Page 50 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

“This is my turf, Ainsworth,” Selby shouts to a group approaching from the opposite direction. We never heard a scrap of this sort of enthusiasm during our tour.

“Jog on, you fuckin’ melt,” yells another older fellow—Ainsworth, apparently—wearing a Santa hat and carrying what looks like a wizard’s staff. “You can’t claim The Queen’s Walk.”

Jake and I glance at each other, wide-eyed. The corners of his mouth dip down in a playful, puckish frown.

“Did you warn them you can’t get through a tour without stopping for the bog?”

“At least I’m not a pavement pisser, Ainsworth.”

Jake and I share another look. “Maddie may have booked you onto the wrong tour.”

We laugh, and I tuck my arm through his as we walk. Trailing behind Selby’s group, I catch a glimpse of a young woman in a Supreme hoodie and a pair of baggy jeans. She looks at me and makes a heart shape with her hands, and winks. It’s the tarot girl, minus her mystical vintage get-up. Jake was right when he said he’d seen her skulking about during our tour. I shake my head and smile back.

I’m probably being too sentimental, but there’s something grounding about seeing people I recognize. And obviously, she recognized me too.

We linger, listening to carolers sing a haunting rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Jake buys some small presents for his nephews, along with a few baubles for his sisters. I pick up two enamel pins—an espresso bean with kissy lips and a rainbow mohawk for Quinn, and a floral mug with “Pour Kindness” in script for Cherry. Jake buys me a tiny silver black-cab charm on a silver chain. As he hooks the clasp at the back of my neck, he says, “So you never forget the time I was right.”

I turn to face him. His arms settle around my waist. “Would black cabs be the first historical reference in the Evie-Jake lexicon?” I say.

“I believe they might be.”

As we head back to Covent Garden over the bridge, I start to giggle.

“What’s funny?” Jake asks.

“Oh, Jake.” I press my lips between my teeth and look at him apologetically. “I thought the London Eye was going to be boring tonight. Ferris wheel, but make it a slow thirty-minute ride? Come on.”

“Are you saying you found it more, ah, stimulating than you’d originally assumed?”

I laugh. “What do you think?”

We walk the rest of the way with our hands threaded together, gloves off so we can feel the warmth of each other’s skin.

* * *

We stumble off the elevator into his flat, shedding shoes and scarves and coats. We’re down to our underwear, backing towards the bed, when I mutter against his mouth, “Wait. My coat … over there. Inside pocket.”

Jake gives me a curious look, but he obliges. He crouches, sits back on his heels, and reaches into the pocket of my coat. He pulls out the three-pack of condoms I’ve brought, holding it in front of him like he’s not sure what to make of it. Slowly, he stands, looking confused. “Oh.”

I wrap my arms around my middle, suddenly chilled. What is happening right now?

He strides past me, over to one of the bedside tables. He still has his back to me when he says, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Evie.”

If the earth cracked open under my feet to swallow me whole, I’d eagerly grab a shovel to help it take me.

Jake turns, and he’s got something in his hand. It’s an entire box of condoms.

He gives it a playful shake, but the look in his eyes is pure, dark determination.

“We’ll be needing more than three.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Five days to Christmas

Jake is back to me in a few determined strides. He bends at the knees and grips my ass in both his hands, hauling me into the air. My legs twine around his waist, my elbows land on his shoulders. My fingers twist into his hair, maneuvering his head like a puppet, tilting, tasting. He’s kissing me so hard, so deep, my jaw pops, and I can barely breathe.

“I don’t usually do this—” I say into his mouth.