But there’s something I have to do first.
“I got you something,” I tell him, holding out the snow globe. “A Christmas gift. Well, you got it for me. But it’s always been yours, really.”
Elliot takes it from me silently, holding it up to the sky. Inside, the little people stand steadfastly holding onto each other while the snowwhirls violently around them, stirred up by the shaking of the glass as I ran here with it in my hand.
Outside the glass, it’s snowing too; heavier now. All around us, people start walking faster, and stallholders begin packing up their wares, not wanting to stay out in this weather.
Elliot, however, just stands there, looking at the glass globe in his hand.
“How funny,” he says at last, his eyes locking onto mine. “I got something for you, too. I came here to give it to you, actually. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to wrap it.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out something small and round, which he hands to me silently. I look down.
It’s a glass snow globe, with two tiny people inside; her in a red dress, him with dark, floppy hair. Instead of a snow-covered village behind them, though, there’s a row of palm trees; and, as I look closer, I see that the flakes floating around them look more like glitter than snow.
“It’s a glitter globe,” he says. “For people who don’t like the snow.”
As if on cue, the flakes around us get thicker. The people waiting in line for their snow globe photo have gone now, and the photographer is taking down his sign and starting to pack away his camera. No one wants to stay out in a blizzard.
“I’ve started to think it’s not so bad, actually,” I say, smiling up at him. “The snow. The town. But I have to admit, I’d love to see some palm trees like these ones.”
I hold the new globe up against the old one, noticing how similar they are, despite the changes that have been made to the scenery.
The same, but different.
“Well, now you have the best of both worlds,” says Elliot, returning my smile. “If you’re sure that’s what you want?”
“Oh, it is,” I assure him. “What I said yesterday, Elliot … I didn’t mean it. I was just scared. I still am, really, but you were right. I can’t stop myself from being hurt by not being with you. It’s too late for that. And I know it’s too late to get on that flight with you now, too, but … maybe after Christmas? And we can stay in touch this time; properly, I mean. I’ll write your number on a piece of paper, instead of just saving it on my phone. I’ll write it everywhere. Anything to make sure we don’t lose each other again once you’re back in the States.”
The snow is falling so fast now that I can barely see him through it, but Icansee his smile; and I can see that it’s the same one he gave me when we stood in this same spot just over a decade ago, with the same snow globe in our hands.
“I’m not going to the States,” he says, his grin getting even wider. “I canceled my flight. I still have three months left on my visa, and I’m going to spend it here, in Bramblebury. I’d already decided that before …. before this.” He holds up the snow globe I gave him with a laugh. “I told you I wouldn’t leave you again, Holly, and I won’t. I didn’t fight for you the last time. I’m not going to make the same mistake again.”
My cheeks are suddenly wet, and I’m not sure if it’s from tears or just the melting snow, which is soaking into my clothes and making me shiver.
“Come on,” says Elliot, taking my hand and pulling me in the direction of the plastic globe, which now stands empty, everyone but us having gotten out of the blizzard. Hand in hand, we run towards it, ducking through the plastic flap that serves as a door and letting it fall shut behind us.
Inside the transparent walls, the snowflakes still float past our heads, but the rest of the world seems to melt away, the sounds of the street outside muffled by the globe, and the lights above the square shimmering softly all around us.
I always thought all of this stuff was fake; just a manufactured attempt to make Christmas feel magical. Right now, though, the magic feels very, very real; and, for the first time in years, I think I might be starting to understand just why people love this time of year so much.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Elliot asks, taking me in his arms.
I nod once, and then he kisses me; his lips warm against my cold skin, his arms tight around my waist, holding me safe from the storm outside. He kisses me, and I allow myself to melt into him, everything else fading into the background, until all that’s left is me, him, and whatever happens next. It is very much what I think Elsie Poole would call a ‘main character moment’. And, as it turns out, I really quite like it.
“I want to write the sequel to your book together,” I tell Elliot breathlessly, when we pause for breath at last. “I want to figure out how it ends; even if it’s messy and imperfect, and even if some bits of it go wrong and we have to start again.”
Elliot smiles, then kisses me again.
“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” he says. “We’ll figure it out together.”
He pulls me in for another kiss, and as I kiss him back, I think about the first time, in the town hall under the mistletoe, and how I thought that these kisses were finite in number; each one just counting down to the last, which was always hovering on the horizon. I thought I neededto protect myself against the moment when they finally ran out, and that if I could just figure out how to do that, I’d never get hurt.
But now I know it doesn’t work like that.
And, even if it did, it’s a moot point, because I have a feeling these kisses are never going to run out.
This one in particular.
