“What isn't?”
“Saying things like that while wearing a jumper with bells on it. It's confusing my brain.”
I laugh, low and warm, and the sound surprises even me. “Come on. Let's buy these monstrosities before I come to my senses.”
We change back into our regular clothes, and when I step out of the changing room, she's already there, folding the ugly jumper carefully.
Our eyes meet and hold.
There's something pensive in her expression, and I realise she's still thinking about what I said. About enjoying giving her things she likes. About what that means or what I might mean by it.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture that makes her seem vulnerable in a way that does something to my chest. Not the tumultuous heat from moments ago, but something warmer. Steadier.
Possibly even more dangerous, too.
“Cole…” she trails off, seeming to reconsider whatever she was going to say.
“Yeah?” I prompt quietly before my feet step closer almost of their own volition.
Shaking her head, her mouth kicks up in a small smile. “Nothing. Just...thank you. For today. For this.” She gestures vaguely at the jumper, though I have a feeling she means more than that.
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything else that might reveal how much this afternoon has shifted something within me. Howshe'sshifted something within me.
There's an awareness between us now, almost like an invisible thread connecting this moment to all the ones leading up to this. In the fitting room. Her arm in mine on the Tube. Snowflakes crowning her head outside Pret. Her laughter in the bar last night—the catalyst for everything that came since.
I can’t see it or touch it. It’s not urgent or demanding, but that invisible string is just...there.
Tangible. Undeniable.
A pull I'm not sure I want to resist anymore.
I inhale sharply at the realisation before breaking the moment by grabbing another jumper from a nearby rack—this one a truly spectacular disaster featuring a three-dimensional Christmas tree with actual ornaments sewn on.
“For Hollie,” I explain, holding it up.
Rory's face lights up with a broad smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “She's going to love it.”
“She will.” I look at the jumper, then at Rory with a wry grin. “Mum won’t know what’s come over me.”
Rory giggles as we make our way to the counter, and I hand over my card before she can protest, adding all three jumpers to the purchase.
“My treat,” I announce firmly when she opens her mouth to object. “My contribution to Operation Liberation.”
Her laughter feels like music to my ears.
“This afternoon has been...” I pause, searching for the right word. Transformative. Terrifying. Perfect.
“The most spontaneous thing you've done in years?” she supplies helpfully, a teasing glint lighting her eyes.
“Something like that.” I take the bag from the delighted shop owner with a nod of thanks, then turn to Rory, my lips quirked into a reluctant smile.
Her nose scrunches adorably as she represses a smile. “Your grin alone is high praise indeed.”
“Don't let it go to your head,” I warn, though there's no heat behind it.
“Too late.” She grins up at me, completely unrepentant.
We leave the shop, bags in hand, and rejoin the flow of the market. The snow is still falling, and the lights seem even more magical now as evening settles over the city. The sky has turned that particular shade of winter blue-grey that makes London feel like something out of a storybook.
