The thing is, I don't regret inviting him back to my room. Not even a little bit. Last night was everything I'd hoped it would be—passionate and intense. Truly liberating.
Cole gave me an experience I'll never forget, and I'm grateful for that.
But as I trace my fingers over his words, I can't shake the feeling that what we shared wasmorethan just physical. The conversation that flowed so easily, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, the tenderness mixed with the passion—it felt like more than a simple one-night stand.
Or maybe I’ve been reading too many Penelope Costa books.
I set the note back down with a sigh and slide out of bed, padding to the window. London stretches out before me, her streets already bustling despite the early hour. Families hurryingto holiday gatherings, couples strolling hand-in-hand, the city dressed in her festive finest.
This is still my home. My love. And today, I'm going to celebrate her the way I always do—by getting lost in her magic.
I shower quickly, washing away the evidence of last night while holding on to the memories. As I dry off and start getting ready, I make a mental checklist. Covent Garden Christmas market is a must—its lights, decorations, and festive atmosphere are just what the day calls for. Maybe I'll grab a mulled wine and watch the street performers. Perhaps wander through the shops and treat myself to something special. I haven’t bought a new ugly Christmas sweater this season yet.
The thought buoys me to no end.
I pull on my favourite jeans and a chunky knit sweater—the deep green one that makes my eyes pop —and layer my festive red coat over it. After checking my makeup one last time, I catch my reflection and pause.
The woman staring back at me looks different somehow. Still me, but...dissimilar. There's a confidence in my eyes that wasn't quite there before, a knowing smile playing at my lips.
I slip my bag over my shoulder and pop my knitted hat atop my blonde head before heading for the door.
London’s calling.
CHAPTER 7
Cole
“We made Christmas pancakes for breakfast, too, Daddy. Look!”
Hollie's bright smile is infectious as I watch her on my laptop, chuckling when she holds up a plate of mush that resembles a flattened Elf on the Shelf, albeit one who's seen better days.
“They tasted better than they looked, I'll have you know, Nicolas Adams.”
A sing-song voice comes from somewhere to the right of my daughter, and I clear my throat before hastily replying, “I have no doubt they were truly magnificent, Mum. Some of your culinary creations are truly... Er—” I hesitate, grasping for a word that isn't “inedible.”
“Experimental,” she supplies helpfully, appearing in the corner of the frame with a festive apron that reads Queen of the Kitchen—a title that should be revoked immediately. “You can't create culinary masterpieces without taking risks.”
“Risks?” I echo. “Mother, the last time you 'took a risk,' the smoke alarm filed for early retirement.”
“That was artistic flair,” she insists, straightening her apron even as her lips twitch ever-so-slightly. “Besides, Hollie loved them.”
“I did, Daddy!” Hollie nods enthusiastically, syrup smeared across her chin like war paint. “Gran put sparkles in them. Ho-ho sparkles!”
“Sparkles?” I repeat slowly, eyes narrowing as they shift to my guilty-faced mother. “Please tell me that you didn't put glitter in her breakfast.”
“Edible glitter!” she protests as she clutches her chest in mock offence. “Well, I think it was edible. It came from the craft cupboard, but it said non-toxic—that's practically the same thing, right?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mum—”
“I'm joking, my dear boy. Don't go getting all serious on me, Nicolas. You were far more fun before you became a responsible adult.” She waves a hand dismissively, then turns to Hollie. “Tell your daddy how you helped stir the batter.”
“I used the big spoon!” Hollie beams, lifting it proudly into view. It's coated in glittery batter remnants.
“Looks delicious, Hollie-Pop.” I try not to wince when I add, “Did you save Daddy some?”
“No,” she chirps gleefully. “We eated them all. Gran said we're making more tomorrow.”
Mum gasps dramatically. “Hollie! We don't tell Daddy everything!”
