I glanced at him. “Surely you went to London’s Winter Wonderland? That one’s massive. Like… too massive. And loud. And expensive.”
He gave me a look. “Do I strike you as someone who willingly walks into crowds of thousands?”
“Fair point.”
“Besides,” he added, his voice dipping lower, “I was always working. December was court filings, meetings, end-of-year deadlines. Winter Wonderland was something I passed on the Tube ads, then forgot existed.”
I studied him for a moment, the firm, confident posture he carried, the way he seemed surprised by his own admission. Oliver Grant, corporate lawyer, avoiding holidays because work had swallowed his life. Something about that made my heart ache a little.
“Well,” I said softly, “you’re here now.”
He seemed to consider that. Really consider it. His eyes drifted to the spinning carousel once more.
“I suppose I am,” he murmured.
The wind curled around us, carrying the scent of powdered sugar and warm pastry. A horse passed close to our side of the fence, its gold-leaf saddle shimmering under the lights.
“You should try it,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” I insisted with a grin. “You said you haven’t been since childhood. Maybe it’s time.”
He looked at the carousel again, jaw tightening in a way that meant he was trying not to smile. “I hardly think I blend in with the eight-year-olds.”
“You blend better than you think,” I said before I could stop myself.
His head snapped slightly toward me. And oh. The way he looked at me, warm and surprised and slightly teasing, made every nerve in my body flare awake.
I quickly cleared my throat. “I mean–it’s nostalgic. That’s all.”
“Mmm,” he said, eyes lingering a second too long. “Nostalgic.”
I took a sip of my hot chocolate to distract myself, nearly burning my tongue. Then a group of teens pushed past us, laughing as they scrambled onto the carousel, and one of them shouted,
“Oi, Bri! You bringin’ the London lad on for a ride or what?”
My eyes went wide. “Ignore them–”
But Oliver was already laughing. Properly laughing head tipped slightly down, shoulders shaking.
“I think that counts as a public invitation,” he said.
I groaned. “They’re pests. Don’t listen to anything they say.”
“I’m tempted,” he admitted, eyes bright. “Though maybe not tonight.”
I blinked. “Why?”
His expression softened. “Because I have a feeling the rink is going to be the highlight. And I’d prefer not to be dizzy before I embarrass myself on the ice.”
Heat bloomed under my cheeks. He seemed lighter, and in the golden light of the carousel, surrounded by laughter and snow, I saw him differently again, not as the man who broughtme bad news…but the man who was smiling at me like tonight was something more than just harmless.
“Come on,” I said, tugging his sleeve. “The rink’s this way.”
He followed, close enough that I felt the warmth of him even in the freezing air and the snowflakes kept falling, soft and steady, like the night was holding its breath. We left the carousel behind, stepping back into the flow of the market. The music faded into a warm hum beneath the chatter of families and the clinking of mugs. Lights twinkled overhead like low stars, and snow drifted around us in soft spirals.
Oliver walked beside me, close enough that our arms brushed now and then. Each accidental touch sent a tiny spark through my stomach, the kind I tried very hard to ignore.
