Page 107 of Last Christmas in London

‘Where do you want to go?’ he replied. ‘Name the place, I’ll be there.’

I bit my lip, glancing around at the city skyline peeking through the trees. I felt giddy and confident, so I went for it. ‘Your flat perhaps? New Year’s Eve is coming up – let’s have a night in.’

His answering chuckle sent a thrill down my spine. ‘You’re on. Fireworks at my place?’

Oh, there would be fireworks all right.

Chapter 32

The winter air outside Television Centre in White City was crisp, the kind that made your breath cloud in front of you but wasn’t cold enough to be unpleasant.

Simon was leaning against a railing, scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His hair was slightly ruffled from the winter wind and he had that effortless kind of presence that made him stand out, even when he looked like he was trying not to.

He was scanning the entrance as if he didn’t quite belong here. Waiting.

For me.

I felt it immediately, the awareness of him, the unmistakable pull that had been there since the moment we met. Electricity crackled between us as our eyes locked, a current strong enough to make me want to run to him.

I pulled my coat tighter around me as Simon spotted me. My mind was still catching up with the whirlwind of the last hour, so it was Simon who reached me first.

‘How’d it go?’ he asked, slipping his hand into mine.

‘It was something.’ I couldn’t help grinning.

A new job. In London. The words didn’t quite feel real yet.

The Head of the Studio had been polite but firm when discussing an Executive Assistant role on his social media team, I explained to Simon. It was something I knew I could do with my eyes closed, but with the added bonus of being in the thick of television production and social media – precisely where I wanted to be – but based in my favourite city.

And all because Pim had made a call. A call that I didn’t think she had in her; even after eight years, Pim could surprise me. Her contacts may be older, but that just meant they had more power. There was me thinking she was irrelevant in the UK, but really it was just her lack of interest.

She’d reached out in such a Pim way too; breezy, casual, as if pulling strings in the industry was as simple as asking for an extra shot of espresso in her coffee. Not that she ever ordered her own coffee.

And the call had paid dividends for her too; she was in talks for a new baking show. A big one.

‘Just imagine,’ I said, nudging Simon. ‘Pim on primetime. She’ll never be able to go to the supermarket again without being mobbed by fans.’

‘Not your problem,’ Simon pointed out.

I skipped down the steps. ‘I just can’t wait to see her critiquing sponge cakes with a level of disdain usually reserved for war criminals.’

‘That will be a sight to see,’ Simon agreed. ‘I’m glad she made the call, though. My dad might have been willing to help, but I doubt he’s popular enough to get you anything nearly as good.’

‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘His programmes make money; he’d probably have some sway. But Pim’s recommendation personally means a little bit more to me.’ I smiled and Simon agreed with a reciprocal grin.

‘Now, tell me,’ he said suddenly, twirling me on the spot and wrapping his arms around me. ‘How does it feel to be officially staying in London?’

I exhaled slowly, as if I could release all the uncertainty and fear with it. ‘Good,’ I admitted. ‘Really, really good.’

And it did feel good. No more running. No more pretending I didn’t want to be here. I was precisely where I wanted to be, and I was staying.

‘Thank you,’ I told him.

‘For what?’

‘For inspiring me.’ I shrugged. ‘For reminding me to use my content creation as leverage, for making me realise how much I love it here.’

‘I wasn’t the only one.’