Chapter Four
“I really am sorry.”
“I heard you the first hundred times,” Lara says beside me. “It’s fine. You were trying to do something nice. I forgive you. Stop looking so miserable.”
“But I feel miserable.” I run my hand through my hair, aiming my phone’s light at the fuse box. Buttons and little red switches sit placidly as though to taunt me. Reaching out carefully, as I imagine a member of a bomb squad would a suspicious package, I press one.
Nothing happens.
Lara sighs. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
“Not a clue,” I tell her. But there’s no way we’ll get anyone out at this time of night. Not on Christmas Eve. Or Christmas Day or whatever it is now.
Shit.
I fight the urge to bang my head against the wall. Christmas Day and I’ve killed her electricity.
“It’s fine,” Lara repeats, obviously taking pity on me. “I was just going to sleep anyway. I’ll light a fire.”
“What? Why?”
“Uh, because I don’t want to get frostbite?”
“You want to stay?”
Here? She wants to spend Christmas in a cold, dark house on a cold, dark street? Like some sugarplum-eating orphan? My thoughts must be clear on my face because Lara holds up a hand before I can protest.
“I want to be in my house,” she says. “With my things. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for three weeks and spent half that time sleeping in a hospital chair. I’m staying.”
“I’m not leaving you in the dark.”
“I don’t care. I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed.”
I frown as she turns and marches up the stairs.
“You can’t sleep in your bedroom,” I call after her. “You’ll freeze to death and I’ll have to go back to prison.”
“You weren’t in prison!”
“Thanks to you saving me,” I say, putting a hand to my heart as I wait by the banister.
She reappears a few seconds later with a blanket folded over her arms. “Okay, you’re right. It’s freezing up here.”
“We’ll have to share body heat,” I tell her solemnly, and something flashes across her face too fast for me to catch. She masks it with an eye roll and stomps back down.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Of course I’m staying. It’s Christmas.”
“Exactly. You’re going to your parents.”
“They’ll understand.” I shrug. It’s the truth.
Lara’s basically an honorary member of the family to them by now and I have no doubt they’ll be secretly relieved to have one fewer person to squeeze around the table.
Last year we ran out of chairs and I had to sit on a stepladder. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”
“You don’t have to …” She trails off in the most unconvincing tone ever. She wants me to stay. I know she does. It’s why she’s hesitating. She thinks I’m just being nice to her.
“Lara,” I press, and she wavers.
“That would be great,” she admits. “I’ve never spent Christmas alone.”
“Then you won’t. Besides, this is London. There’ll be a million places open for food. We can go into central in the morning. Pretend we’re tourists.”
“I guess that sounds nice.”
Not exactly the enthusiasm I’d hoped for. “But?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, hugging the blanket to her chest. “But I’m really, really tired.”
I switch tracks immediately. “Then we’ll stay put. Get some sleep. Share warmth as previously agreed.”
“Just light a fire,” she groans. “I’m going to change and get some pillows.”
She vanishes back up the stairs, and I wander into the living room, mournfully inspecting all the decorations before I toss a blanket over the demon elf.
There are still a few battery-operated lights on the bookcase, so I turn those on next, illuminating a framed photo of the two of us from our university days.
We’re sitting on the grass somewhere, squinting into the sunshine, a pizza box between us.
We look so young it hurts.
“Snooping again?”
I turn around, pausing when I see her dressed in yoga pants and an oversized sweater. She’s pulled her hair back with a clip and has added bright blue fuzzy socks to complete the outfit.
She is the most beautiful person on the planet, and it takes me a second to remind myself to be normal around her and not just fall at her feet.
“What?” she asks, looking suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing.” I flash her a smile. “No fluffy socks for me?”
“You couldn’t pull them off.” She glances at the fireplace. “The fire?”
“Right.” I hesitate. “Yes …”
“You don’t know how to light one, do you?”
“I bet YouTube does.”
Except my phone is dead. I don’t realize it until I take it out of my pocket to check.
“You can charge it with all my electricity.”
“Funny,” I tell her. “You’re so funny.”
“How do you not know how to light a fire?”
“We didn’t have a fireplace growing up. We lived in an apartment like normal people.”
“Didn’t you ever go camping?”
I pull a face like I’m offended. “Do I look like someone who’s been camping?”
“I’ll do the fire,” she says flatly, tossing me her phone. “You ring the electrician just in case they have someone working and text your parents so they know what’s going on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
But since it’s nearing 2 a.m., and is literally Christmas Day, even the twenty-four ones don’t pick up, so I leave some messages and update my family about the change in plans.
