Chapter 39
GRETA ARRIVED AT the penthouse on New Year’s Eve with a bottle of Merlot under her arm and a handful of party poppers in her pocket.
On the walk over, she’d passed clusters of revellers wearing big coats and scarves over their sparkly outfits.
At midnight there would be an outdoor countdown in the town square, complete with a stage and live music.
She pressed the buzzer, and Jim clicked the door open straight away, like he’d been waiting for her to arrive.
He greeted her with a smile that widened even more when she handed him the wine. ‘Fantastic,’ he said, admiring the label. ‘Come in.’
A multitude of candles flickered on the coffee table, casting dancing shadows around the room. The main lights were off, so the focus was on the huge windows that showcased Long- mill. At night, the glass appeared black, and the street lamps and car headlights below twinkled like fireflies.
Greta was drawn toward the view. ‘The town looks so beautiful from up here,’ she said, her breath fogging the glass.
In the kitchen, Jim poured two glasses of wine and carried them through, standing beside her.
‘Things can look different when you see them from a new perspective,’ he said.
‘Like a city in the dark—you don’t always notice what’s there until it lights up at night.
’ His gaze fixed on something in the distance, as if lost in his own thoughts.
Greta glanced at him. Was this really Jim talking? It sounded poetic, not something he’d usually say.
Jim shook his head, snapping himself back into the moment. ‘Is Lottie excited about Jayden’s mum’s party?’ he asked.
Greta nodded. ‘I haven’t seen her so animated for a long time. She even wore a dress.’
Jim raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘And it was pink.’
He placed the back of his hand to his forehead in a mock swoon.
Greta smiled and sipped her wine. She followed Jim to the sofa, taking a seat at the opposite end, leaving some space between them. It felt like there was something delicate in the air, like the finest particles of ice, that might crack if they uttered the wrong words.
Their decision. Tonight.
‘There’s something I need to tell you . . .’ she said.
For a split second, she caught something in Jim’s eyes, a kernel of hope, or perhaps even fear.
‘It’s about Brewtique,’ she added.
‘Oh,’ he said with a release of breath. ‘Right.’
‘I was passing by on Christmas Eve and called in. I had a nice chat with Josie, the owner. There was a card in her window looking for an assistant. And I told her I was interested.’
Jim took a few moments to process this. ‘You mean, actually working in the coffee shop? Taking orders, making coffee, that kind of thing?’
‘That’s what coffee shop assistants usually do,’ she teased.
‘I know. It’s just not what I expected.’
‘I’m tired of always looking back, to how I used to be, how we used to be as a family. It’s time to move on.’
‘Move on?’ Jim echoed slowly.
‘Career-wise,’ she clarified. ‘When I was in Brewtique, I just felt something drawing me to it, like I should take the chance on something new. I start there in a few days.’
‘Well, that sounds brilliant. If it makes you happy, I think it’s a great move. Well done.’ His eyes crinkled as he raised his glass to her. ‘I’ve got some news to share, too.’
Greta had been about to tell him about the upstairs flat that came with Brewtique, but she set down her glass and leaned in. ‘Yes?’
‘Martin’s getting married,’ Jim announced, blinking in disbelief. ‘His girlfriend is pregnant, and it’s been a big surprise for both of them.’
‘That’s lovely news. Will you pass on my congratulations?’
‘Of course. When Martin finishes filming in Chicago, they’ll return to the UK for the birth.’ Jim surveyed the room. ‘Martin’s already mentioned that a penthouse isn’t ideal for raising a child.’
‘I’m guessing the white carpets won’t stay this clean for long.’ Greta laughed.
‘Martin’s even considering quitting acting. He wants to do something more stable with less travel. We’ve been talking about setting up a vocal coaching business together. You know, helping people to speak with confidence.’
‘That sounds like a great idea.’
‘It’s a new direction, but I’ve been feeling jaded with the entertainment world for some time.’
Greta raised a brow. ‘You have? But you’re still in demand, and you seem to enjoy it.’
‘Maybe on the surface. But I don’t think I’ve been totally honest with myself. It’s easy to sweep things under the carpet. Then one day you’re surprised to find a great mound of dust hidden there.’ His eyes sought hers, as if asking for permission to be honest, even vulnerable.
She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Working on the Maple Gold commercials made our everyday life feel very polished, didn’t it?’ she said. ‘I think our real life struggled to live up to it. For me, anyway.’
‘We had everything,’ Jim said ruefully. ‘Money, attention, fame. It felt like a huge loss when it all ended.’
Greta felt drawn toward him, and she edged closer along the sofa. ‘I didn’t know you felt that way. You were the one who made light of things, who brushed off his shoulders and carried on like nothing had changed.’
‘Maybe I’m just a brilliant actor.’ Jim buffed his nails on his chest.
Greta picked up a cushion and threw it at him. ‘Sure.’
‘Hey.’ He caught it, grinning as he hugged it to his chest. ‘Sherpoli Shoes think so. They loved the commercial I recorded for them.’
Their smiles gradually faded as the real focus of the evening settled in.
‘At Brewtique . . .’ Greta started cautiously. ‘There’s a flat upstairs. Josie agreed Lottie and I can live there, as part of the package . . .’
Jim frowned. ‘Live there? But I thought tonight was about deciding our future.’
‘It is. I just thought that you’d probably made up your mind to move on. That’s the impression you’ve given me.’
