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“I do.” Frances grinned, gliding to the gap in the barrier. “It’s the same as mine,” she added, turning abruptly, only for Lucie to bump straight into her.
“Oops,” Lucie said, sliding herself back.
Frances turned quickly and stepped off the rink, her face flushing. She crossed to the bench, set her bag between her skates, and sat down.
Lucie joined her, their shoulders almost touched, making Frances want to close the gap and have some contact with her again. Resisting the urge, and the voice telling her to check her phone, she rummaged inside her bag and pulled out a flask. Lucie’s eyes lit up instantly as Frances handed her the two cups from the lid. She poured carefully, and soon, steam was curling into the cold air, carrying the faint scent of cocoa with it.
Popping the Thermos back down, Frances rummaged in her bag again.
Lucie frowned slightly. “What else have you got in there? A midnight feast?”
Frances pulled out a can of squirty cream and held it up triumphantly.
Lucie eyebrows lifted.
“I wouldn’t forget the most important part, would I?”
“You’re dangerously thoughtful, you know that?” Lucie said, watching as Frances shook the can.
She leaned forward, topping Lucie’s drink first until a soft spiral of cream covered the surface. Then she filled her own.
“There,” she said, satisfied. “Properly civilised.”
Lucie cradled the cup in her hands and took a cautious sip, cream catching on her lip. She closed her eyes briefly. “Oh, that’s good.”
Frances smiled, unable to ignore the trace of white at the corner of Lucie’s mouth. She resisted the urge to reach out and wipe it away this time, not trusting herself to stop if she did.
They sat quietly for a moment, knees almost brushing, and the world beyond the courtyard fell away.
“This,” Lucie said softly, nudging her shoulder against Frances’s, “was a very good idea.”
Frances kept her gaze on her cup as the corners of her mouth turned up. “I have them occasionally.”
Lucie wiped her lips and turned to her. “I’m glad you had this one.”
That warm, familiar tug that Lucie often stirred when she was close hit Frances low in her chest. Being right here, on a cold bench with whipped cream slowly melting into hot chocolate, was exactly where she wanted to be.
“Me too,” she said softly, tilting her head back to look at the stars. “It’s strange to think we were both born here but never met. Well. As far as we know.”
“It is,” Lucie agreed. “Gran used to bring me here all the time when I was little.”
“I would’ve been away at boarding school, then university,” Frances said. “And by the time I came back after Dad died, you must have been at university.” She said it casually, though she knew it was true from the dates on Lucie’s CV.
Lucie blew across her drink. “I used to come every day in the summer when I was older, just to climb an old oak tree.”
“The one by the village gates?”
Lucie blinked. “Yes. That’s the one.”
“I used to climb it too.”
“You’re joking.”
Frances shook her head. To think they might have clambered up the same tree, sat on the same branch years apart — two girls seeking the same escape in the same quiet corner of the estate, never knowing the other existed.
“Seems we’ve been sharing the place longer than we realised and missing each other along the way.”
“Until now.” Lucie grinned.
