Page 10 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

“OK, so you do admit that you abandoned me.”

“I never said I didn’t. But Claudia is family—”

“I’m family. Claudia is a cryptid.” I can hear the cat in Maddie’s lap. It’s the rumbly purr of an idling chainsaw, ready to rip, tear, and destroy. “She’s a gargoyle come to life.”

“Speaking of gargoyles,” Maddie’s tone is chipper now, like she’s proud of herself for solving a big problem for me instead of creating one, “I forwarded you the info about the ghost tour tomorrow night.”

“What do gargoyles have to do with ghosts?”

“They’re both creepy,” she says. “Don’t overthink it.”

Originally, Maddie wanted to do a Jack the Ripper tour to “get to know London,” but I convinced her that immersing ourselves in serial-killer lore as two young women traveling alone wasn’t the vibe. She probably didn’t want to overload me with Christmas cheer while I was still jet-lagged, either, so she booked the ghost tour as a compromise.

Nibbling my thumbnail, I say, “I might skip it.”

One of the main motivations for this trip was for me to reclaim my sense of adventure and autonomy. But this path to reclamation was supposed to be paved with fun cafés and sightseeing by day, and by night, boozy pubs and maybe the occasional makeout with a stranger on a dance floor. With Maddie as my emotional support extrovert.

And no, the irony isn’t lost on me that I was perfectly content to let another person plan the rediscovery of my independence and joie de vivre. Nor am I ashamed to admit that I intended to lean heavily into my codependent relationship with my best friend in order to get over my codependent relationship with my ex.

“Call the guy,” Maddie says. “Ask him to go with you on the tour.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“Don’t be a quitter, Evie. A few minutes ago, you told me you keep running into him. You’ll see Jake Frost again. If you can’t find him, put yourself somewhere that he can find you.”

* * *

Thirteen days until Christmas

The only thing I like more than coffee is coffee I didn’t have to make myself. So, I ignore the pods I bought yesterday, and just before ten o’clock, I find myself heading to Grey Earl’s. This time, with a book and the unrealistic hope that I’ll see Jake Frost again. I’m not ready to actively look for him, but there’s no harm in being somewhere he might find me, right?

I’d be lying if I said I’m not disappointed when I arrive and he’s not here. Cherry and Quinn are behind the counter again, though. Even though I only met them yesterday, the familiarity is comforting. I scoot onto a barstool, order a coffee, and try to read for a while, but I can’t focus. Once the shop clears out a bit, I say to Cherry and Quinn, “This is a bit awkward, but are either of you free tonight? I have a spare ticket for a ghost tour.”

“A ghost tour?” Quinn’s brow crinkles. “During the festive season?”

“Quinny, what do you think A Christmas Carol is about?” Cherry says, drying a mug with a pristine white towel. “Anyway, I’ve got something on tonight. As much as I would love to walk around in the cold and drink shitty mulled wine while some old pensioner makes up spooky stories.” She hands me her phone. “Here. Put your number in. It must be scary, not knowing anyone in a completely new city. If we don’t see you at least once a day, we’ll call you.”

I give her a theatrically skeptical look as I type in my number. “Sounds like a ploy to get me to spend money here every day. And how will this help if I’ve already been kidnapped?”

Quinn shrugs. “You’re in London,” they say, as if it’s an obvious response to the hypothetical.

“Your main risk is being metaphorically sliced to bits by our sharp wit,” Cherry adds.

Behind me, the bell jingles to announce a newcomer. An icy draft sweeps in and swirls around my ankles and up the back of my neck before the door closes. I catch a hint of spiced bergamot and musk in the cold air. Adrenaline lights me up like a breath on banked embers.

Cherry grins, boosting up with her elbows on the bar. “Oi, Jake. What are you doing tonight?”

“Cherry, no,” I whisper, but she must be able to tell I don’t mean it. She glances at me with a knowing smile and a wink.

Jake approaches, playing along. “I don’t know, Cherry. What am I doing tonight?”

I don’t turn around, but I feel the warmth of his body as he sidesteps to stand between my stool and the empty one beside it. Resting a forearm on the bar, he looks down at me, and I meet his eyes. He’s wearing mahogany pants and a rich toffee-colored roll-neck sweater. His mouth twitches sideways in a fleeting smile. Everything about him is charming and casual, but there’s heat in the way he glances at my mouth before returning his attention back to my eyes. It makes me squirm in my seat. In a softer tone, he says, “Morning.” Like it’s just for me.

“Morning.” I look back down at my book, but the words slide together and fade like I’m looking through a cloudy camera lens.

Cherry cups her chin in her hands, blinking up at Jake. “Be a love and keep our new American friend company on her ghost tour tonight. She’s flying solo.”

“Last time I flew with our American friend, she tried very hard to get away from me.”