) and having fun with her friends.

Until she dropped her iPhone in the toilet.

And now - now, it's Christmas Eve.

And what's she doing?

Running from store to store, looking for goddamn cinnamon for the apple crumble, because everyone else was busy and they just couldn't have their Christmas apple crumble without cinnamon.

The clouds hang low and dark, grey and miserable, over the town centre. It might even snow, if they got lucky.

Ha, thinks Holly. Like that's gonna happen. A white Christmas my arse.

She'd tried Tesco, but hadn't even been able to park. Asda was fresh out of cinnamon, and the two Sainsbury stores she'd been to hadn't had any either. So now she was wandering around the town centre in the hopes of finding somewhere that sold some.

Holly shivers inside her wool coat, burying her nose into her scarf. Was now the time to regret the pixie cut, when she doesn't have any hair to keep her face and neck and ears warm?

She should've listened to her mum and borrowed those hideous leopard-print earmuffs. Her crocheted beanie is cute, but so holey it doesn't do much to keep her warm.

Even though the shops will be closing in about an hour, Holly can't summon up the energy to rush around. Why did it even matter? Christmas wouldn't be the same this year anyway. She'd been going out with Jonathan since Year Ten. They'd spent time together on Christmas Day for the last four years.

"You'll get over him soon, sweetie," her dad had told her, when she'd been crying into one of Jonathan's hoodies the other night. "I know it's tough now, but in a few weeks, you'll have forgotten all about him. He didn't deserve you anyway."

Yeah, like that made her feel any better right now. Especially when she knew he'd already moved on. With someone else.

Nope, so not bitter, Holly tells herself, and scowls.

The only festive spirit Holly feels like embracing right now is some eggnog. Or maybe a vodka and Coke.

Shop number five in the town centre, and Holly's about to scream.

Oh my God. I'm going to become known as that girl who had a mental breakdown in the Co-op on the high street.

That is so not how she wants to be remembered.

But a breakdown is looking more and more likely. Her eyes are actually welling up with tears.

She felt like Arnold Schwarzenegger in that bloody movie, Jingle All The Way, running from shop to shop in a frenzy, barrelling past little kids clutching toys they want and grannies with their little shopping trolleys and stressed-looking parents holding a Starbucks coffee in one hand and bags of shopping in the other, one eye constantly on their children.

Usually, Holly loves Christmas. Any other year, she'd be singing Christmas carols almost as soon as Halloween was over, decorating as early as she could, spending hours searching for the perfect gifts for people. There was even a love for the Christmas shopping chaos: the way the hustle and bustle of the season got to everybody, but they still smiled once they heard their favourite Christmas song playing through a shop's music system.

But right now, it just really, really pisses her off.

And she's starting to hate Christmas.

She hates cinnamon even more though.

"Excuse me, miss? Can I help you with anything? We're about to close."

She jumps at the voice, turning to the guy at her side.

He smiles at her patiently, waiting.

And Holly snaps. He probably thinks she's crazy (she sure as hell sounds crazy when she speaks) - or maybe he's used to it. It is Christmas Eve, after all. "Cinnamon. Where. Is. The. Cinnamon."

"Uh..." The guy looks at the small collection of herbs and spices on the shelf Holly has been standing in front of for the last ten minutes. "I'm not sure if we stock any. Maybe the baking section?"

Holly's already looked there, but follows him anyway with a little ball of hope fluttering in her chest. Maybe it'll be like when she thinks she's lost something, and as soon as her mum comes to look for it, Mum finds it straight away.

The guy crouches down, rooting through some jars of vanilla essence and little edible silver balls.

He's kind of cute, Holly thinks. Actually, a lot cute. He must be around her age: he looks a little bit familiar - they'd probably gone to the same school. Maybe he'd been in the year above.

When he stands back up, Holly snaps out of trying to think if she knew him or not and looks at his outstretched hand, holding a little jar of cinnamon sticks.

"Will this do? I mean, I can't see any ground cinnamon, but this should be okay..."

Before she's even aware of what she's doing, she grabs the guy's face and kisses his cheek with a loud smack, taking the cinnamon off him once she pulls back. "You're a hero. It's a miracle. A Christmas miracle."

Yup: she's definitely crazy. Kissing random guys on the cheek? That's so not her.

He laughs, though, grinning at her. He has a cute smile, too - it made her stomach feel fluttery again. She takes a quick glance at his name tag: Tom. But that's not helpful: there were loads of Toms at her school.

She starts to get a grip on herself again now, and can feel her cheeks burning. The blush has nothing to do with the heating blasting through the shop. "Oh my God. I'm sorry. I can't believe I did that. I'm not usually like this. It's just - it's been a really crazy day."

"Yeah, I get that. One year we broke the star on top of the tree on Christmas Eve and had to run around everywhere looking for a new one. It's so weird how they're everywhere right up until you really need them."

"I know, right?"

There's a pause before he says, "Do you need anything else? Or shall I go ring that up for you?"

"Um, yeah. I mean, no, that's it. I don't need anything else."

