Chapter 37
Eli
The first thing I felt was a light touch combing through my hair.
Barely there. Gentle enough that it blended into whatever half-formed dream I was having.
My mind started to pull itself out of sleep, and I blinked my eyes, my vision slow to focus.
For a second, I stayed still, caught up in the quiet stillness before fully waking up.
Then I felt it again. Fingers drifting slowly through the strands just above my ear, patient and careful.
I rolled onto my back to find Rowan sitting beside me on the edge of the bed. His expression was unreadable at first. Something quiet, maybe a little distracted. But when he saw I was awake, his gaze softened.
"It's alive," he teased, his voice low and still a little rough around the edges.
I smiled without thinking. It was small and lazy, not fully formed, but it was real.
I reached up and curled a hand around the back of his neck, then gave a gentle tug until he leaned down.
He settled against me without hesitation, and I felt him relax into the hug.
I wrapped my arms around him and held him there, his chest pressed to mine and his head tucked under my chin.
It struck me how different this version of him was. Just a few months ago, I would've never expected this kind of closeness with him. And now he was curled up against me in the most natural way.
He was still very much the quiet and reserved one.
But there was something new in him. More open.
Less guarded. The way he reached for me this morning, not hesitant or asking for permission – that hadn't always been there.
He was choosing this, too. I felt it in the way his fingers curled into my shirt. How he didn't rush to get up.
I kept my hand at the nape of his neck and let the other trail up and down his back. He let out the softest breath and melted a little more against me.
God, I loved seeing him like this. Calm. Relaxed. Safe. Letting himself have things. I'd give up the city a hundred times over to hang on to this.
I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "You still awake there?"
"Mhm," he mumbled, the sound low and content against my chest.
I smiled again and pulled him just a little closer. "Thought you drifted off on me."
He lifted his head and sat up. "I've been awake for two hours. I couldn't fall asleep again if I tried. You just make a really good pillow."
"Two hours? Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You were out. I didn't want to bother you."
I blinked up at him, then glanced toward the window and realised how the light was filtering into the room. "Wait. What time is it?"
He leaned over to glance at the clock on the wall. "Little after ten."
I sat up with a start. "Ten?!"
"You worked late last night," he said, surprisingly calm. "I figured I'd let you sleep."
"I had an alarm set."
His voice went quiet. "You did... You might've slept through it."
I narrowed my eyes. "Rowan."
He avoided my look with a suspicious amount of interest in the texture of the blanket. "Or I ... might've turned it off."
I stared at him. "Seriously?"
His lips twitched at the corners. "You wouldn't have gotten up, anyway. Your alarm never works when you snore."
I rolled my eyes and kicked him lightly through the blanket. "I do not snore."
"You absolutely do. In fact, it was so bad this morning, I thought your chainsaw was stuck."
He said that with such a straight face that I couldn't even be mad. Couldn't think of a comeback, either.
He stood and brushed a hand over his shirt. "Anyway, breakfast is almost ready. Figured I'd at least wake you up before it got cold."
I pushed the blanket back with a huff and followed him into the kitchen.
The smell of eggs and toast hit me halfway across the room – and I was pretty sure I also picked up a hint of that holiday tea he said he hated so much.
Rowan went straight to the stove to stir the eggs, so I sneaked behind him and slid my arms around his waist to watch.
Everything smelled good, but I still kind of wanted to get him back for that chainsaw comment. Just to irritate him a bit, I said, "Wow. You didn't burn them this time."
He elbowed me in the ribs without looking back. "Keep talking, and I'll burn yours on purpose."
I laughed and pressed a kiss into his hair.
As he continued to cook, I glanced toward the window and caught a flicker of colour from the twinkling lights on the house across the street. A few others nearby had garlands, wreaths, and of course, the lopsided reindeer.
And I realised... We never got around to decorating. No tree. No lights. Nothing strung across the bannister or hanging in the windows. For a second, I felt a twinge of disappointment. Our first real Christmas together, and we'd missed all of that.
But then I glanced at Rowan – barefoot, still in his night clothes, laser-focused on arranging the eggs so they didn't singe. And the weight of that thought eased.
We had this. I had him. And we could enjoy our mornings now without Marcus lurking behind every shadow. No fear, no anxiety. Just breakfast and warmth and the quiet safety of being here together. The rest of it didn't matter.
I gave his waist a gentle squeeze and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He flinched with a quiet laugh and curled in a little. His shoulder lifted like he was trying not to squirm.
"Ticklish?" I murmured.
He sent me a half-heartedly suspicious side eye. "What's up with you today?"
I kept my arms around him and let the idea form fully before I spoke. "What if we head out for a bit later? Grab a late lunch, walk through the Christmas markets after?"
He turned his head to look at me more directly. I saw a flicker of surprise there, and maybe a hint of hesitation. But underneath that, I also caught a quiet spark of excitement. "You sure? You don't have a deadline or – ?"
"Nothing urgent."
He paused for one more beat, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
I pressed another kiss to his cheek, just because I could. "Then it's a date."
His face flushed almost immediately. God, he was fun to tease.
* * *
The markets were in full swing by the time we made it over.
