I shiver, even though the car heater is still blasting away.
“I know I do,” I reply, also knowing that Ireallydon’t want to. “And I will. I promise. I’ll do it soon.”
I don’t bother adding that I’llhaveto do it soon, because Elliot already knows that.
He knows there’s only five days left until Christmas Eve; just five days until both of our lives change.
And now I just need to decide what, exactly, that change is going to be…
19
It snows steadily through the night, and by the time I wake up the next morning, the world outside my bedroom window has been transformed into the kind of winter wonderland that makes me almost glad I told Dad I wouldn’t be coming into the bookstore today. Because I might be spending the morning with Elliot Sinclair instead, but, hey: at least I won’t have to listen to Levi bang on about how it’s the first real snowfall in Bramblebury in ten years, almost as if Elliot’s return has fulfilled some kind of ancient prophecy and triggered a second winter.
“I know, I know. I should’ve said no. I don’t know what came over me.”
I’m standing in the kitchen at home, speaking to my aunt Lorraine, who I suspect has been sent here by Dad, to make sure I’m still in my right mind, given that this is the first day off I’ve had in months.
“It’s definitely anunexpecteddecision from you,” Lorraine says, the expression on her face making it clear that she’s going to be reporting back that no, I’m most definitelynotin my right mind. “I thought you said you didn’t want anything more to do with Elliot Sinclair? Or have I been picking you up wrong all these years? Has the complaining justbeen, I don’t know, some strange kind of performance art, and you’ve been secretly hoping to see him all this time?”
Lorraine looks at me shrewdly, and I turn quickly to check my reflection in the mirror by the door.
“No,” I reply miserably. “You’re not wrong. Ididwant nothing more to do with him. But then…”
“You saw him again, and it was like no time had passed?”says Lorraine, who’s a self-confessed Vivienne Faulkner fan, and is going tolovemy new book for her, seriously. “Your eyes met, and you realized you still loved each other?”
“No, of course not,” I reply, before she can get too carried away. “Anything there was between Elliot and I ended years ago, when he left the way he did. It just … well, it just feels like there’s unfinished business between us, that’s all.”
Likewhyhe left the way he did, for instance. That’s the main thing I want to know, but have been too afraid to ask.
But all of that’s in the past; and, of course, you can’t rewrite the past, no matter how much you might want to; or be secretly attempting to, via your latest ghostwriting project.
I sigh, and turn back to Lorraine.
“I don’t know why I said I’d go with him,” I tell her honestly. “It was a moment of madness, I guess.”
It was the snow, starting up right at that minute. It was the way it sent me back in time, and made me remember how it felt when I met him. It was the way he looked at me and laughed at the snowflakes falling on us, and the way it all felt exactly like the first time.
So, actually, I guess I do know why I agreed to go with him after all.
I’m just not willing to admit it.
“Speaking of madness,” says my aunt. “Have you seen Martin lately? He keeps ‘popping in’ to ask me how you are.”
“I haven’t seen him,” I reply, not wanting to admit that I’ve hidden in the office — and, on one occasion, under the counter in the Coffee Corner — every time Martin’s ‘popped in’ to the bookstore for the same reason. “But he’s texted me a few times. I wish he wouldn’t. I hate having to keep telling him we’re not getting back together. It’s like kicking a kitten.”
“Keep kicking, though,” says Lorraine firmly, making me smear the lipstick I’m attempting to apply onto my cheek in shock. She’s normally such an animal lover. “Not literally,” she adds hastily. “But seriously, Holly, don’t go back to Martin. He’s not the one for you.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” I reply, surprised by the intensity in her voice. “Why are you so against the idea, though? I thought you liked Martin?”
“I do like Martin,” she insists. “He’s … nice. I just think you can do better than justnice, that’s all.”
And there’s that word again. ‘Nice’ is the word everyone uses to describe Martin. Well, everyone except Levi, who once described him as “completely delulu, and not in a good way”. ‘Nice’ might translate to ‘boring’ in Martin’s case, though, but that’s the reason we got together after Elliot left. Because ‘nice’ might mean ‘boring’, but ‘boring’ means ‘safe’. And sometimes safety feels like the best option.
“I’m not getting back together with Martin,” I reassure Lorraine, who finally leaves, taking the first few pages of my Vivienne Faulkner book with her, promising to read them and let me know what she thinks. Once she’s gone, I pace anxiously up and down the kitchen floor, watching the snow continue to float lazily down outside thewindow until a sleek black car pulls up outside, and Elliot climbs out, looking around with interest at the little street perched on top of the hill.
“Nice place,” he says, as I open the door to meet him, quickly stepping through it so he doesn’t expect me to ask him inside. “I’m sure I recognize these houses. Isn’t this the hill we used to…?”
“That’s not why I bought the house,” I cut in quickly, closing the door behind me. “I just like the view, that’s all.”
