Chapter 17
MERRY
The store was finally empty. The last customer had left nearly forty minutes ago, arms loaded with snow globes and scented candles.
Now the aisles were quiet, the lights dimmed to their evening setting, and only a few of the closing team remained, straightening shelves and sweeping glitter into neat little piles.
Merry stood in the staff room, rubbing at the base of her spine. Her feet were killing her. Her head throbbed, her throat hurt from forcing a smile all day, and her eyes stung with unshed tears.
She was two hours past the end of her shift and she really should have gone home, but the chaos of the holiday rush had swallowed the day whole, and she’d barely noticed the time ticking by.
It was only now, as she was peeling off her uniform and looking at the clock, that it hit her how exhausted she was. And how hollow she felt.
Christian hadn’t come back. Not that she could blame him. He’d disappeared into the store and hadn’t resurfaced, and it had taken everything in her not to cry openly every time she remembered the look of betrayal in his eyes.
Her words had hurt him. Worse, they’d changed how he saw her, and she deserved that. But she wasn’t that person, and now she’d have no way to tell him how sorry she was.
Pulling her coat tightly around herself, Merry trudged towards the exit, her boots squeaking against the polished floor.
She braced herself, ready to face the cold, then stopped.
Across the empty shop floor, she caught sight of a familiar shape in jeans and a thick sweater, his damp hair curling slightly at the ends. Christian.
She froze, caught somewhere between relief and panic. He didn’t look like he was on shift — he wasn’t in his overalls and his trolley was nowhere to be seen — and from what Merry had seen on her stalk of the rota, he wasn’t due on again until the morning. What was he doing back?
She stayed hidden for a moment, half in shadow by the display of discounted snow globes. But she couldn’t look away. The sight of him clean-shaven, freshly showered, hit her like a sucker punch.
He moved towards the staff elevators, glancing over his shoulder once before stepping inside.
Without thinking, Merry launched into a sprint.
She darted past the checkout into the lobby and pressed the button just as Christian’s elevator was heading upwards.
She had no idea where he was going so she jabbed all the buttons in the hope she’d not lose him.
The elevator doors opened on all the floors but there was no one to be seen. She shifted from foot to foot, nerves jangling, heart pounding in her throat. By floor seven, she was sure she’d lost him. And then, as the elevator slowed again and the doors slid open on ten, she saw him.
He was just ahead, walking past a stack of unopened toy crates ready for the night staff to restock the shelves, his broad shoulders hunched, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
Merry held her breath in the hope he hadn’t seen her.
She stepped out quietly, letting the doors whisper shut behind her, and followed at a distance as he weaved through the shadowy shelves making for the staff corridor.
Hurrying in behind him, she watched as he reached a door she’d never noticed before — unmarked, tucked between two dusty filing cabinets — and slipped through. She hesitated for the briefest moment, then followed him.
The rooftop wind hit her like an icy slap.
She ducked her head and kept going, following the sound of his footsteps on the gravel.
He was heading across the roof, weaving between battered storage units and rusting vents.
She stayed low, trailing him from a distance, boots crunching softly against the frost-dusted path to a strange building ahead.
Tucked right into the northwest corner of the roof, it looked almost like a conservatory or an old orangery, its structure domed and delicate, entirely made of glass with ornate cast-iron supports painted white.
Inside was a forest of green ferns and palms and vines pressing against the glass, like they were trying to burst free.
Merry’s jaw dropped at the idea there was a whole ecosystem living on the roof of Carroll’s.
Christian reached the door and paused.
“You’d make an awful spy,” he said, his voice carrying on the wind across the rooftop to her.
Her cheeks burned. She straightened up, pulling her coat tighter and forcing herself forward. “I-I’m sorry,” she blurted out as she reached him. “Christian, I’m so sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it. I’m not. . . God, I’m just so—”
But he held up a hand and stopped her in her tracks.
