Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
I’ll Be in Cornwall for Christmas… Maybe
Miranda
The bell above the door gives its usual polite jingle as I step into the village coffee shop, the blast of warmth and the smell of cinnamon sugar hitting me square in the face. For a moment, it’s almost comforting. Almost.
Then I spot him.
Sim-Sim is already at a corner table by the window, two mugs steaming gently in front of him.
He sees me and smiles, and for a fleeting second, his face softens in that way it always used to back when we started dating—like the world could tilt off its axis and he’d still be there, steady, looking at me like I hung the bloody moon.
It knocks me slightly off balance.
I tighten my grip on the strap of my handbag and walk over, pretending I don’t notice the look. The one that says I miss this. I miss you.
“Hi,” I say, sliding into the seat opposite.
He gestures to the mug in front of me. “Flat white. Still how you take it?”
I nod. “Thanks.”
There’s a small pause. Not awkward, exactly, just filled with all the things neither of us is ready to say.
So I cut through it. Businesslike. Friendly. Firm.
“I thought we could use this time to talk about what we’re getting SJ for Christmas.”
Sim-Sim nods, wrapping his hands around the mug like it might steady something inside him. “Just tell me what you’re not getting from his list,” he says lightly. “I’ll cover the rest.”
“Right,” I say, flipping open the notes app on my phone. “So far, I’ve bought the Minecraft Lego, the Horrible Histories annual, and the astronaut pyjamas. I vetoed the drone, the Lego Death Star, and the inflatable kayak. Oh, and I am also getting him a skateboard.”
He chuckles. “I’ll take it from there, then. Drone’s a maybe. No promises on the kayak.”
I arch a brow. “You buy him a kayak and you are the one that is taking him every weekend.”
He grins, but there’s a flicker of something behind it, nervous energy, maybe. He shifts in his seat, then says, “Listen. There’s something else.”
I knew there would be.
He doesn’t meet my eyes when he says, “I wanted to talk about Christmas Day.”
I set my phone down slowly. “Okay.”
“I’d like to take SJ to Cornwall,” he says. “To Mum and Dad’s. Like we always used to. They’ve already made plans. Big family thing. And we’ve got tickets for the Boxing Day match in Plymouth, so it’d mean him being away from the 23rd to the 27th.”
My mouth opens.
Closes.
Before I can find words, any words, he lifts a hand gently, like he’s anticipating the protest. “Or… you could come too.”
The words drop into the space between us with all the ease of a brick in a birdbath.
“You want me to come to Cornwall,” I repeat slowly.
Sim-Sim nods, hopeful. “There’s plenty of room at my parents’. You could have one of the guest rooms. It’d just be… nice, you know? For SJ. To have both of us there. Like he is used to.”
His eyes flick up to meet mine, cautious but warm. “And I wouldn’t mind spending a bit of time with you either.”
I see it coming—the shift in his posture, the softening in his voice, the almost inevitable I miss you hanging just behind his eyes.
I panic.
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt.
It comes out too loud. Too fast. Like a confession and a fire alarm all rolled into one.
Sim-Sim freezes. Not dramatically—just a blink, a pause, a breath that doesn’t quite go anywhere.
“Oh,” he says eventually. No judgement. No anger. Just… surprise.
I glance down at my mug, my fingers suddenly very interested in the shade of my coffee. “It’s new. Casual. But—yeah.”
Silence stretches again, awkward and heavy, like an overstuffed coat you can’t quite shrug off.
“Right,” he says, finally. “Okay.”
I glance up.
He’s trying to smile. It almost works.
“You can still come,” he says after a moment. “Just as SJ’s mum. Nothing else.”
I shrug, not because I don’t care, but because I genuinely don’t know. There’s a weight in my chest I hadn’t noticed until just now. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay,” he says gently. “Let me know.”
I nod and go to sip my coffee, except it’s already gone lukewarm. I set the mug down instead.
“I’m not seeing anyone, by the way,” he adds casually
My head lifts.
He’s not looking at me when he says it, just watching his fingers trace the rim of his cup. Like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s not a message.
I nod again. I have no idea why. My stomach is doing a sort of slow, confused churn. I shouldn’t feel anything about this. I really shouldn’t. So why do I?
“Who is it?”
“What?”
“The guy you’re seeing.”
“Oh.” I hesitate, fingers tightening around the handle of my mug. “His name’s Jasper. He’s—he’s from the village.”
“Jasper.” Sim-Sim looks up. “Your landlord?”
I blink. “How do you know he’s my landlord?”
