Chapter 12 December 12th
“Don’t forget Christmas Jumper Day tomorrow,” Crystal sings to anyone and everyone as I trudge down the corridor, weighed down with layers, my boots heavy with compacted snow on the soles.
“Damn, I’m going to have to send an email,” she mutters.
“Snow should pull people out, not keep them in.” She wilts when she spots me. “Oh, hi, Camryn.”
“Hi.” I step into my office and drop my bags to the floor, stripping out of my coat, scarf, and hoodie, hanging everything on the radiator before I pull my heels out and get them on.
When I land at my desk, I chew my lip, staring down at my phone as I revisit last night for the thousandth time, picking it all to pieces. His anger. The hurt he couldn’t hide. How he walked away when I went after him. I wanted to call him and blurt my truths, try to make him understand me.
But I bottled it.
Because I’m a coward.
Just burying my head in the sand again.
When will I stop doing that?
Now? And is it too late? Will Dec even answer if I call?
I grab my mobile and dial him, pacing up and down, trying to conjure up some words.
None come to me. So I cut the call before it rings and hang my head in exasperation as I drop to my chair and a knock sounds.
“Come in, Thomas.” His head pops around the door as I’m fixing my fluffy hair in a low knot, his smile big and cheesy.
I’m surprised he’s shown his face. “Let’s talk about the draft accounts,” I say, stern.
“I have a better idea.”
“What?”
He moves aside, opening the door wide, revealing Crystal. Not that I can see her, because she’s concealed. “Let’s talk about who could have sent you these beautiful flowers.”
I stare at the extravagant spray of winter blooms, my heart bucking. “You can leave them on the table,” I murmur, eyes fixed on them as Crystal makes her way across my office and sets them on the coffee table by the chair.
“So pretty,” she says, petting the petal of a rose. “Would you like me to get a vase?”
“What?”
“A vase. To put your flowers in.”
“No.” I get up and usher them out of my office, slamming the door and resting my back against it. He sent me flowers? He saw me on the pavement, cold, wet, barefoot, he drove away leaving me there, but he’s sent me flowers?
I approach my desk like a nervous dog, almost cowering, unsure about the gift before me that’s enticing me with promises of hope and affection.
The card is lost amid the foliage, a small white fleck among the abundance of bright colours.
Lowering to the chair, I pluck it out and hold my breath as I open the envelope.
Is this his way of confirming that what we could’ve had is gone?
That I’m too broken, too cold, too spineless, and too weak for him to bother anymore?
They’re all fair assessments. But, no. Why would he send flowers to mark the end?
Sliding the card out, I exhale when I read the words.
I don’t fuck for the sake of fucking, Camryn. And I don’t kiss for the sake of kissing. I want that to be clear. The ball is in your court. Dec.
There are so many unwritten words on this card, so many words left unsaid, but I hear them all. The ball is in my court. He won’t pursue me. And he’s not interested in doing anything for the sake of it. So he expects the same from me.
I sink into the chair, regret and shame sweeping in and eating me alive from the inside out. They’re the brightest flowers he could have found. An explosion of colour on the blank canvas of my life.
Symbolic.
I remain in my office for the rest of the day, distracted, obsessing over his words, pacing up and down, dialling him endless times and not following through with the call, because what would I say to him?
Thank you? Sorry? Can we start again? Or do I let all of my demons pour out of me? Tell him the truth. Not that I’ve lied.
At least, not vocally. More . . . silently.
At four thirty, I’m going out of my mind, searching for the courage I need to move forward. It’s not so much calling Dec or even talking to him, but it’s what I’ve finally accepted it’s leading to.
I read the card for the millionth time, slipping it into my bag when Debbie wanders in.
She eyes my flowers but doesn’t pass comment.
“These need your signature, and I’ve been asked to remind you about Christmas Jumper Day tomorrow and Secret Santa on Thursday.
” Her face is a picture of awkwardness, her pink lips rolling inward and disappearing.
“I don’t own any Christmas jumpers.”
“Of course you don’t, Camryn. Why would you?” She pivots and leaves. “Just delivering the message.”
“Hey, Debbie.” She stops at the door and looks back. “Your husband.”
“What about him?”
“Did he . . . you know . . . after what you said yesterday. About the accident on the M25.”
