Page 80 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

I truly do understand why he didn’t tell me about this sooner. If anything, though, it makes it that much worse. All it does is prove I was wrong to stop protecting myself. God, I’m right back to who I was when I arrived here, aren’t I? Absorbing the fallout of someone else’s mistakes, questioning the validity of my anger, my hurt. I wish I could summon the sort of sharp, righteous anger that would slice a clean break between us.

But instead, the ache in my heart is magnified by my concern for his, tethering me tight to the very source of my pain.

“I have to go.” I turn and weave through other pedestrians before I lose my nerve.

“Your bag,” he calls after me. “It’s still at my place.”

I don’t turn around. My hand closes on the cab’s door handle.

“All your dresses—”

Swinging the door open, I turn and give him a sad smile. “There’s nowhere in my real life I could wear those dresses, Jake.”

“Where to, please?” the driver says.

“Damnit, this is real life.”

“It was.” My throat is clogged with tears now. “But I’m leaving it in London.”

The driver says, loudly, “You getting in then, love?”

“Please don’t get in that cab, Evie.” Jake’s voice breaks as he shouts after me. “I’m not asking. I’m begging.”

The muscles in my calves clench, my toes curl in the stilettos. My body balks at what my mind is commanding it to do. I’ve become two Evies again. One urges flight, the other urges fight. I’ve been here before, split down the middle by a man I love. Flight is supposed to be the easier option, but it’s not. Not in moments like this.

Still, I fly.

* * *

I’ve never been to Earl’s this late, so I shouldn’t be surprised to see someone behind the counter I don’t recognize. I’m more than surprised. I’m completely shattered. There are even two people sitting at Jake’s table—a young couple with the audacity to look deeply in love.

The unfamiliar faces bring into sharp focus just how alone I actually am here in London. The feeling of home that I’ve had has been an illusion. Once I get on the plane home tomorrow, London, Covent Garden, Cherry, Quinn … and Jake, will all move on like I was never here in the first place. Quinn and Cherry will make friends with a new traveler, someone else will sleep in my bed at Paperwhite, and Jake Frost will eventually meet someone new and better suited for him than I ever was. Someone who was always meant to stay.

The barista frowns at me. “You all right?” he says.

God, I must look completely unhinged. My smoky eye has inevitably run down my cheeks, and I can feel the ratty nest of my collapsing chignon bobbing against the back of my neck every time I move. “Ah … sorry, I was just looking for Cherry and Quinn.”

I sit at one of the tables along the wall to text them. I use the group chat that Maddie isn’t in with us. I don’t want to worry her.

Cherry shows up first. She whistles low as she approaches. “Now that’s a fit, love.” She slides into the chair across from me and says to the person behind the bar, “It’s fine, Julian. I’ll close up.”

“Right, boss,” says the strange-to-me barista.

I watch him go, then turn back to Cherry. “You’re the boss?”

“I am. Why do you think I’m here all the bloody time?” Cherry laughs. “Youngest business owner in Covent Garden,” she says proudly. With a soft, cheeky grin, she adds, “At least for now. I seem to be getting older every year. It’s so unfair.”

Quinn arrives shortly after Cherry does. I’ve never seen either of them out of their plain tees and Grey Earl’s aprons. Quinn wears a puffer over a hoodie with a screenprint that’s age-softened to a blur of color. Their jeans are cuffed just high enough to show off chunky wool socks and leather lace-up boots. Cherry’s in a charcoal wool peacoat over a clay-colored turtleneck tucked into wide-legged jeans. Again, I’m overwhelmed by the sense that I’m just a visitor here. I’d give anything to have just a few more days to spend with them outside this coffee shop.

Quinn drags over a chair from an adjacent table and sits on it backwards. “Y’all right?” they say.

“I’m so sorry. But I need a favor.”

I tell them everything. And of course, they agree to go to Jake’s to retrieve my bag for me. Before I leave, Quinn takes down the Polaroid they took before Jake and I went on the ghost tour. “You should have this.”

Jake and I didn’t take any photos together aside from this one. Not a single selfie. At first, it felt too awkward for me to ask him for one. Then we spent December together, fully present, living moments instead of performing them to capture in pixels and print.

Now that it’s over, I wish I had more than this single grainy Polaroid. But it’s fitting, really. There’s something about Polaroids that evokes the past, and that’s always been where Jake and I were headed.