Page 84 of A Winter Wish

“Lexie says she’ll help,” Ange said, as she hung up.

And that, apparently, was that. They proceeded to talk about the logistics, Ange saying she’d work out the flight and hotel and change things into Lexie’s name, and Theo letting her steer the conversation, while all the time wondering—why? Why had she agreed to help?

He could go out to Vienna, he thought, his stomach lurching a bit at the idea. Leave Harry in Belgium after a day or two, assuming it all went smoothly. Like with France, all those months ago, he could just show up, and she’d have to deal with it. Though unlike in France, this time he’d know she’d be there—so he could prepare. Could force her to talk to him.

But Ange was giving him a look. “She needs to do this alone,” she said, changing topic midflow.

He frowned and she sighed.

“Have a little faith, T-Rex.”

And when he said nothing, Ange smiled kindly.

“She still cares, Theo. She wouldn’t have said yes if she didn’t.”

“And yet, she left us.”

She left me.

Ange gave him a long look, then stood. “Come on, Harry. I’m sure there are customers waiting who need your attention.”

Harry sprang to his feet and headed toward the door.

Ange hung back for a moment, placed a hand on Theo’s arm. “You bet against her once.”

He remembered how callous he’d been then and winced.

“Maybe, this time, you ought to bet on her.”

Chapter Thirty-two

Lexie shrugged off her winter coat as she walked into the lounge. Christmas music was on in the background, the sound of Wizzard rising above the chatter and laughter of the packed bar. The lights on the Christmas tree flashed in the corner and the smell of glühwein wafted over to greet her. Almost a year ago to the day, she’d been in this exact bar when her mum had called her with the news about her dad. And here she was again, with it looking just the same, down to the same tinsel decorating the bar.

She headed over to her group of friends—a few of the same people as last year, including Mikkel, who had his arm around a new girl this year. Mikkel smiled at Lexie, and she smiled back, before sliding into a seat next to Amelie. Lexie had been welcomed back this season with open arms when she’d gotten her job on the ski lifts. The way everyone just made room for her in their lives was something Lexie had always loved about traveling—people formed quick friendships, bound together by being somewhere new. She’d expected to fall easily back into that when she’d left Bath behind, but she didn’t feel as connected as she usually did, like she couldn’t quite embrace it in the same way as she’d once done.

“How was Vienna?” Amelie asked.

“Amazing,” Lexie said truthfully. She’d loved going there, hadn’t questioned it when Ange had called her about it. She should have guessed that Theo would have been calling about work, rather than anything else, when she’d seen his name flash up on her phone. She’d shut down all possibility there, hadn’t she? But she’d panicked and stared at her phone as it’d rung out. She’d been on the verge of calling him back when Ange had rung, and it had been easier to talk to Ange anyway. She’d set up the Secret Santa between the guests, remembering that this had been Theo’s idea in the first place, and a big part of her had wished she could stay, be there on Christmas Eve to see everyone opening their presents, after accompanying them to the Christmas market. But Ange had booked the flights, and she’d done her job—she’d gotten everything set up, made everyone feel welcome, and then left them all in the local guide’s very capable hands.

Lexie’s boss here hadn’t been all too happy about her taking leave—but really, it wasn’t like she was doing anything vitally important, was it? They’d found someone else to cover her shifts. She thought perhaps that was what she was struggling with. She’d been a part of something, in the company—and now, she was back to doing temporary work, without any sense of direction or future.

A part of her had been wondering if Theo might show up unannounced, after the trick Ange had pulled at the Lemon Festival. And that, she realized, was what had been missing. She’d wanted him to be there with her, to share it—to go ice-skating with him and have him tease her for being so bad at it. She’d wanted to drink hot chocolate with him and exchange stories and laugh together. Failing that, she’d wanted to call him afterward, to tell him about it.

She’d fallen in love with him, she realized. Somewhere along the line, she’d fallen in love with him—and she hadn’t been able to fall out of it, not even by running to a ski lodge several countries away.

Amelie had moved on to talk to someone else, and Lexie got out her phone.

She opened up the chat with Theo, read the last message exchange.

Come back. Please.

I can’t. I’m sorry.

That had been months ago. She’d thought, a few times, about texting him—but what would she say? She’d closed that door, had decided it was for the best, and had been trying to move on. Only she hadn’t been able to.

She left the bar early, saying goodbye to her friends and leaving them to their drinking. She was staying in shared accommodation a little way away from the main action, so she had to get a bus to and from work. It was a standard single room with a shared bathroom and kitchen. It was fine, and she’d stayed in worse, but she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that it was a little depressing for someone her age to be staying somewhere like this—which had never bothered her before. She’d barely unpacked, so her room was bare—which was just as well, because it was too small to house much. But as with every year, there was one thing she’d gotten out. Her wish jar stood on her chest of drawers, the sequins stuck on it losing their sparkle but somehow still there.

Next to it was the letter from her dad, the envelope propped against the jar, two pieces of him side by side. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to open it. Hadn’t wanted to read his words of disappointment that she’d quit—or, maybe worse, hadn’t wanted to see that maybe he’d understand that she’d quit, because he’d quit things in his life too. And maybe she hadn’t wanted to open it because she couldn’t face reading his final words to her. It was the last connection—to the dad she’d hated, and to the dad she’d loved.