Page 110 of Last Christmas in London

‘Girlfriend,’ he said, our lips still pressed together.

‘I like how it sounds.’

He smirked, tilting his head to kiss my cheek. ‘So do I.’

Chapter 33

Simon’s flat was tucked away down a quiet street in Borough, very Bridget Jones-esque of him. It wouldn’t have made sense if he was just a busker but, when I remembered his father and his upbringing, I realised that there was no way Simon was entirely strapped for cash.

‘It was my mum’s,’ he explained, turning the key in the lock before we headed up the narrow stairs to the top floor. It was the kind of flat you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. It suited him, actually, unassuming but quietly distinctive.

The space smelled of coffee, his cologne, and something faintly woody, like an old guitar case. It wasn’t exactly how I pictured it – in the few seconds I had to imagine in the time it took for him to open the door – it was tidy but not overly polished, with instruments propped up in corners and hanging from bike hooks on the walls, and sheet music spread out on a small desk by the window.

The walls were plain, save for the instruments and a few framed records with silver signatures under the glass. Above the kitchen, a mezzanine led to his bedroom, the metal staircase swirling. It was a studio, or a bed-sit if you were feeling unkind, cramped but still homely.

‘Do you want a drink?’ he offered, already heading towards the small fridge, whipping dirty laundry from the end of the leather sofa and shoving it into some unsuspecting cupboard, where it no doubt did not belong.

‘You don’t have to tidy up for me,’ I laughed, throwing myself onto the lumpy sofa cushions. ‘I want to see the place as you live in it, not as in a Rightmove advert.’

He giggled, slightly nervously. ‘It’s definitely a bachelor pad.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ I said, leaning my chin on the sofa to watch him and breathing in the heady smell of his cologne. It was potent. At least I didn’t have to open the window to relieve myself of a bachelor musk; his home smelled like him and it was glorious.

For a few seconds he just stared at me, saying nothing. A small smirk at the corner of his lips.

‘What?’ I asked, lifting my head and poking my face as if I had something on my cheek.

‘Nothing.’ He turned away, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. ‘So tell me. What’s next for you?’

I frowned. ‘In what way? I have the new job now, so I suppose the next thing is sorting out Salient.’

‘And what do you need to do there?’ He jumped over the sofa, swinging his legs around as if he often did that – when I could tell by his slightly pained expression that he didn’t – before pulling my legs over his.

‘You’re a child!’ I laughed loudly, surprised, but not appalled by his George-of-the-Jungle behaviour. It was his flat, after all, he could be himself in it. Even if this version of himself was clearly nervous and boyish. I rested my hand atop his, feeling the condensation of the water bottle soaking into my trouser leg. His fingers were still warm as I wrapped my own around them. ‘I still need to go to Canada.’ He groaned. ‘For a short time,’ I pressed on. ‘Just to work out my probation so I’m not in breach of contract. The house was only a rental anyway, so it’s not like I’ve got to unwind a load of activity. I just need to tide them over until they can re-hire – which I doubt will take three months.’

‘Really?’ He didn’t seem convinced. ‘Aren’t creative industries usually the worst at hiring people?’

I shrugged. It wasn’t my problem if that was the case. ‘Probation periods are as much for the employee as for the employer. If I don’t want to take the job – which I don’t – they’ll have no choice but to get a move on.’

He smirked again. ‘You’re ruthless, you know that?’

‘I’m entrepreneurial and determined,’ I countered playfully. ‘And, for once, I’m doing precisely what I want to do.’

‘With a few months in Canada before you can actually start it, though.’

It was my turn to groan now, and I instinctively pulled myself closer to him so my head was resting on his shoulder and his arm came up around me. God, it was so easy with him.

‘How have I only known you for a month?’ I pointed out, which set us both off.

He shrugged, lifting my head up with the move-ment so I was merely inches from his shaded stubble. ‘Is this too early in the dating game to say when you know, you know?’

My stomach did a flip. ‘If that’s a reference to a Taylor Swift lyric, then never.’ I kissed him promptly, and his grasp around my back tightened even more.

‘But seriously? Too soon?’

He gave me the space to consider it for a moment, but I didn’t need to.

I always imagined love being a bit like a golden orb that sits squarely in your chest and burns brightly inside you, energising you and keeping you warm. It felt like that now.