Page 108 of Last Christmas in London

I sucked my teeth playfully. ‘Well, if I have to thank Megan, Josh, Pim, and all the others, where will it end?’

‘With Christmas cards,’ Simon whined.

‘The horror!’

I tiptoed to reach his lips. I was all for being professional, in case someone was looking out of the window as I came out of the interview, but my body had other ideas. My breath hitched, my stomach flipped, and every single nerve ending I had lit up at once.

‘Hi!’ I said, keeping my voice steady.

‘Hi!’ he replied with a smile.

I wanted to have a lot of Hi! moments with Simon. I linked his fingers between my own as I tried to push myself off him and not remain close enough to smell his cologne, or I was at risk of losing my resolve entirely.

My pulse roared in my ears. He was here, real and solid in front of me, looking at me as if I was the only thing he cared to see, and I couldn’t believe it. I had never felt like this about anyone and, with being graysexual, I never thought I would. But here we were.

‘Just so you know,’ I said, not sure why I felt compelled to say it, but at the same time knowing I needed to. ‘I’m not staying just because of you.’

Something altered in his expression, not disappointment but something almost like pride.

‘Good,’ he said simply. ‘I don’t want that. I want you to do what you want to do.’

‘Oh, I know,’ I laughed, remembering our conversation at the ice rink. ‘You’ve made that pretty clear.’

‘Hey, I’m a big believer in following your dreams. Look at me!’ He gestured to himself, all easy confidence and quiet passion, the type of person who had never once wavered in what he wanted.

I stepped up and kissed him on the lips – I knew then he never would have wanted me to change my life for him. Just like I never would have done it. But the fact that my new life happened to be here, in the same city as him? That was something we could both be very, very happy about.

And I was.

‘Thank you!’ I said, stepping back as he rolled his lips, his eyes suddenly straying from mine to over my shoulder as his shoulders tensed.

A man cleared his throat noisily.

‘Dad!’

I spun on the spot. Michael Holland, who had appeared from around the corner, his collar turned up against the cold, had frozen at the sight of us – especially Simon, who was still locked in my grasp. I failed to release him, partly due to the unpredictability of what he was going to do in this situation. This was his father. ‘We have got to stop meeting like this,’ I said, my mouth releasing the words before I had time to even think them. I shut my eyes. ‘I mean, hello, Mr Holland.’

Michael only had eyes for Simon but raised an eyebrow after I spoke, clearly realising who I was.

‘Well, at least you don’t have a dog with you, who’s going to push me into traffic this time?’ He smiled, not unkindly.

‘For the record, I am sorry about that,’ I said, still waiting for Simon to speak.

Michael blinked. Then, after a beat, he nodded. ‘Apology accepted.’

There was an awkward beat of silence before Michael’s piercing gaze returned to Simon and, immediately, the air changed.

Simon’s expression remained neutral, but there was a tightness in his jaw. ‘Dad,’ he said again. I glanced at him, and saw a mix of frustration, yearning, and uncertainty behind his eyes. He hesitated and then, as if he had steeled himself for the moment, continued, ‘Evie, this is my father, Michael Holland.’

I knew. Of course, I knew. But hearing Simon say it, claim it even, felt different.

‘It’s nice to meet you properly,’ I said to Michael, holding out my hand professionally but it was strange the moment I offered it. Michael even laughed; it was the first time I think I had seen him smile, without it being a sneer. It was the same smile as Simon’s.

‘I saw your Cornwall documentary,’ I carried on, hating the quiet that had entered the interaction. ‘It was brilliant. Passionate. You made the smuggler trade still feel alive.’

‘Well, it is, in its dark ways,’ Michael said fluidly, his brows lifting slightly, as if I had surprised him. ‘But thank you! I enjoyed making it.’

It was a simple exchange, but the way he held himself relaxed, just slightly. He released my hand and took a step back. Simon’s face was unreadable, but I knew him well enough now to see the tension beneath the surface.