Page 58 of Last Christmas in London

His lips twitched. ‘I was tempted to download TikTok recently.’

‘Oh?’

‘To see what you were up to.’

I blushed and busied myself with another sip of wine. ‘Well, you would have been disappointed. I haven’t posted much lately.’

‘No? Not even our success at the Great Christmas Pudding Race?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re really holding on to that victory.’

‘The others won’t let me forget it, so I might as well bask in the glory,’ he said, watching me with quiet amusement.

There was a calmness about Simon – something grounding. He didn’t try to fix things, didn’t offer unwanted advice. He just listened.

And right now, I needed that.

‘This is good,’ I said, having another mouthful of the spicy hot drink. There was a familiar comfort about mulled wine. It had the effect of warming you from the inside and making you feel like everything was going to be all right just because it was Christmas. To me, this was the drink that the Ghost of Christmas Present offered to Ebenezer Scrooge. The drink of good cheer. ‘I needed this.’

‘Mulled wine?’ Simon asked, though his expression was softer now, less teasing.

‘Work’s a bit much,’ I said. ‘And Megan and Josh had a falling-out,’ I carried on. ‘And now neither are talking to me as I didn’t take sides, but they seem annoyed that I didn’t take theirs or share their secrets or… I don’t know.’ I took a breath, and he didn’t interrupt, surprisingly. ‘Plus, my new job got in touch and want me to do some work early, over Christmas. I’ve not really had a break. Or a real Christmas.’

I let out a breath, surprised at how easily it all came tumbling out.

He just nodded. I offered the flask, but he didn’t take it back. There was a definite understatement of you need that more than I do about his actions, which made me smile.

The fact he didn’t often express an opinion made him that much easier to open up to, though it was frustrating when I wanted to know more about him. This mystery man who I felt magnetised towards.

I nodded with a sigh but said nothing else as I returned to listening to the perfectly harmonised choir for a moment more.

We just stood there, side by side, letting the music settle around us.

He leaned down a little as the pews began to fill and we were pushed further into the wall by new viewers and excited families.

Then, Simon leaned in, his voice low, just for me. ‘Want to get out of here?’

I turned my head slightly, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. ‘And do what?’

‘I have an idea.’ He offered me his hand but didn’t elaborate. He just held out his hand, an invitation wrapped in warmth and quiet adventure.

I hesitated for less than a second before slipping my fingers into his.

‘Lead the way.’

Even when we stepped outside into the crisp December air, he didn’t let go. His fingers were freezing, but I could feel the ridges left by his guitar strings, the evidence of his music imprinted into his skin.

I squeezed his hand slightly, just to see if he’d squeeze back.

He did.

‘Where’s your stuff?’ I asked as we ducked down a side street, the market glow fading behind us as we reached the Strand.

‘I lent it to another busker for the evening,’ Simon said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘We take turns with amps and guitars so we don’t have to lug everything back and forth. I brought it down this morning, he’s taking it home tonight.’

‘So next time he’ll bring it and you’ll take it back.’

‘Exactly. I only have that arrangement over Christmas, though. The rest of the year I hibernate.’