Page 93 of Counting Down To You

“If you’re up for it,” he begins, a little hesitantly, “I’d like to try to get to know you again.”

I hesitate, then shrug. “We can try, I suppose.” I don’t know if it will be fixable, between us, or if we will ever find our way back to each other. But maybe we don’t need to. Maybe trying to move forward, to find space for each other in whatever capacity that might be, is enough. For now, I do my best to channel my inner Robyn and lighten the mood. “I’m pretty great, to be fair. I’d like to get to know me too.”

He smiles. “Now that I’m sure of.” He spears a piece of eggplant.

“James?” He pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to start building a relationship that was almost fractured entirely. But it wasn’t, I tell myself. Not completely. “It’s good,” I say eventually, “to see you again.”

He smiles—a real, warm smile. “You too.”

And while he chews his eggplant—and tells me that it is possibly the best eggplant he has ever eaten in his life—I pick up my phone.

I reread the message from Leo.

If I come to London, will you see me?

I don’t want to regret never talking to him again. I don’t want to end things the way they did, even if I know they do have to end. I want to understand why he lied, want to know how much of what was between us was real. And if I can survive a dinner with my brother and come out of it the other side, then I can get through one more conversation with Leo.

Yes, I type back. If you come to London, I’ll see you.

Chapter

29

I meet Cal on the Strand, right outside Somerset House. London is bustling with Christmas madness, so I stand out of the way, near to the archway. The air is crisp and cold, making me grateful that I did at least bring my most reliable winter coat back from Châtel, given I was wearing it in Paris. Cal smiles when he sees me, his hat pulled down over his blond hair.

He pulls me into a hug under the archway, and I breathe in the faint smell of tobacco and mint. He lets go and eyes me critically. I try not to squirm. I still haven’t told him what happened or why I’m back. But, all credit to him, he doesn’t immediately ask me about it—or lecture me about coming home earlier than planned and leaving the job he pulled strings to get for me.

Instead, he says, “I can’t believe it’s only been a few weeks.”

“Tell me about it.” It feels almost impossible that I only left London at the beginning of December, given what’s happened since then.

He hooks his arm through mine as we walk across the cobblestones and into the courtyard of Somerset House, the pale stone of the grand building bright against the winter sunlight. As happens every winter, the courtyard has been transformed into an ice rink. There is an enormous, gorgeously decorated Christmas tree at one end of it, the opposite side to the Georgian building, which looks a little like a minipalace. Music thrums across the courtyard, blending with the sound of the scrape of skates on ice. Around the rink is pop-up undercover seating and places to grab hot food and drinks—and it’s there that Cal is leading me now.

As he does, I surreptitiously check my phone, but there is no message from Leo. I try not to feel anxious about the fact he’s not messaged since early this morning. I told him I was going to Somerset House today, and that if he still wanted to talk we could arrange to meet. I was expecting him to suggest a time and place, or to let me know when he’d booked a flight.

Instead, he’d come back with: What time?

Probably around 2pm.

But since then, hours ago, nothing. So I went ahead with my plan to meet Cal, refusing to sit around waiting for Leo.

“So, do you want to tell me all about it?” Cal asks. “Or do you want to go down the denial route? I’m good with either, as long as hot chocolate is involved.”

“God, I don’t know.” I shove my phone back into my coat pocket and sigh. “Can we start with denial and distraction and go from there?”

“You bet.” He pauses. “Does Farah know you’re back?”

“I haven’t told her.” I place the slightest emphasis on “I.”

“Well, I haven’t, either.” He pats my elbow. “I know how to keep a secret, my friend.”

We head into the covered seating area next to the rink. “She hasn’t replaced me or anything, has she?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. Dragged a girl in off the street yesterday, got her to sit at your desk, make a few calls, said ‘you’ll do’ and that was that.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe I should offer to come back sooner.”

Cal scoffs. “What, and sit with me and do absolutely fuck all while we wait for the new-year rush?” He gestures toward the rather long queue at the pop-up bar, and I nod. We both get in line.