Page 54 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

Sudden tears burn my eyes. “OK.”

Cherry comes over, dragging a chair from another table. “I was listening, because of course I was.” She takes my other hand. “What I always say is—go with your gut. But if you don’t like what your gut is telling you, nothing wrong with getting a second opinion from your heart.”

I’ve got seven full days left in my trip. I don’t want to spend another moment apart from Jake.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Three days to Christmas

The morning after my self-imposed solo day, I wake up on my own before nine o’clock. By five minutes past nine, I’ve sent Jake a text to ask when I can see him, but by ten, he hasn’t responded. When I stop in at Grey Earl’s, he’s not there either. Quinn and Cherry tell me he hasn’t been in today, and when I grab a takeaway coffee instead of lingering at the bar for a chat, I get matching looks of concern.

“Evie, is everything OK?” Cherry calls as I head to the door.

Pausing with my hand on the jamb, I turn with a tentative smile. “Not yet. But it will be.”

I stop at the piazza Christmas tree in our spot. As soon as I get there, I feel absurd. Jake Frost doesn’t just hang out in the Covent Garden piazza in the cold, hoping to catch a glimpse of me. I replay that last bit of our conversation two days ago, trying to figure out if there was any way he might have thought I was breaking things off rather than asking for a short breather. A wave of anxiety ripples through my belly. It’s similar to what I felt my first few days in London when I thought I’d missed my chance to meet him that night at Somerset House. But now, it’s magnified. Now, I know exactly what I’ll be missing if I never see him again.

* * *

There’s one more place I can check.

The Evie who arrived in London would have never done this. That Evie would’ve accepted defeat easily, chalking it up to a misunderstanding or miscommunication, or I guess he’s really not that into me. But that’s not me anymore.

I’ve made it as far as the lobby of Jake’s building. But the private elevator to the penthouse only opens with a keycard, so I can’t just pop up there and knock on the door. There’s a console on the wall with a doorbell and a call system, though. I press the call button and a little LED lights up green. I’m live, I guess?

“Um. Hi. It’s me. So … you told me I’d know where to find you, but I haven’t been able to yet. Are you there?”

No answer.

“I wonder if this thing is recording? Like one of those old answering machines?”

I feel ridiculous. I’m standing here talking to a wall. Still no reply from Jake when I check my phone again.

“I guess I just want you to know that I want to spend Christmas with you. Meet your family. All of it. If—” I have to swallow hard to clear the lump in my throat. “If you, um, still want me to.”

“I very much do,” says a soft, deep voice behind me.

It’s Jake. He starts towards me with purpose, his long legs closing the distance between us in the time it takes me to suck in a bracing breath.

“You’re here,” he says.

“I’m here.”

He’s very festive today in a burgundy turtleneck sweater and cream corduroy pants. Both his hands are full of shopping bags, but the moment he stops in front of me, he drops them at our feet to cradle my face in his palms. Then he’s kissing me, his warm breath gusting across my cheek, his tongue moving against mine in languid greeting. I twist my fists in the front of his sweater and make a low sound of pleasure in my throat. He doesn’t pause the kiss as he reaches behind me to press his keycard against the sensor to call the elevator.

When it arrives, he picks up the bags, this time all in one hand. The moment he’s upright again, his mouth is back on mine. He wraps his free arm low around my back, waltzing me into the elevator, mirroring my backward steps with his forward ones.

God, I’ve missed this man terribly, and we were only apart for a day. It’s going to wreck me when I have to leave for good. For the next seven days, I’m going to cling to every bit of happiness while it’s here for the taking.

He drags his teeth along my bottom lip like he’s reluctant to stop kissing me long enough to speak. “Were you waiting long? I figured you’d sleep until at least noon.”

“I had a very good reason to get up early,” I say against his mouth. “But if you keep this up, I’m going to have to insist we go back to bed once those elevator doors open.”

He does.

And we do.

* * *