“Come inside,” he said. “It’s freezing, and if we’re going to do this, I’d rather not lose a foot to frostbite in the interim.”
Merry nodded, swallowing hard. She followed him as he opened the glass-panelled door and stepped into the conservatory. The change in temperature was immediate. The air was warm and slightly humid, scented with greenery and soil.
It was like stepping into another world.
Merry was surprised at how big it was, and how well looked after.
Three of the four walls were almost entirely covered with potted plants, making the space feel like a jungle.
She was studying it so intently that she didn’t even notice the fourth wall until Christian pointed to it.
“How’s that for a view?” he said.
Through the glass Merry could see Fifth Avenue before her, almost as far as the park.
Cars busied themselves on the road, their horns soft and muted, and tiny people crowded the street.
The world down there was alive with lights, the storefronts glowing with illuminated snowflakes, fountains of colour pouring down from the rooftops, one store wrapped in a Santa’s belt of snowy bulbs and a giant snowman dancing on another.
Christian moved deeper inside, stopping beside an old leather sofa near the back. A matching easy chair sat opposite, flanked by a small wooden table stacked with gardening books and a half-used candle.
“Sit,” he said softly.
She lowered herself into the armchair. It was incredibly comfortable, moulding itself to her body, and she laid a blanket over her legs, less to keep her warm and more to shield herself.
Christian sat on the sofa, leaning forward and massaging his stubble with one hand.
He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, and she leaped in before he could start.
“I need to say this,” Merry said, trying to be brave. “And I need you to let me finish, even if it’s awful.”
Christian’s eyes didn’t catch hers, but he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.
“I’m so sorry,” she began. “What I said in the locker room . . . I can’t take it back, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to speak to me again. But please know, I didn’t mean it. Not really. Not the way it came out.”
She clenched her hands in her lap, twisting the edge of the soft blanket between her fingers.
“I don’t know what happened. One second I was defending you, and the next .
. . it was like I was thirteen again. Back at school.
Back in that horrible corridor where the rich girls would laugh at me because my dad showed up in his gardening gear to pick me up.
Where they’d point out his cracked hands, his scuffed boots, and say things loud enough for me to hear. ”
She glanced away, eyes fixed on the glass walls and the glittering city beyond.
“They called him all sorts of names, like he wasn’t a person who worked every hour he could, just to keep us afloat with my sister’s hospital bills.
We were broke. And I never cared — until those girls made me feel like I should.
Until I learned that kindness and sacrifice meant nothing if you didn’t have the right shoes or bag or white-collar job. ”
Christian still said nothing and Merry wanted to cry at the hurt on his face and the way he still wouldn’t look at her.
“I said something cruel because I was scared,” she admitted.
“But these last couple of days you’ve made me feel something I haven’t felt in years.
You’ve made me feel wanted. And then I panicked.
Because you’re leaving and I’m going to be stuck with those girls for eternity.
So I picked them. And I’m sorry.” Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re the first person I’ve trusted in a long time.
And when you looked at me like you didn’t know who I was anymore .
. . I deserved it. I did. But I want you to know something. ”
Christian finally met her gaze.
“I don’t care what you do for a living. You could sweep floors or own the building, because it’s not your job that matters.
It’s you. You’re a better man than anyone I’ve ever met.
” She drew a shaky breath, the words spilling out faster now.
“You’re kind. You listen. You make people feel like they matter.
You made me feel like I matter. And if I’ve ruined it, I’ll live with that.
But I needed to tell you the truth before you leave. You are enough just as you are.”
Silence settled over them again, as thick as the vines that curled around the glass above. Merry sat perfectly still, her hands clenched in her lap, her heart full of regret and hope — and she wasn’t sure which was the more painful of the two.
Christian didn’t speak for a long time. Then he let out a slow breath and leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “You did hurt me,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to pretend you didn’t. Hearing you say that . . . it knocked the wind out of me.”
Merry’s heart crumpled. She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand.