Chapter Three
Now
It was simultaneously the worst and best night of my life.
The best because from then on Lara Stevens became a part of it, slipping into my world despite all the odds.
The worst because despite some heavy flirting on my part in the following weeks she never tried to kiss me again.
Not even when she had ample opportunity to.
And then a month later, she got her first in a series of thoroughly unremarkable boyfriends and that was that.
We remained friends, something which greatly confused everyone who knew us.
I suppose we were pretty different. Lara was quiet.
Smart and strong. I like to think of myself as both of those things, too, but I didn’t get to where I am in life by playing the wallflower.
I got there by smiling and joking and bringing in muffins on Tuesdays. No one expects a muffin on a Tuesday.
We both graduated. We both moved to London. She continued her medical training. I got a job getting coffee for some rich guy’s son who sculpted versions of himself out of beeswax and tennis balls. I think he works in banking now.
We moved from being teenagers to young adults to whatever the hell we are now. People with actual responsibilities. With lines on their forehead and opinions on dish soap.
The thing is, I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with her for ten years. Since the moment I saw her. Or, at the very least, since she kneed me in the groin. I just don’t think I realized it. Not at first.
I thought that love was supposed to be this desperate, painful thing. It was supposed to ruin your life. Make you chase a plane down a runway. Take poison in a crypt.
I never felt that way around Lara. I just knew that I wanted to be around her. And if she didn’t want me like that, then I’d take her any way I could. A friend. A confidant.
And right now, from the look on her face, a pain in her backside.
I sit up as she appears behind the little window at the top of the cell door. A second later, it swings open, and she steps into the room.
“Am I going to jail?”
“No,” she whispers, with a disapproving look. “I told them you were housesitting. That I was tired and got my dates mixed up when my next-door neighbor called me and asked if I had guests staying.”
I sigh, relieved. “You always were an excellent liar. You should—”
Lara claps a hand over my mouth, shutting me up as she glances over her shoulder.
Right. Police.
“You’re my guardian angel,” I murmur under her palm.
“And you’re an idiot.” She removes her hand, gazing down at me with a look I can’t decipher. Pretty sure it’s verging on really annoyed, though. “What on earth were you doing?”
“What do you think?” I ask, but she just looks at me. “The house,” I press, slightly hurt that she hasn’t put two and two together.
“What about my house?”
“You didn’t go inside?”
“No,” she says, her expression alternating between suspicion and apprehension. “I was a little distracted by a phone call from the police station.”
“I see.” I see. My mood lifts significantly knowing that I didn’t miss her reaction. That I might even get to see it in person. But while mine goes up, hers goes down.
“Oh no,” she says at my growing smile. “No. Oliver, what did you do?”
“It’s a good thing,” I insist, defensive. “And it wasn’t just me. Andrew and Molly helped too.”
“Who?”
“My partners in crime. I mean not crime,” I add loudly, spying the policeman outside. “Crime is bad.”
“Why did you break into my house?” she hisses, and I frown, not liking her tone.
“It’s not breaking in if I have the alarm code.”
“I gave you the code for emergencies.”
“How is Christmas not an emergency? It’s a good thing!” I exclaim again as she drags a hand down her face.
“I don’t have time to deal with this right now,” she tells me. “I’ve hardly slept in three days, and I’ve barely eaten in one. You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Overwhelm me,” she says tiredly and for a moment I’m dumbstruck. But before I can ask what she means, a police officer sticks his head in.
“Let’s wrap this up,” he says. “Need this place for someone to sober up.”
“Happy to help,” I tell him, jumping to my feet.
Lara lingers by my side as I sign various forms at the desk and get my stuff back in a little plastic bag.
I can’t tell if she’s mad at me or not. I don’t think she can tell either because she’s silent as we leave the station, staring hard at the ground.
It’s not how I imagined this night going, and the instinct to make her smile kicks in as it always does.
“Would you like to get some ice cream?”
Her eyes flick to mine. “It’s freezing.”
“A hot chocolate, then.”
“It’s also nearly 1 a.m.”
“Is it?” I open the plastic bag and take out my phone to see she is, as always, correct. “A boozy hot chocolate then? Irish it up a little? I’m allowed to say that,” I add at her look. “I’m a direct descendant.”
“On one side.”
“On my mother’s side, which is all that counts according to her. Rachel Fitzpatrick has always been …” Oh, I’m an idiot. “How’s your mum?” I ask, and her gaze softens.
“Better. Thanks. For the card and the flowers and … thanks.”
“Of course.”
“I know I said I wanted to bring her here for Christmas, but she just wasn’t up for it. And I know Christmas Eve probably wasn’t the best time to travel, but I wanted my own bed. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
Disappointment surges through me, but I keep my expression the same. Of course, she’s exhausted. She wants to go home, and I’m making her stand out in the cold.
“I’ll go,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how tired you must be.”
“No!” The word bursts out of her, and I pause, surprised. So does Lara. “I mean … stay,” she says after a second. “I want you to stay. Sorry. I just meant you don’t have to go if you don’t—”
“No problem,” I interrupt. She gets like this sometimes. Fumbles her words. Gets embarrassed. It’s the surest way to make her retreat and that’s the last thing I want her to do right now.
“And I mean it,” she says. “About the flowers. Not a lot of people got in touch.” She grimaces. “I don’t mean to make it about me. It’s such a busy time of the year, but I don’t know. I got lonely over there.”
“You should have told me. I would have come.”
She smiles a little. Like I’m joking. But I’m completely serious.
“You ready for your surprise?”
She sighs. Long and hard. But she doesn’t look like she wants to hit me anymore.
“Don’t you trust me?” I ask, holding my arms out wide.
Her brow furrows. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look like a sad puppy. You always do it when you want something to go your way and I always fall for it because I always fall for—”
You. She doesn’t say the word; she cuts herself off with a shake of her head. Like she’s mad at herself.
“Okay,” she says abruptly. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“You make it sound like you’re heading for the battlefield.”
She snorts, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. “With you, Oliver, anything is possible.”
She’s not far from the station, so we walk to hers together. My mood bounces back with each step, and by the time we reach her door, even Lara can’t help but warm to my obvious enthusiasm.
“Why am I nervous?” she asks with an awkward laugh. “I feel like you’ve booby-trapped it or something.”
“Or something,” I say as I take the key from her hand and unlock the door. “Let me do it. Stay there. Don’t look.”
“I’m going to change that code,” she warns me as I shut off the alarm.
“Close your eyes.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“I’m not— Oliver.” She groans as I place my hand over her eyes, but doesn’t pull away as I lead her into the hallway. I glance into the living room, squinting through the darkness in case the tree fell over again. But it’s where it’s supposed to be and still looks majestic.
Perfect. It’s all perfect. Even without the extra tinsel.
Maybe I could put some in the downstairs loo when she’s not looking.
“Merry Christmas, Lara,” I tell her, removing my hand. I picture the next moment as I do. The kaleidoscope of color. The piles of presents. The smile on her face.
I flick the light switch.
There’s an immediate spark, which makes us both flinch, and then … nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Everything remains dark. Dark and … weirdly silent? I flip the switch again. This time, there’s no spark at all.
Neither of us moves for a long time, and then Lara slowly turns to face me.
“Oliver?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you just trip the electricity?”
I stare into the room, eyeing the million little bulbs I’d strung up the day before.
“Maybe.”