Chapter 23 Frosty the Standoff
Chapter twenty-three
Frosty the Standoff
Miranda
The village green looks like a snow globe someone forgot to shake—lights twinkling in every tree, fake snow sticking in suspicious clumps to the tinsel-strangled stalls, and a brass band doing its best to keep ‘Hark! The Herald’ from falling apart at the seams.
SJ is practically vibrating beside me in that way only children can manage without spontaneously combusting.
He’s had that look ever since we finished decorating our tree this morning.
Admittedly, it was more of a battle than a tradition, thanks to Twinklesocks and Thor, who remain firmly convinced that baubles exist purely for their personal amusement.
By the end of it, SJ was laughing so hard he nearly toppled into the tree, while I was rescuing ornaments mid-air like some sort of festive goalkeeper.
“Can I have a sausage?” SJ asks, eyes wide, already halfway turned toward the food stalls. “With ketchup? And onions?”
I open my mouth to say yes but Jasper beats me to it.
“Sausage mission accepted,” he says, with a little salute that makes SJ beam.
“Hang on, I’ve got ten quid here somewhere,” I say automatically, fishing in my bag.
He just smiles, that calm, maddening smile. “I’ve got it.”
“Jasper—”
“Let me do something vaguely gallant,” he murmurs, nudging my hand away with the gentlest of gestures. “One festive meat product won’t break me.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugs upward. “Fine. But next round’s on me.”
“Sure.” And then he’s turning to Callum and Stella—who are bickering cheerfully over whether mulled wine counts as one of their five-a-day—and taking their order too.
SJ grabs Jasper’s sleeve. “I’ll help.”
“Excellent,” Jasper says solemnly. “I need a ketchup consultant.”
The two of them weave through the crowd toward the sausage stall, SJ walking like he’s on a covert operation and Jasper trailing behind like the world’s most affable bodyguard.
I watch them go and my heart does this little pitter-patter. Jasper doesn’t look back—which is probably for the best. If he did, he’d see the stupid smile I can’t seem to suppress.
It’s just a few dates. Amazing kisses. A warm bed and too much texting.
But somehow, he already feels… woven in. He just fits like he has always been part of my life.
“Want some wine?” Stella asks beside me, nudging her paper cup my way.
“God, yes.”
She hands it over just as I catch sight of SJ holding a wad of napkins like they’re state secrets, and Jasper pointing solemnly at the array of condiments like he’s walking him through military strategy.
The lights reflect off Jasper’s hair, that too-long bit at the front curling just enough to make me want to run my fingers through it. Which, of course, I can’t.
Not here.
Not yet.
I take a sip of mulled wine, savour the warmth, and watch them laughing in the queue—my son and the man I’m trying very hard not to fall for—and wonder, not for the first time, how I ever thought I had this whole thing under control.
Stella wanders off to inspect the handmade wreaths, leaving me and Callum awkwardly babysitting our mulled wine near the bandstand.
Across the green, I can see SJ bouncing excitedly at Jasper’s side, holding a sausage that’s about half the length of his arm. Jasper is pretending to listen with solemn intensity, though I’m fairly sure SJ’s just explained the entire Premier League table using condiments.
I take a sip of wine, trying not to smile like an idiot.
Callum follows my gaze, then glances back at me.
“I’ve known Jasper for years,” he says, tone easy, “but I’ve never seen him like this.”
My pulse skips. I force a small, confused-sounding laugh. “Like what?”
Callum raises an eyebrow, clearly not fooled. “Oh, come on.”
I attempt another sip of wine but find my cup suspiciously empty. Callum clinks his own against mine, smirking.
“Whatever’s going on,” he says, “good on you both.”
I barely register Callum’s toast before a hand finds the small of my back.
Not a casual brush. A familiar touch.
I turn.
Sim-Sim’s smile is easy, like we’ve just bumped into each other at the school gates. His coat’s sharp, scarf knotted neatly. Effortless, like always. My spine straightens before I can stop it.
“What… are you doing here?” I blurt out.
He jerks his chin toward the field. “SJ invited me. Said I’d miss out if I didn’t come. Apparently, there are sausages involved.”
I glance automatically toward the food stands, where SJ is mid-order, gesturing wildly with a napkin while Jasper chats to the guy manning the grill.
I look back at Sim-Sim. “Right. That makes sense.”
His hands slide into his pockets. He shifts his weight like he’s bracing for something, or maybe trying not to say it.
“I wasn’t trying to ambush you,” he adds. “Didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”
My eyebrows lift.
He sees it. Offers a slight wince. “Okay. Maybe a small deal.”
A beat of silence.
Then, because apparently I enjoy leaning into social landmines, I step sideways and gesture between them.
“Sim-Sim,” I say, “this is Callum, my boss, and Stella, his PA-slash-girlfriend.” I hesitate a beat, then sigh. “Sim-Sim, I mean, Simon is… SJ’s dad.”
There’s a round of polite nods. Callum’s jaw is tight, his expression cool but not impolite. Stella’s trying to smile without looking too nosy, which, frankly, is an impossible task when I’ve just introduced my ex whilst the man she knows I’m dating is a few feet away.
Sim-Sim, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. “Pleasure,” he says easily.
And then, just in time to throw petrol on the awkward fire, SJ comes charging back, Jasper close behind.
“Dad!” he yells, launching himself into Sim-Sim’s side.
Jasper arrives a second later, balancing an impressive number of sausage buns. SJ points at one with glee. “Mum, look how big Jasper’s sausage is!”
Callum makes a strangled sound. Stella doubles over, mulled wine sloshing perilously close to the rim.
“Right,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Jasper, entirely unfazed, casts a glance at Sim-Sim, then shifts the sausage tray to one hand and extends the other. “Jasper Corbin.”
