Page 11 of We Three Kings

‘You’ve unleashed the Bublé,’ he says.

‘It’s December. It is permitted to let him out.’ I start to sing along with the song, tying my hair into a scrappy bun so I can get down to business. Leo watches me curiously, maybe because I am not great at holding a tune.

‘So did you really carry that tree on the Tube this morning?’ Leo asks me as he sticks one of his paper garlands to the corner of the room and considers the ceiling tiles carefully so he can festoon it properly.

‘I did,’ I say proudly, getting it out of the box and piecing it together. ‘I got looks, and one commuter called me out for the space I was taking up, but I did.’

‘You’re committed to Christmas then,’ he says.

I look up as he stretches his arms above his head to attach the garland, revealing a slice of his stomach, just above the waistband of his jeans. I quickly avert my gaze. I’m not sure why. In the summer, when it gets super hot in here, Jasperhas been known to sit in his chair topless. But since our Mexican Christmas outing, things feel like they’re changing with Leo. I find I’m hyper-aware of more stolen glances over monitors, more coffee breaks together, more laughter over ridiculous IT requests. It’s weird, but I find I look for him more in the room, and an excitement overwhelms me when he arrives at work.

‘I am committed to joy. I think Christmas makes people happy,’ I explain. ‘And I feel it’s my job as your manager to keep you guys happy.’

‘Well, you do a good job,’ Leo says as he stares at the ceiling, unaware he’s passed me a compliment that makes me smile to myself.

‘And you also seem to have the same enthusiasm…with the crafting and all of that,’ I smirk.

‘That’s growing up with a crafty mum and two older sisters. Christmas for me is all about the glitter, my mum making wreaths and homemade mince pies. It’s very homely.’

‘It sounds perfect,’ I tell him.

‘You’ll find out in a few weeks,’ he says, almost teasing me by not saying anymore.

It is, however, of huge intrigue to me to be spending time with each of my three workmates, to be finally putting faces to the random names that have cropped up in conversation. In superhero terms, it’s like I’ll be able to understand each of their origin stories. I drag the tree over to the corner of the room by the coffee machine and start to untangle the lights, reaching up to try and attach the first bulb to the top of the tree.

‘Hold up there, shortie.’ I hear Leo jumping off the stepladder and he comes over, our hands brushing as he takes the light from me and attaches it with ease to the top.

I am very conscious of his body leaning over mine. ‘How tall are you?’ I spurt out.

‘Six foot. You’re what…five three?’ heguesses.

‘Five three and a half actually,’ I jest. ‘I take offence to the term shortie in the workplace actually. It’s discrimination.’

‘Then I apologise, boss. It’s good I stayed though.’

‘Exactly. You’re better on a ladder too. Frank doesn’t have the balance.’

He laughs and it makes me feel warm inside to hear that sound. ‘Well, given I have the height, then maybe I’ll do the walkaround with the lights and you can look at the distribution, how does that sound?’ he suggests.

I pause for a moment. Is it strange that the practicality of that sentence is appealing to me? I nod, not saying a word, as he takes the lights from my hands and starts to hang them off the tree while I follow. We’re tech people, so there are always methods with us; things have to be aligned, spaced properly, none of this haphazard decorating you may see in the marketing department. I watch his face as he attaches the lights with care, looking back at me every so often. It feels nice to be bonded to him over something so simple but it’s confusing too, and I am keen to keep this unawkward so, of course, I start to sing along to the Bublé. Leo doesn’t have to say a word. The laughter tells me everything I need to know.

‘So, the Christmas plans we’ve kind of made for you…’ he tells me, I think in a bid to stop me singing. ‘We weren’t too presumptuous, were we?’

‘Not at all. I thought it quite sweet that you thought about me in that way.’

‘I just didn’t want you to be alone…’

‘Was it your idea, then?’ I ask curiously.

Leo pauses. ‘Wedidn’t want you to be alone.’

I smile. I never worry about being alone. In recent years, it’s felt better to sometimes be single than living through the kind of half-arsed, ill-advised relationships I’ve got into in the past. The killer is perhaps the loneliness. When you live in a big city like London that’s busy and heaving all the time, it can sometimesfeel like you’re a tiny fish in a massive ocean. So when other fish notice you swimming out there on your own, when they empathise and extend an invitation, it warms the cockles, shall we say.

‘Wealso wanted to show you that we appreciate you. We know how hard you work and you keep us all in line. It’s the least we could do.’

It’s difficult to know how to respond when bombarded with all these compliments. It’s very Leo. You sense he’s been raised with manners, by strong women (I’ve learned this much about him). There’s a no-nonsense attitude to him too that means you know he’s not bullshitting.

‘Well, you’re only as good as the team around you,’ I say, trying to downplay his kindness.

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