Page 39 of The Christmas Letter

Holly swallowed down the laugh – because the gallery was the kind of place where you had to talk in low tones. ‘I think everyone feels like that sometimes.’

Jack gave her a little smirk. ‘So wise.’

She gave him a friendly shoulder bump. ‘I’m serious. I teach art, and even I’m not sure I “get it” – whatever the “it” is – sometimes. I think people who say they do are mostly making it up. Because how can you ever be sure – really sure – that you understand exactly what the artist was trying to say?’

Jack grunted in acknowledgment as they moved on, and she took that as a win. ‘Besides, it’s not about understanding everything – it’s not even about liking everything. Certain pieces will just . . . call to you, if you’re lucky.’ She tucked her hair behind her ear, unsure whether that sounded daft.

‘Did you ever hope to see your art on display, somewhere like this?’

She didn’t answer for a long beat. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually, allowing the truth of it to slide through her. ‘But it wasn’t meant to be. I’m not an artist – I’m a teacher.’

‘Can’t you be both?’

‘Maybe. But I’m not.’

Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, not if you talk like that. If you don’t take yourself seriously no one else will either.’ He winced, just as she opened her mouth to object. ‘Sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘That made me sound like a dick.’

‘Only a lot.’

Jack laughed, though stopped immediately when a couple ahead of them both looked back, their disapproval obvious in their glares. ‘It’s just something we say to clients – you know, take yourself seriously, go after what you want, have a plan, that kind of thing.’ He sighed. ‘I guess it’s kind of become entrenched in me, to say stuff like that.’

‘I get that,’ Holly said slowly. ‘But art isn’t . . . You can’t just become an artist – it is so dependent on so many things. Talent, timing.’ She paused. ‘Luck.’

‘But surely if you’re doing it then you are an artist – as in, you can call yourself one.’ Holly made a face and Jack shrugged. ‘Does art need to be seen by others to have value?’

‘Yes,’ Holly said automatically, sticking her chin in the air. ‘It’s about making other people feel something, about bringing joy or clarity or evoking an emotion or—’

Jack held up a hand. ‘Ok. But don’t you feel those things when you . . . create?’

Holly hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. At least she used to.

‘Well, there you go then,’ Jack said, leading the way to the next room. There weren’t any other people in this one, just three sculptures.

‘You’re acting like you’ve won that argument, but you haven’t,’ Holly whispered behind him, feeling even more need to be quiet now they were on their own.

‘You’re just being stubborn,’ Jack whispered back.

‘And you’re being—’

‘Go on,’ he said, and she didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling. ‘What am I being?’

But before she could answer, he turned into her and she stumbled, backing up towards the wall. Her heart gave a huge lurch – at the unexpectedness of it, the speed of the move, and his sudden closeness. She took another step back, and of course she managed to nearly fall into the nearest sculpture.

She righted herself, resting her hands behind her on the white, cool wall to stay steady. ‘You’ll make me trip if you keep that up!’ she said, her voice a tad too breathless to be properly scolding.

Jack raised one eyebrow. ‘There’s nothing to trip over.’

‘That’s beside the point.’

He was smirking slightly as he looked down at her, as he reached out and placed his hands either side of her shoulders on the wall, boxing her in. ‘Go on,’ he repeated. ‘You never said. What I am being?’

‘Ah . . .’

Jesus, could her heart just calm down? There was no reason for it to be overreacting like this – none at all. But despite herself, she couldn’t stop looking at his mouth, curved into a little smile, barely a breath away from hers. How did he do this? Turn from all calm and affable one minute to . . . well, this, the next.

She cleared her throat. ‘Inappropriate. You’re being inappropriate.’

His smirk only grew bigger.