‘Really?’ Jim’s gaze darkened. ‘Why?’
‘Because you don’t usually talk about stuff like this with me. You bring gifts, and we chat about our careers. But you never seem truly present . . .’
Jim picked up his wine glass, gripping it. ‘Of course, I’m present. I could say the same thing about you, too. Your mind is always wandering somewhere else. Thinking there’s somewhere better . . . someone better . . .’
A flutter started up in Greta’s ribcage, like a bird beating its wings in her chest.
She wanted to deny it, but knew he was right. Spending time in Mapleville with a different version of Jim had felt like an affair, even if she’d been with her own husband.
‘In the Maple Gold ads, we were loving, kind and patient with each other. We had fun, too,’ Greta said, holding his gaze.
‘Things should be the same here, too, Jim. We should try to be our best selves for each other, or things won’t work out.
It’s not about being perfect. It’s about accepting each other’s imperfections.
’ She sat back on the sofa, her own words hitting home and sinking in.
Jim exhaled. ‘We’ve got a lot of things to figure out.’ His voice grew softer. ‘But I want to try. Really try. With actual listening . . . and talking. Things I haven’t exactly been brilliant at over the last few months . . .’
‘Me, too. And I need to appreciate what I have more. To embrace what’s good and real.’ Greta sighed. ‘I think I should move into Brewtique. To give us more space and time to work things out.’
Jim stood up and paced the room. ‘I don’t need more space, Greta. I have too much space.’ He cast his hand around. ‘And I don’t need any more time. I’ve always known what I want, and it’s you and Lottie. Our family. Back together again.’
His words made every sensation in Greta’s body sharpen, like electricity was pulsing through her veins. She loved how he sounded so sure. ‘I want that, too,’ she said.
‘Hold on a minute. Are we actually agreeing on something?’ He laughed.
‘Absolutely.’
They grinned a little goofily at each other.
‘This flat at Brewtique . . . has it got two bedrooms?’ Jim asked.
She nodded. ‘Good-sized ones. They just need a bit ofTLC.’
‘Sounds like we both need that, too.’
Greta lifted her eyes, hopeful and a little scared. ‘Are you saying you want to move into the flat above Brewtique with me and Lottie?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. Ifyou’ll have me?’ He reached for her hand. ‘But only when the time is right for you . . .’
She only needed a second to think about it. ‘Yes. Yes, I want that, too. And Lottie will love it.’
They beamed at each other until their mouths ached.
‘There’s a film on TV tonight, if you want to watch it?’ Jim said after a beat. ‘Love Actually. That’s the one where the guy uses signs to tell the girl he loves her, right?’
‘That’s the one,’ she said.
A film Mapleville Jim had never heard of.
‘Well, I don’t have any signs,’ Jim said. ‘But I can pour us another glass of wine and fetch us a big bowl of peanuts.’
Greta laughed. A brief image of Mapleville passed through her mind—ofJim building a snowman, rowing her across a lake, and trying to feed her a strawberry. Things they might get to do together in the future. But for now, peanuts and wine seemed like a good start.
When Jim returned from the kitchen, he sat right next to her, draping his arm across the back of the sofa. His fingers rested lightly on her shoulder, and Greta instinctively leaned into his touch.
As the film played on, their bodies gradually drew even closer, each beat of Greta’s heart sounding louder than the last.
By the time the credits rolled, a firework cracked outside, making them both jump.
Greta glanced at her watch. ‘It’s 11:58 p.m.’
Jim stood and held out a hand for hers. ‘Let’s watch the display from the window.’
Their breath made misty shapes on the glass as Longmill’s skyline became alive with flashes of colour and light. Fireworks whizzed, boomed, and sizzled, leaving comet-like trails and glittering sparkles that hung in the air like chandeliers.
Jim turned to face Greta. The candlelight and shadows highlighted each line on his cheeks, like his face was a map that could tell a thousand stories.
‘Greta,’ he said, his voice husky with feeling. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
She looked up at him, her lashes brushing his cheek as she lifted her face toward his. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’
This time, she felt she was speaking to the real man she’d always loved, not an idealised version.
Jim slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her in. He planted the lightest kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, then her eyelids. Greta clutched his shirt and pulled him even closer.
When their lips finally met, the kiss was urgent, real, unscripted. Just perfect.
They stumbled towards the sofa, their lips still pressed together, sinking into the cushions with their limbs tangling.
Later, breathless and quiet, with their clothes and the cushions strewn on the floor, Greta rested her cheek on Jim’s chest. She listened to the steady thrum of his heart instead of the fireworks still crackling in the distance.
‘What are you thinking?’ she whispered.
‘That I could stay here forever,’ Jim murmured. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. ‘Also, that I forgot to buy party poppers.’
She laughed and gave his chest a gentle slap. ‘Luckily, I didn’t. I’ll get them.’
‘No, stay here with me,’ he groaned playfully.
‘They’re just in my coat pocket.’
Greta performed a balancing act to reach for it, trying not to break their embrace. Jim held on to her as she dug into her pocket and pulled out two small poppers. She handed one to him.
They rolled onto their backs, side by side, each taking aim at the ceiling. They pulled their strings in unison, eyes widening as ribbons of coloured tissue paper burst into the air, and fluttered down on them like confetti.
‘Happy New Year, Greta,’ Jim said.
‘Happy New Year.’
And when they kissed again, the scene was nothing like a coffee commercial.