When does the ‘not getting hurt’ bit start?
I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure ‘never’ is the answer to that question.
Seeing Martin today has made that abundantly clear; because I thought he was the safe option, and he turned out to be the dangerous one. Because nothing he ever did made me stop missing Elliot; and I don’t think anything ever will.
Which means I know exactly what I have to do next: for once in my life, I have to become the main character. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I have to get to the airport. And there’s absolutely no way in hell I’m going to ask Martin to take me this time, which means I need to get there myself.
Like,now.
Just as I’m about to leave, though, something large and white drifts past the window, making me turn and look out. It’s snowing again. And either I’m imagining things, or there’s a man who looks a lot like Elliot standing in front of the village Christmas tree, looking up at it.
I move quickly closer, pressing my forehead against the glass as I try to get a closer look.
In the square below me, the man turns slightly, looking over at the snow globe, with its usual line of people waiting to be photographed in it. He has dark hair, and is carrying a rucksack, as if he’s getting ready to go somewhere.
It’s definitely him. It’s definitely Elliot.
He’s not at the airport; or, at least, not yet.
He’s right here, outside the shop.
“I need to go,” I tell Martin, turning around so fast I make myself dizzy. “Don’t contact me again, okay?”
Then I run for the door, my mind made up.
On the first night I met him, Elliot told me he’d always remember me. But I don’t want to be someone he just remembers. I don’t want our relationship to be just a story with an unhappy ending. And now I just have to hope he still feels the same after everything I said to him to contradict that yesterday.
Ignoring Martin’s confused questions, I race down the stairs and into the baker’s shop below, which is filled with customers buying last-minute mince pies and Christmas cookies. Flying past them all, I fling myself out into the street, skidding on the snow that’s still covering the ground.
He’s still there. Elliot’s still there, standing looking up at the huge Christmas tree, with its hundreds of tiny snow globes dangling from the branches.
I don’t go to him, though.
Instead I turn and pull open the door to the bookstore, hurrying inside to where Dad and Levi are both busy serving customers, while Paris stands on a ladder, rearranging that shelf of books I arranged by color, when I was trying to calm my anxious thoughts by bringing order to chaos.
But that was fake too, wasn’t it? All of those pretty, colored spines just gave the illusion of order; underneath, it made it impossible to find anything, and I feel like this is an important realization for me, somehow. Maybe all this time I’ve spent telling myself I’m in control,I’ve just been secretly creating more chaos. And maybe it’s time to stop kidding myself that I’m not.
“Great work, Paris,” I yell as I race past her towards the office. “Keep it up!”
Paris stares at me, nonplussed, but I’ve no time to stop and explain myself. I have to get to my office, where I pull open the bottom drawer of my desk, and rummage around inside it until I find the thing I’m looking for. And then I’m off again, sprinting through the store and back out into the street, before you can sayho ho ho.
Please let him still be there.
Please let him still be there.
It takes me less than a minute to reach the part of the square that houses the Christmas tree and the globe; the area I saw Elliot in from the upstairs window.
He’s still there.
Just.
I reach out and grab him by the sleeve of his coat, just as he’s about to turn and walk away.
“Holly! What are you doing?”
Elliot’s eyes are slightly red, and his face is paler than usual. But he still smiles when he sees me, and it’s all I can do not to throw myself into his arms, without another word.
