Page 30 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

We step onto the deck and down into a wood-paneled cabin. Jake pours mugs of warm mulled wine for each of us, and he carries mine for me as we make our way up to the aft deck. It’s open to the night air, with a plush settee built in below the rails. Heavy boating blankets sit folded in a tidy stack, wool on one side, polar fleece on the other. A simple evergreen wreath hangs from the back railing, and golden LED tracklights glow at our feet.

As we cast off, the surface of the Thames reflects a spill of candy-colored light from the city in the distance. Stars freckle the sky, crystalline bright in the way they only ever seem to be on clear winter nights like this.

“Before we get too far from shore, I have a confession,” Jake says.

“I like confessions.”

“I used to get motion sickness as a kid.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Haven’t been on a boat in a while.”

I laugh. “Why did you choose this as our date, then?”

Jake smiles. “Because there’s nothing that sparkles like the Thames at night during the festive season. Worth the risk.”

For a while, we sit in silence, rocking with the rhythm of the river.

“I keep a baby spoon in my kitchen back home,” I say, contributing my own confession. “I use it when I eat ice cream, to make it last longer.”

“Brilliant,” Jake says. “I don’t understand the worldwide obsession with Star Wars—”

“How dare you.” I clutch imaginary pearls at my collarbone.

“—or Lord of the Rings—”

“Get out.” I fling my arm straight out to point at the water.

Jake’s laugh is brighter than all the lights of the city in the distance.

Once the boat picks up speed, it’s colder. I gather one of the blankets over my legs, lifting the edge closest to Jake in invitation. He scoots closer, and I have to rest my thigh lengthwise against his in order for us both to be fully covered. It only takes seconds for a radiant little zone of body heat to form between us.

On the bank in the distance, tiny lights move erratically. They look like people with flashlights and headlamps.

“What’s happening over there?”

“Mudlarking, most likely.”

“I have no idea what that is, but it sounds like something I want to do.”

“Larking about—you don’t say that in the States?”

I shake my head.

“It’s like … frivolous fun. A playful adventure. Mudlarking is just what it sounds like—adults mucking about in the mud on the Thames. They’re looking for old artifacts that the low tide exposes. Coins, bits of old pottery, clay pipes, ink pots. My sister found a diamond ring once. Someone probably chucked it off a bridge.”

“Mudlarking is the best thing I’ve ever heard of. It’s like … thrifting, but in nature.”

Jake laughs.

“I’m serious. I’ve never wanted to do something more in my life. Would your sister take me someday?” As soon as the words are out, my insides drop like I’m on a rollercoaster. My somedays in London are limited, and they certainly don’t include cozying up to Jake’s family.

Jake, bless him, doesn’t make it awkward. If he finds what I said weird and presumptuous, he doesn’t show it. “I’m sure she’d love to, but there’s a licencing process. People can’t just pop down to the shore and start digging.”

“Do you have other siblings? Wait, wait—I know the answer already. You have a big family, and it’s perfect.” I do a slow, arcing flourish of my hand in front of us. “You have four siblings. No, six. Your family is basically modern-day Bridgerton. You’re all supernaturally beautiful, and you’re all intensely protective of each other even though you argue.”

Jake nods appreciatively. “I have two brothers. Four sisters. Well, one is a brother-in-law, and one is a sister-in-law. All with considerably superior personal hygiene to Regency Londoners, I’m sure. Otherwise, yep. Bang on.”