Chapter 26 Merry Feelings, Everyone #2
“When I got here again... I realised my key and my phone were still on the side table. Right where I put them.”
There’s a long pause.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he adds, voice smaller now. “So I just waited.”
His arms tighten around the cat. He’s trying not to cry, and trying even harder not to look like he’s trying not to cry.
I sit down on the step beside him.
“You did exactly the right thing,” I say. “And you got the cat back. That’s a win in my book.”
I glance at the door, then back at him.
“How long have you been out here?”
SJ shrugs, eyes still down. “Don’t know. What time is it now? I got here at four-ish.”
Forty-five minutes. That lands harder than I expect.
“Alright,” I say, pushing up from the step. “Let’s get you inside. Come over to mine, we’ll make some hot chocolate. And I’ve got the spare key.”
He hesitates, arms still wrapped around Twinklesocks like she might do a runner the second he lets go.
“She can come too,” I add.
He nods, quiet relief flickering across his face. Slowly, he gets to his feet, careful not to jostle the cat too much. She dangles in his arms like royalty.
I lead the way across the gravel to my front door, unlocking it quickly and holding it open for him.
“Watch your step,” I say. “Shoes off if your socks are decent.”
SJ snorts faintly—a barely-there laugh—and kicks off his trainers just inside the door.
Twinklesocks hops out of his arms and immediately stalks into the kitchen like she owns the place.
“Figures,” I mutter.
SJ hovers near the doorway, rubbing his hands together. “Do you really have hot chocolate?”
I nod, heading for the cupboard. “The good kind. With the little marshmallows.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he sits at the table without needing to be asked. That, more than anything, tells me how rattled he was.
I flick the kettle on and pull out the spare key from the drawer beside the fridge.
“See?” I say, holding it up. “Landlord perks.”
This time, he actually smiles. Just a little. But it sticks.
As the kettle starts to rumble, I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to Miranda:
Me
SJ’s locked himself out. He’s at mine with Twinklesocks.
We’re having a hot drink.
The reply comes a moment later.
Miranda
Thank you. Tell him I’m sorry.
I’ll be stuck in traffic for at least another hour. Total gridlock.
I glance over at SJ. He’s slumped at the table, watching Twinklesocks stalk the windowsill like she’s patrolling her kingdom. His fingers drum lightly on the wood.
I tuck the phone away and drop two mugs onto the counter.
He watches me measure out the cocoa powder, eyes narrowing a little.
“Why do you even have hot chocolate?” he asks. “You don’t look like a hot chocolate guy.”
I glance over. “What do I look like, then?”
He shrugs. “More of a… black coffee kind of guy.”
“Not wrong,” I mutter, grabbing the mini marshmallows.
“But I’ll have you know I keep this in for Lucy.
” He gives me a knowing nod. “She thinks I make the best hot chocolate in the world,” I say, tipping the marshmallows into his mug.
“And then she told her dad, he’s only second-best, which didn’t go down well, given he literally owns a coffee shop.
” I place a hot chocolate in front of SJ.
He lets out a small laugh and picks up his mug with both hands. Twinklesocks hops down from the windowsill and brushes against his leg as if checking she is still his favourite.
He takes a sip, then raises his eyebrows. “She’s right,” he says. “This is top-tier.”
I lean back in my chair and give him a satisfied nod. “Tell everyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”
SJ takes another sip, then glances around the kitchen—the way kids do when they’re finally warming up again, curiosity returning in little flickers.
His gaze lands on the fridge. He leans sideways slightly, squinting.
“Is that meant to be a unicorn?”
I follow his line of sight to the drawing pinned with a magnet shaped like a baguette. Crayon lines, a lot of pink, something sparkly glued to the tail that’s definitely not food-safe.
“Yep,” I say. “That majestic beast is the work of Lucy. She insisted it was anatomically correct.”
SJ snorts. “The legs are on backwards.”
“She claims it’s mid-gallop.”
He stands up for a closer look, mug still in hand. “My mum would love that,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “She’s into unicorns?”
He nods. “Always has been. She used to have these unicorn slippers. Really fluffy ones. With gold horns.”
I grin. “Sounds subtle.”
“My dad hated them,” he adds, smiling a little. “Said they were an offence to the eye. But she didn’t care. Wore them all the time.”
He pauses.
“Then one year we went on holiday, somewhere with a beach, and she forgot them at the hotel. She was properly sad about it. Even emailed the owners, but they’d already binned them.”
He shrugs, then takes another sip of hot chocolate. “She never bought new ones. Said dad hated them so why replace them.”
There’s something quiet about his voice now. Not dramatic or heavy. Just the kind of quiet that comes when a memory catches you off guard.
I don’t say anything. Just nod, and let the silence sit for a moment, easy and unhurried.
Twinklesocks hops up onto the windowsill again, letting us know she’s had enough sentimentality for one evening.
SJ looks back at the unicorn drawing.
“She’d definitely like that one,” he says. “Even with the backwards legs.”