Page 11 of His Until Christmas

Reece flashes a smile my way. “You do. I’ve heard it, just like this.” He hams up what sounds suspiciously close to Rex’s laughter whenever I call him an email-avoidant dipshit. He’s got that Heliganhur hur hurdown pat, and I can’t help grinningwhen the interpreter repeats it. So do some of the kids, and like dominos toppling, it sets off ahur hur hurchain reaction.

“Amazing,” Reece says over their giggles. “Happy is exactly how Jack makes Lord Heligan sound every single day they work together. It’s a very important part of his job. Now, I wonder if anyone can show me what happy looks like?” He squints for a moment at a sea of smiling faces, mine included, where he lingers. “Perfect,” he says softly before refocusing on the children. “I bet Lord Heligan would like to keep some of your smiles just in case Jack isn’t around one day and he has a sad moment.”

My smile drops quicker than Rex’s pants in a Horse Guard barracks.

Not because I think Rex has spilled my leaving beans earlier than I wanted. I sag because Reece is only telling the truth.

Fuck, Rex is going to be sad, isn’t he?

Here’s the real kicker.

I will be too, won’t I?

If Reece notices me acknowledge that, he doesn’t show it. He’s too busy tapping a finger to his lips like he’s thinking hard about a problem. “I wonder how we could remind Lord Heligan about being happy if he has a sad day?” He also nudges a tray filled with crayons, and I take the hint.

I get down on the floor beside him. “Could the children draw being happy on some of these, maybe?”

See, a sticky-note obsessioncanbe useful.

I pass out limited edition squares of puppy-bordered paper, and, before I know it, Reece gathers together a selection of crayoned smiley faces, plus a silly cross-eyed face from me. I snatch that one back, and draw a proper smiley on the reverse, then I draw a heart around it, because Rex does have a huge one.

Reece takes it. “Perfect,” he murmurs again. “You all are,” he says more loudly, the pad of his thumb smudging the heartI crayoned. “Thank you. All of these smiles will be a great reminder to be happy if Lord Heligan ever needs one. Now, here is something for all of you.” He hands out smiles he’s drawn for each of these children who didn’t ask to wash up in Britain. “You can keep these in your pocket. Know that it’s there for you, just like Safe Harbour will always be here for you all. Because it can be hard to be happy when you’re somewhere new and it seems like everyone else is celebrating, can’t it?” He glances at the Christmas tree in the corner of this room and taps his lips again. “It can even be lonely. I wonder what other Christmas feelings we could draw together?”

Hands shoot up, and don’t ask me how it happens, but before I know it, the children are in groups having a little emotion-drawing contest the interpreter helps with.

These kids already knowscaredandfrightened. They’ve all livedlostandlonely. Today they addsafeandlovedto that list, along withhopeful, which Rex must read from the doorway.

“Fabulous work.”

He crouches to look through their little drawings, fingertip lingering over one I crane my neck to see. He’s found an image showing worry, and he does what comes so easily it must be coded into Heligan DNA. Rex seeks out who drew it and lets them know they don’t have to be alone with that scary feeling.

This is what he’s built for.

This.

I’d never tell him that or his head might swell too much to fit inside his helicopter, but he really is a knight whose shining armour is wasted in the world of banking.

Protect more billionaire fortunes?

This is worth more to him.

Rex looks through some more of the children’s drawings and laughs at my cross-eyed contribution.

“Jack drew that.” Reece flips it over to show Rex what I also drew on the reverse, and Rex’s eyes gleam, the sentimental wotsit.

“Thank you,” he tells me hoarsely, and something bubbles up inside that I can’t let spill in public. I guide Rex to the rear of the room and choke this out instead of doing something stupid like taking back my notice.

“How did you get on with Smallbone?”

“Terribly,” he mutters. He also huffs out the kind of gusty sigh that means he lost his cool and regrets it. “He still won’t confirm the donation from his bank. It isn’t even his money, so I don’t know why.”

I do.

“He wants you to beg for it.”

Rex huffs as children he had a hand in saving share their feelings, then shares one of his own with me. “I hate that. Having to get on my knees for someone like him.” He swallows, his turn to sound as gritty as the carpet. “But I will. For them.”

I bow my head over what is left of my first Christmas gift of the season, shuffling and sorting, and it only takes a minute to come to at least one decision I can stick to. I don’t even care if my tongue pokes out while I’m thinking—there’s only Rex watching, and this is more important than my face and throat feeling hot and blotchy. I don’t even think about all thoseha ha, losercomments. I’m too busy coming up with a solution for him.

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