"Okay then." He smiles again, and Holly is just glad he doesn't look as mortified about her behaviour as she feels in that moment. She follows him to the tills, and as she's paying, showing her student card for the coveted ten percent discount, he says, "This is going to sound really weird, but did you used to go to Oakmoor?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I just thought I recognised you. Your picture on your card - you had long hair then. I didn't recognise you with the pixie cut." Holly's hand goes to her hair reflexively. "I think I knew your brother. Uh, Harry, right?"

"Henry."

"Yeah, I remember him from the school cricket team. I used to play too."

"Oh. Right. Yeah."

"You don't have any clue who I am, do you?"

"Sure I do." She's blushing a bit again, though. She points to his name tag. "You're Tom."

He chuckles. "Yeah. To be fair, I don't think we ever spoke in school."

"Mm," was all Holly could manage.

Tom hands over her receipt, and Holly shoves it into her bag, along with the cinnamon sticks and her cards. And then, as she's about to say the most awkward goodbye ever (she could still see her lipstick on his cheek), he says, "I mean, I don't suppose you want to go grab something to drink?"

Holly's jaw almost hits the floor, and she gulps. Audibly. Tom's smile falters a little, the longer she doesn't respond. He even stars to blush: Holly can see the tips of his ears turning pink, where they poke out from his messy blond hair.

Until she says, "Why not?"

They only go for a hot chocolate, from the Christmas market. Sitting in the little wooden hut, shivering because the walls are just plastic, rain-proof sheets, Holly realises this is the first first date she's been on in over four years.

Because the more Tom flirts with her, and laughs at her (pretty bad) jokes, she's pretty sure this is a date.

But it's not as awkward as she thinks it should be. Considering they never really ever spoke in school, there aren't any awkward lapses in conversation, and even though they've both finished their hot chocolates, neither of them makes a move to leave.

Well, not until Holly's phone rings. It's a little brick-like Nokia that she picked up for five quid after the toilet-meets-iPhone fiasco, and the ringtone is the William Tell Overture. It's her mum calling, so she makes a quick apology to Tom before standing up and walking a few feet away to answer the call.

"Where are you? I've been worried sick. You haven't answered any of your texts. I was about to send your dad out looking for you."

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn't hear the phone go. I'm - um, well, I got the cinnamon."

"Oh, good." The relief in her mum's voice is evident. Like Christmas would've been ruined without it. "So where are you? Are you stuck in traffic? I hope you've put me on speakerphone if you're driving."

"Mum, calm down. Um, no, I'm - uh, it's..." She laughs nervously. "I'm actually on a date. I think. I'll explain later."

"What? With who?"

"Just this guy I met. He went to our school. He played cricket with Henry," she adds, so her mum is less likely to start worrying. "I'll probably be leaving soon, though. We've just gone for hot chocolate."

"Oh. Okay, well - text me when you're on your way home. Don't be too late. It's almost six o'clock."

"I won't."

She says goodbye and goes back to the table. "Sorry, it was just my mum, wondering where I was. I might have to head off in a minute, actually. Before it gets too late."

"Plans?"

"Not really. Just, like, Christmas Eve family traditions. Watching Elf, eating mince pies..."

Tom laughs, and Holly smiles. "Sounds cosy. I'd better head home too. I still have presents to wrap."

They're both standing up now, and it seems like that's that: the date is over, and they're both going to go home, and Holly can freak out about this then.

Once they get outside, Holly can barely believe her eyes.

It's snowing.

Not much, but there are flakes falling, trying to stick to the ground. One catches on her eyelash and she giggles, blinking it away, and then holding out a hand, palm-up, to try and catch one.

"No way," Tom says. "I'd so love a white Christmas."

"Me too." Holly grins at him. Snow has always had that kind of effect on her: instant happiness.

But, you know, the date probably helped with her good mood, too.

"My car's that way," she says.

"Mine's that way." Tom gestures over his shoulder, in the opposite direction. Then he holds out his phone. "I had a really good time with you Holly. Maybe we could catch up again while you're home for Christmas?"

Another beaming smile splits across her face. "Sure. I'd like that." She puts in her number, handing it back. "Well, I'll see you soon then?"

"Yeah. See ya."

They stand awkwardly for a minute - a minute where Holly's blood is racing and her palms are sweating, because all she can think is: Is he going to kiss me? Oh my God, what if he kisses me? I really want him to kiss me.

But then the moment is gone, and they're walking their separate ways.

Maybe next time, Holly thinks - they can go on another date, and maybe he'll kiss her then.

She pulls her hat down further over her ears, hands buried in her pockets for warmth, when she hears Tom call her name. She turns, almost tripping over her own feet, and he's jogging back towards her. He stops in front of her, and before she can blink another snowflake off her eyelash, he's kissing her, lips soft and gentle on hers, a hand resting on her face.

And it's like magic: the bah-humbug in her has disappeared without a trace, and suddenly she's giddy.

"Merry Christmas," he breathes against her mouth.

"Merry Christmas to you too," she responds, and this time, when they part ways, she touches a finger to her lips, smiling, thinking that maybe there really is a little Christmas magic for everyone.