Sim-Sim adjusts his posture, gives a smile with just the right amount of charm, and accepts the handshake. “Simon Gordon. Good to finally meet you.”
Their handshake is brief but loaded. The sort of handshake that says, I will keep my eyes on you.
Jasper nods, eyes cool. “Didn’t know you’d be joining us.”
“SJ invited me. Didn’t want to miss the fun,” Sim-Sim says easily.
“Oh, I thought you lived in London?” Jasper asks, tone light.
“Still do,” Sim-Sim replies. “But you make time for the important things.”
Jasper smiles. “True. Some things are worth making the effort for.”
“Exactly.” Sim-Sim glances at me, then back at Jasper. “Especially this time of year.”
“Oh, the fair’s brilliant,” Jasper agrees, somehow managing to not break eye contact. “Magic’s everywhere if you know where to look.”
I resist the urge to throw myself into the mulled wine vat.
Sim-Sim tilts his head slightly. “Didn’t know landlords hung out with their tenants. Seems… above and beyond.”
Jasper’s smile doesn’t falter. “The satisfaction of my tenant is my number one priority. And that includes activities other than just fixing her pipes.”
There is another snort from Callum who is clearing enjoying the ludicrous exchange.
“How… considerate,” Sim-Sim says. “But she can always call me as well if something needs fixing.”
“No need, I’ m right next door,” Jasper replies, calm as anything. “That’s the advantage when you rent in a small village.”
The tension is wrapped in velvet, but it’s definitely there. Like a duel with pistols and somehow, I guess I’m the prize. I scoff down my sausage to stop me from saying anything.
“I always figured it’s better to own,” Sim-Sim adds. “Fewer strings.”
Jasper’s brow lifts just slightly. “Depends what you’re attached to.” Jasper turns to me suddenly, his voice light. “Oh—you’ve got some ketchup.”
Before I can react, he cups my chin with a gentleness and wipes the smudge from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. Then, eyes twinkling, he pulls back and sucks the ketchup of his finger.
“Rescue mission successful,” he says, all mock-serious. “Your dignity is restored.”
I try very hard not to combust on the spot.
SJ is busy inspecting the sausage-to-bun ratio on his own plate. But Sim-Sim isn’t. His gaze latches onto Jasper’s hand like it personally offended him. He steps back, just slightly, enough to say Noted without a word.
Jasper doesn’t gloat. But the corner of his mouth tilts up with the quiet smugness of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Callum raises his cup in salute. “If either of you starts peeing a circle round Miranda, I’m out.”
Stella chokes on her drink. Sim-Sim’s jaw tenses.
I make a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Can we not make me the prize in a festive pissing contest?”
Callum shrugs. “Bit late for that, love.”
SJ’s dragging his feet now, glow stick limp in one hand, scarf falling off the back of his coat. He yawns without even trying to hide it.
The three of us walk in silence.
Sim-Sim’s beside me. He hasn’t said a word since we left the green. He is just walking in this steady pace he’s always had. Calm. Familiar. Hands in pockets. Exactly how he’s walked me home a hundred times before.
I’d told Jasper not to walk with us—said it lightly, like it didn’t mean anything. “Stay with Callum and Stella. Pop by later.”
He just nodded.
But there was a pause. And that look. Not angry. Just... he held it a bit longer than it needed to be.
Then a glance—one very direct look in Sim-Sim’s direction.
I saw it.
He didn’t say anything else. Just stepped back.
We’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks. But we’ve already crossed that line—the one you don’t step over lightly, not when you’re my age and life’s already thrown up enough drama to make you think twice. It wasn’t just sex. Not for me, anyway. I don’t think for him either.
Now I’ve told him to hang back. Stay behind while I walk home with my ex and our son. Play the civilised card. Be patient.
And he agreed, but I felt the shift. Just a flicker.
And yet, here I am with Sim-Sim.
He walks next to me like it is not a big deal. With enough distance to give me space but still very much present. That kind of presence he can turn on like a light. The one that used to make people assume we were still solid, even when we weren’t.
He’s not hiding what he wants. The way he’s showing up suddenly. Sticking close. Like he’s waiting for a gap to open.
Jasper noticed.
Will he put up with it? All this… baggage?
Would I, if I were him?
SJ mumbles something about brushing his teeth. I nod, distracted.
“In you go,” I say gently, nudging him towards the front door.
He trudges in without protest, pausing in the hall just long enough to glance back.
“Night, Dad.”
“Night, mate,” Sim-Sim says, warm but quiet.
SJ disappears. I hear the soft thud of his shoes hitting the wall, then nothing.
I stay by the door.
Sim-Sim lingers a second longer. His breath clouds in the porch light.
“I’m sorry I came,” he says eventually. “Didn’t mean to make things... weird.”
I look at him. “Then why did you?”
He meets my eye. No dodging, no charming smile. “You know why.”
I wait.
“Because I miss you,” he says. “Like I said. I miss us.”
“There hasn’t been an us in a long time,” I reply. “Not really. We were housemates with a joint calendar.”
He nods, once. “I know. And that’s on me. I let it happen. I stopped seeing what I had until it was gone.”
I cross my arms. “It wasn’t working.”
“I see that now,” he says. “I just wish I’d seen it sooner.”
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask for anything. Just stands there, still and quiet.
Then he gives a small nod—half goodbye, half surrender.
“Night, Miranda.”
He turns, walks down the drive without looking over his shoulder. The car beeps softly as he unlocks it. Driver’s door opens. Closes. Headlights flare, and for a second the hedgerow lights up.
Then he pulls away, smooth and silent, tyres crunching over the gravel.
I stand there a few seconds longer, fingers cold, key still in my hand.
I shut the front door behind me and lean on it, eyes closed.
Why can things never be simple?