“Did he save her? No, he didn’t. Two weeks before Christmas.” Her gaze drops to the floor, but I still see her frown as well as I feel the ache in my stomach. “Life’s cruel, huh?”
I swallow around my nod as Debbie leaves and proceed to stare at the flowers, considering her words. Life can be exceedingly cruel.
For many, Camryn, not just you.
The moment I open my office door, I feel all eyes on me, and they follow me all the way to the elevator. Once I push the button, I look back. “What?” I ask no one in particular but everyone at the same time.
“Nothing,” they sing.
“Sure.” I roll my eyes and step into the cart, hoping no one joins me on the way down because there isn’t a square inch of spare space, the flowers touching each side of the cart.
And now my face is so close, I can appreciate the scent.
I inhale and close my eyes, letting it sink into me, which only makes me crave Dec more than usual. His warmth.
Halfway across the lobby, I juggle the bouquet into one arm and pull my scarf up to my chin, bracing for the shock of cold. “Good Lord,” I breathe when it hits me, speeding up, hoping my faster pace will warm me up a bit. It doesn’t.
I’m a fucking icicle by the time I make it to where I want to be, and as I stare up at the impressive building, I wonder . . . what now? Do I go in? Wait outside?
I decide to wait. I don’t want people to ask questions he might not be comfortable with. No, that’s just how you’d feel if he showed up at your office. I’m rolling my eyes again, exasperated by myself, as I scan the vicinity, finding a post to perch on.
And I wait.
And wait.
And with each minute that passes, I lose feeling in one more finger until my hands are like blocks of ice.
I must get some gloves. Surely I can find a store where I won’t bump into my devastating past so I can get myself a pair of gloves.
My eyes narrow as the unstoppable force of her smiling face infiltrates my mind.
How blissfully happy she’d sounded talking on the phone. How at peace she looked in her life.
How just seeing her sent me down a rabbit hole of agony and desolation.
Mildly shaking my head, I close my eyes and hear her apologies. I see the sheen of tears in her eyes when she had the nerve to come to our home and say sorry. My husband’s anger when I slapped her face.
No.
I jerk, my eyes snapping open, and find my flowers.
Colour.
Focus on the colour.
The door to the building opens endless times, various people coming and going, but none of them are Dec.
I’m about all out of hope, sure he’s left early, or maybe not come to his office at all today, when a grey Defender pulls up at the curb, the hazards flashing.
My deep inhale lifts me to my feet as I watch a man hop out.
Not Dec. He’s short and stocky in build, with a mop of dark curly hair.
Jogging across the pavement to the gold doors of the building, he disappears through them, appearing moments later with a few boxes stacked in his arms.
Dec’s following him, fastening the buttons of his coat.
My heart stops at the mere sight of him.
How his tall body moves so sinuously, how his silver gaze seems infinitely lazy, how his lips maintain that constant slight parting.
He adjusts the scarf around his neck with leather-gloved hands, getting the collar of his coat flat under the wool wrapped around his neck.
I can’t convince my legs to walk me over to him.
I can’t convince my mouth to call his name.
But I don’t need to, because he looks up and sees me. Whether because he’s sensed me nearby or by chance, I don’t know. He freezes for a moment, taking me in, while I continue refreshing my mind of every magnificent bit of him. I’m so nervous. Ready to expose myself but not.
Somehow, I finally convince by legs to move and walk over to him, setting the flowers on the ground by my feet.
The man from the Defender appears next to us. “Dec?”
“Just give me a moment,” Dec says quietly, his gaze remaining on me.
“Of course.”
My mind’s empty.
“How long have you been out here?” he asks.
“Not long.”
“Your blue lips don’t agree.”
“I needed to tell you something.”
“What?”
I throw caution to the wind and step into his body, sliding my hand onto his neck and pulling his face close to mine, my breath shaky as I exhale, our noses so close, if I were to blink, our lashes would brush.
“Your hand’s really fucking cold,” he whispers, looking so deeply into my eyes, I’m sure he must see to the very depths of my soul. “So whatever you need to tell me, get on with it.”
I swoop in and catch his mouth, and he’s holding me in his arms a second later, completely encasing me in his warm body, right in the middle of The Strand. People are certainly dodging us—staring—but I don’t care.
My lips thaw immediately, warmth sailing through my frozen body and lighting up my insides. Lighting up my life.
Colour and light.
Because of him.