The rowdy lunch crowd still echoed faintly in my head – loud laughs, clinking glasses, old inside jokes that barely made sense anymore.
It had been good to see some familiar faces, but Rowan had gotten quieter the longer it went on.
By the end of it, he was more focused on the condensation on his glass than the conversation.
Now, walking side by side through the cobbled streets, he was finally starting to unwind again.
Market stalls stretched out ahead of us, strung with lights that blinked softly against the grey atmosphere. Wooden posts sported garlands and a warm amber glow, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon mixed with woodsmoke and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby kids.
Rowan kept close as we walked. His eyes tracked the stalls of little handmade ornaments, jars of honey wrapped in burlap, stacks of old books no one had opened in years. His shoulders started to relax, and his pace slowed as he took it all in.
I was glad he could enjoy this without any kind of fear hanging over him.
We passed a booth with carved wooden figurines and another selling old jazz vinyls. He finally reached for my hand, his fingers sliding against mine until they were laced together. His grip was light but solid.
I squeezed back as we kept walking.
We'd just passed a stall selling hand-painted ceramics when a voice called out, high and excited, from a few feet away.
"Mr. Hale!"
Rowan turned automatically toward the sound.
Finlay came bounding up to him through the crowd, cheeks red from the cold and his coat slightly crooked. He stopped in front of Rowan and smiled at him. "I didn't know you'd be here."
Rowan's face softened. "Hey, Fin. What kind of trouble are you stirring up today?"
Fin held up a small carved owl with tiny etched feathers and wide, exaggerated green eyes. "Mum let me pick out something, so I grabbed this."
"Nice choice."
"There's a stall a few rows down that's got loads of these. I saw one I think you'd like, too. Come on!"
Before Rowan could respond, the kid grabbed his arm and started tugging. He barely had time to glance back at me, mouthing, Be right back, with a look that was half apology and half amused disbelief.
I just grinned and waved him off.
He let himself be pulled through the crowd. Fin chatted his ear off the whole way, gesturing wildly with his free hand. Rowan followed with a look of patient resignation that made me laugh under my breath.
I watched them disappear into the flow of people before I turned back to the path, not quite sure what to do with myself.
The market stretched wide in both directions, and bells jingled faintly from one of the stands nearby.
Somewhere farther down, someone was playing a gentle acoustic version of a Christmas song I half-recognised.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and wandered for a few steps, my eyes skimming over wool scarves, handmade candles, and little spice tins with handwritten labels. I didn't stop at any of the stalls, though. None of it felt quite right.
Then I caught sight of a small booth tucked just off to the side. Easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. Something about it made me veer off the main path without thinking. When I got close, I saw what they were selling.
A slow grin crept across my face. Perfect.
I waited my turn behind a woman who tried to haggle on the price, then pointed to what I wanted. The seller bagged it quickly in a small paper bag and handed it off without a word. I tucked it away into my coat pocket where it would be safe and hidden.
Then I stepped back into the current of people to let myself wander and wait for Rowan to reappear.
By the time we got home, the snow had started to stick to us. It wasn't much. Just a dusting. But it was enough to turn our coats damp and cling to the curls at the back of Rowan's neck. He reached up to brush it away the second we stepped inside, and a few flakes scattered to the floor.
I shut the door behind us and tugged off my scarf. "You know," I said, eyeing the object still clutched in his gloved hands, "you didn't actually have to buy the thing."
He looked down at the hand-carved wooden hedgehog. It looked about the size of a grapefruit and sported a painted-on striped Santa hat and, for some reason, bright yellow sunglasses. "Fin was excited about it. I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
"So you let a twelve-year-old talk you into spending twenty quid on a disco hedgehog."
Rowan shrugged as he hung up his coat. "It's whimsical."
"It looks like it sells vapes behind Tesco."
That got a laugh out of him. An actual laugh, not just the breathy kind I usually had to work for. He set the figure on the table and unwrapped his scarf. "I'll leave it on your side of the bed, then. Since you're so fond of it."
I glared at him. "If you pull a Godfather trick on me, I swear I'll throw you into the sun."
He tried to school his expression, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching.
"I'm going to jump in the shower," he said, somehow keeping his voice level.
"I can't feel my toes." He backed toward the hallway with forced composure, though I didn't miss the flash of a grin before he turned around and made his escape.
I watched him go, and then the tension released from my shoulders. Such an easy laugh. And he could still throw a jab with a straight face. Not long ago, that version of him felt a million miles away. For a long time, I wasn't sure I'd ever see it again.
My gaze drifted back to the table, where the hedgehog sat in all its ridiculous glory. I stared at it for a second. Its painted eyes stared back through those crooked little sunglasses, completely unapologetic.
"You are going to haunt me in my sleep," I muttered – and turned it so it faced the wall.
The sound of running water reached me a minute later, muffled but constant behind the bathroom door.
I slipped a hand into my coat pocket and pulled out the paper bag. The edges were slightly crinkled now, but a quick peek inside showed that the thing itself was still in perfect condition. I turned the bag over in my palm, then glanced around the flat for the right spot to hang it.