He shrugs. “SJ talks about him all the time. ‘Jasper helped with the kittens.’ ‘Jasper fixed the pipes.’ ‘Jasper’s teaching me how to tell if a defender’s playing for offsite.’” He gives a small laugh that doesn’t quite land. “I thought he was just being neighbourly.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I just sit there, brain humming, unsure what any of this means or should mean.
It’s all tangled. Not in a dramatic, soap-opera way. Just in a real-life, very-human, why-is-this-so-complicated way.
Back at the office, I stare at the same email for the fourth time and still have no idea what it says. I click into the calendar. Then out of it. Then hover over the to-do list like it might sprout an escape tunnel.
Spoiler: it doesn’t.
I’ve spent the entire afternoon somewhere between distracted and catatonic, and I know exactly why.
Because until that coffee with Sim-Sim, I’d been floating on cloud seven. Not nine. That would be overkill. Seven feels right. Just high enough to feel giddy, low enough that I could still function. Just.
Every evening this week, after SJ was asleep and the kittens were vaguely settled (read: passed out from whatever chaos they’d conjured during the day), Jasper would sneak in like some sort of stealthy book boyfriend.
We'd curl up on my bed, sometimes talking, sometimes kissing, sometimes just lying there breathing the same air like it was enough.
And of course, he would dish out the most explosive orgasms almost every night. No lawnmower-like vibrator can ever compare to this.
He’d sneak out around five every morning, tucking the duvet back around me like a crime scene he was trying not to disturb. The cats, traitorous little furballs, had quickly learned this meant early breakfast, and now begin their campaign of meowing sabotage at 4:57 sharp.
But this afternoon?
This afternoon, all that fuzz and warmth has been replaced by a headache the shape of Sim-Sim’s “I’m not seeing anyone” and a very pointed memory of him watching me like I was still his to miss.
I hit the button before I can talk myself out of it. “Okay, I’m spiralling. This needs a group discussion,” I mumble to myself.
Within seconds, the screen fills: Lizzie in her kitchen with a glass of wine, Fi bundled in a hoodie, Amelia adjusting her headset, and Bri propped up in bed with Zucca’s tail flicking across the camera.
Lizzie squints. “Oh boy. What now?”
I groan. “I just had coffee with Sim-Sim.”
Fi leans so close to the camera I can see every eyelash. “On purpose?”
“It was for SJ,” I say quickly. “Christmas logistics. All very above board. Until it wasn’t.”
Amelia raises an eyebrow. “Define ‘wasn’t.’”
I take a breath. “He invited me to Cornwall. For Christmas. With him. And his parents.”
Bri actually drops her phone; the cat bolts. “That’s… quite a pivot from logistics.”
“Apparently, SJ would love both his parents there,” I explain. “I’d get my own guest room. It was all packaged as very reasonable.”
Fi throws her hands in the air. “That is not reasonable. That’s emotional sleight of hand in a Fair Isle jumper.”
“Fi,” Amelia warns, though she’s smirking.
I rub my eyes. “He also said he’d enjoy hanging out with me. Not in a creepy way. Just… calm. Honest. Like he meant it.”
Everyone goes quiet. The little boxes on my screen are frozen, thoughtful.
Finally, Lizzie tilts her head. “Do you… want to go?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I shouldn’t even be this shaken. I’m happy. I really am.”
Amelia’s voice softens. “We know. But happy doesn’t erase history.”
“I told him I’m seeing someone,” I confess. “It just… slipped out.”
Fi jabs her finger at the screen. “Which is true, yeah?”
“Yes. Sort of. It’s early. Not official. But Jasper makes me feel like… maybe life doesn’t have to be something I brace for.” Saying it out loud knots my throat.
“That sounds like a good thing,” Bri says, now stroking Zucca who’s returned in triumph.
Lizzie nods. “It does. But it’s also fine if you’re still unravelling the rest. No one’s expecting you to have a five-year plan.”
“And whatever you decide—Cornwall or not, Jasper or not—we’re here,” Amelia adds. “Promise.”
I blink fast, smile watery. “I just don’t know what I feel. About anything.”
“That’s allowed,” Fi says. “You’ve got time.”
“And for what it’s worth,” Lizzie adds, “no one said you have to decide who you’re building a life with this week.”
I laugh weakly. “Tell that to my nervous system.”
Amelia leans toward the camera, deadpan. “I’d tell it to your ex if I could. But alas, we must all behave.”
“For now,” I mutter, and all four screens light up with laughter.
We leave it at that. I look down at my phone, then out the window where the early evening light is already folding in on itself. I’m happy.
I think I’m happy.
So why is everything so tangled?