“I’ll remember you too,” I reply, swallowing down the lump that’s risen in my throat. “When you go home. Whendoyou go home?”
“My flight leaves the day before Christmas,” he says, not looking at me. “My Mom made me promise I’d be back for Christmas Day.”
I nod, mentally adding another reason to hate Christmas to my already long list.
“But look,” he says, brushing the hair back from my face so he can look into my eyes. “Let’s not think about that for now, okay? Let’s just enjoy each other’s company. Let’s just … well, live for the moment, I suppose.” He grins. “What d’you say?”
I hesitate.
I should say no to this. I should get up and leave, with my heart still intact. Because I know beyond doubt now that this isn’t going anywhere. No matter how much I like him, there’s no future for meand Elliot Sinclair; and the knowledge of that already hurts more than it should, given the short time we’ve known each other. If I spend more time with him, though, it’s only going to make it worse.
I should protect myself from the hurt I know is in store if I let this go on. I should say goodbye now, and let the last 24 hours just be a beautiful memory that will fade with time, until I’m not totally sure it even happened, or if I just dreamed it.
But then I think of Mum.
I think about how you never really know when it’s going to be the last time you do something — or say something, or see someone. You don’t know until it’s too late, and there’s no time left to do all the things you planned when you thought you still had time.
But with Elliot, Idoknow. I know exactly how much time we’re going to have. I know exactly when it will end. And the fact that this … whatever this is … between us now has an end date — December 24th, to be exact — makes it feel all the more important that we try to make the most of what little time we have.
The thought is an oddly exciting one. Because, the fact is, I’m not the kind of person to seize the day, or take risks. No, I’m the kind of person who reads the ends of books before the start, to make sure they’re not going to hurt her. The kind of person who recently started arranging the books on the shelves in the store by color, rather than alphabetically, after seeing someone do it like that online. Dad says it’s “an absolute nonsense” which makes it impossible to find anything, but something about it makes me feel calm and in control, as if I really am making order out of chaos. And if I can do that; if I can just control the chaos, and make everything around me feelperfect, then maybe I can finally feel safe.
But I’mnotsafe, am I?
Losing Mum showed me that.
And although I’ve never been the type to take risks, I’m starting to think maybe I should take a risk with Elliot Sinclair. That maybe it would be worth it. That I’m 24 years old, and have spent my entire life standing still; and maybe it’s time to change that? To do exactly as Elliot says, and ‘live for the moment’ for once, as cheesy as that sounds.
Ever since Mum died, I’ve always dreaded winter; the season we lost her. But maybe this winter could be different. Better. Warmer. Maybe things could change. MaybeIcould change; or I couldtry, anyway. And if I fail, I could at least fail spectacularly.
“Christmas Eve,” I say thoughtfully, snuggling back into Elliot’s arms. “That gives us almost 23 days. It’s not a lot of time, really.”
“Oh, you can do a lot in 23 days,” Elliot assures me, dropping a kiss on top of my head. “Trust me.”
I tilt my head back to look up and into those beautiful blue eyes of his.
“Okay,” I tell him, a sudden rush of adrenaline making me feel like this might just be the best idea I’ve ever had. “Okay, I trust you. “
And I did.
But I really shouldn’t have, should I?
9
The cottage I bought when I finally moved out of the apartment above the bookstore has a pretty, white-brick exterior, and roses around the door from late spring to early autumn. It looks like it’s been created just for Instagram, but its location, on the outskirts of the village, and at the top of a steep hill, means the tourists haven’t discovered it yet, so it remains a haven of peace and quiet, even when the rest of the place is busier than a city-center supermarket a few minutes before closing on Christmas Eve.
The morning after my encounter with Elliot, I wake up early and get gingerly out of bed, sighing with relief when I put my foot cautiously to the ground and discover it’s not nearly as painful as I thought it would be. I guess that bag of frozen peas I put on it last night must have worked.
I wander through to the kitchen to make some breakfast, checking my phone first to find that Harper Grant hasn’t replied to my email yet, but I do have three new WhatsApp messages from Martin, suggesting that we get together later ‘to talk’, plus one from Levi, which says simply “OMFG’, with a link underneath it.
I click the link while I’m waiting for the kettle to boil, hoping it’s not going to be another one of those TikTok videos he keeps sendingme, in which people lip sync ‘hilariously’ along to some of the key dialogue fromThe Snow Globe, as the movie plays in the background.
But it’s not a TikTok video.
I almost drop the phone into my cereal bowl as the page opens to reveal a photo of Elliot — Current Elliot, not Past Elliot — above a headline declaring that the ‘reclusive author’ is set to return to the setting of his award-winning novel and movie for an event sponsored by his publisher. The website I’m looking at appears to be a book blog, and it goes on to breathlessly report the rumor that a big announcement will be made at the upcoming book festival, before ending with some speculation that the long-awaitedSnow Globesequel might be in the works.
Fantastic.
I push the cereal bowl aside, my appetite suddenly gone.