By the time I return, the fire is blazing, lighting the room in a cozy, warm glow.
Lara sits cross-legged on the couch. Or rather her bed, since that’s what it looks like now with her mound of pillows and blankets.
I have my own version on the floor. She’s made it look like the comfiest floor I’ll ever sleep on.
“Probably won’t get someone until the morning,” I say, and she nods, resigned, as if she expected as much.
“You sure you’re okay sleeping there?” she asks.
“God, no. Switch places.” I sit down in front of her with my back to the couch. “Do you think we missed Santa?”
“Guess we’ll find out.” She draws her legs up and rests her chin on her knees, tilting her head to look at me. “Your hair’s gotten longer,” she says and that just makes me imagine her fingers running through it so I keep quiet and give what I hope is a normal smile.
She clears her throat when I don’t answer and continues: “How’s the job?”
“Weird.”
“All your jobs are weird.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve made a bit of a name for myself working as an executive assistant to the wealthy and odd of London.
I’ve worked with all kinds of people. But that’s how I like it.
“It keeps things interesting,” I say. “It’s been a few months with this guy, though. I think I’m ready for a new challenge.”
Now it’s her turn to say nothing, and when she just looks back at the fire, I feel a hint of self-doubt.
“I know it’s not a normal career path,” I tell her. “But I enjoy what I do. I like the freedom.”
“I never said it wasn’t normal.” She looks surprised. “The important thing is that you’re happy.”
“I am.” Or at least I think I am. Happiness comes and goes, but if you asked me on an average day, I’d say I feel pretty content.
This doesn’t feel like an average day, though.
And I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.
Maybe it’s because it’s Christmas. Maybe it’s just something in the air, but all I can think about is the way Andrew and Molly looked at each other when they thought no one was watching, and when I do, the urge to flee is so great it almost burns.
“I’m sorry,” Lara says after a second. “I really didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” But a strange sense of discomfort stretches between us. “How’s your job?” I ask.
“Same,” she shrugs.
“Fulfilling and appropriately remunerated?”
“Apparently they’re going to fix the coffee machine next month.”
“And they say our system’s broken.” Lara is a GP in the local surgery. Underpaid and overworked. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe she needs a break. A proper one.
“We should go on a holiday in the new year,” I say.
“The new year?” She blinks. “You mean as in next week?”
“Yeah.”
Her expression doesn’t light up like I thought it would. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere sunny. The Canaries.”
“The Canaries?”
“Uh-huh.” My mind whizzes with the possibility. “We’ll get a cheap last-minute deal. Spend a few days by the pool. It will be great.”
“Great,” she repeats. “Sure.”
I pause, confused by her flat tone. “You don’t like the Canaries?”
“Oh, I love the Canaries,” she mutters.
“Then why—”
“Because I’m not being serious!” She laughs a little.
It’s not a nice one. “I have work, Oliver. I can’t just take off on a whim like you do.
Can’t just quit my job whenever I get bored.
I have patients and actual responsibilities and—” She breaks off, staring at me as though suddenly hearing herself. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“It’s okay,” I say, even though the discomfort is back.
“It’s not. I’m just projecting. You’re being nice and I’m—”
“Tired.”
She shakes her head, rubbing the space between her eyes. “I don’t think that about you. I never have. I admire you.”
“Lara—”
“I do,” she insists. “I wish I could be like you. I wish I didn’t care what people think about me or worry about all the things that could go wrong.
I wish I could live my life like you do.
Like I deserve to have the best version of it.
But every time I try, it’s like …” She trails off, looking lost. “You make it look so easy,” she finishes, and one of the burning logs pops and crackles in the ensuing silence.
“I care what some people think of me,” I say eventually, and her eyes seem impossibly dark in the warm light. I turn back to the front, and a full minute passes before she speaks again.
“I’d love to go on holiday with you,” she says, and when I glance over, she looks calmer than she did before.
My mood picks up. “Yeah?”
“In a few months,” she warns at my eagerness, and scoots down on the couch until she’s lying flat. “I need plenty of notice and I definitely need to wait a while. I’ve already taken too much time off with Mum.”
“Sounds less fun your way, but I’ll try.”
She snorts and draws the blanket up to her chin. “A pool would be nice, though.”
“All inclusive cocktails.”
“They water those down.”
“Which means you can have more.”
She snuggles in the pillow, her expression turning drowsy. “That’s true,” she murmurs, sticking out her hand. “Thanks for staying.”
“Any time,” I say as her eyes drift shut. I reach for her fingers and squeeze gently. “Any time.”