Page 13 of His Until Christmas

“Or…” I tell my tongue tip to behave and to leave the end of my nose alone. “You could slip it into a desk drawer then slam it closed as fast as you can?”

Reece has a different suggestion. “How about sharing it with someone? Get whatever makes you sad off your chest so it doesn’t linger.”

He’s saying that for the children’s benefit.

Iknowthat.

I don’t know why it leaves me agitated or when I picked up a pot of glitter from a tray of craft supplies. All I know is that my hands twist it as he looks directly at me and makes a promise. “Your worries are worth hearing. Anyone who cares about you will want to listen, so don’t ever be afraid to tell them if you’re unhappy. Or to tell themanythingyou’re feeling.”

Don’t be afraid?

If I tell him about feelings that have stacked up one word at a time, he’ll be first in line to drive me to the airport for a role I wouldn’t have applied for if not for Gran lighting up at the prospect.

My hands twist again in agitation, that pot opening in a reminder of the only city I want to stay in—I’m covered in glitter, sparkling and silver like London is at Christmas.

Shit.

My lint roller captures some. The front of my suit still glints, a lost cause, like me as I quietly tell Rex, “I’ll head back to the office now. Say goodbye to Reece for me, will you?”

“Thanks again for wrangling Smallbone,” Rex murmurs. “See you later for dinner?”

I nod, already leaving, although I don’t make it too far.

I haven’t even reached the end of the hallway before a hand lands on my shoulder.

It isn’t one of Rex’s.

“I just upset you.” Reece is too good at this emotion business—worry is right there on his surface, like he doesn’t care who sees it. “I’d never want to kick off our new working relationship on the wrong foot. I’m sorry.” He glances back at a hallway window that offers a glimpse of children Reece was only trying to help. Perhaps that’s why I do exactly what he told them by blurting my real issue, or almost.

“We won’t have a working relationship. I mean, not in Cornwall. Because I’m leaving. And maybe relocating.”

“Relocating? To where?”

“New York. Probably.”

Here’s proof I’m no emotion expert: I can’t read him, or guess what his voice pitching this low signals. “When?”

“Early next year if my interview goes well.”

“That’s…” He swallows. “That’s soon. Does… Do Patrick and Sebastian know? Or Calum? No one mentioned it to me.” He saves the name with most impact for last. “Not even Arthur.”

Rex’s grandfather reminds me so much of my own. I shake my head, then stutter. “I-I only told Patrick and Sebastian this morning. I-I was going to message Calum later.” I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy that we’ll both be on the same side of the Atlantic. I’m less certain of the duke’s reaction.

“I’ll tell Arthur at the end of next week when he comes to town for our annual Christmas shopping trip.” I meet Reece’s eyes and make myself speak with more conviction. “I need to tell him myself.” He nods, so I keep going. “Anyway, that’s why you and I won’t have a working relationship. Because I’ll be gone. Today is probably the last time I’ll see you face-to-face.”

Reece doesn’t nod again, or shake his head either. He doesn’t move a single muscle as decorations sway above him in a reminder of the one and only time I blurred boundaries with him. He must notice my glance up. He looks up too, then stills again at what hangs directly above us.

Mistletoe.

Yes, this sprig is cut from cardboard. And it has been painted instead of being the real deal like the sprig we once stood under in a restaurant hallway. Like then, I jump again to the wrong conclusion about him pulling me closer.

He isn’t about to kiss me like I once assumed.

He’s hugging me goodbye, that’s all.

I’m getting what I asked for—a great big Trelawney cuddle—and his breath gusts warmly like it did when he met our taxi.

Sleet doesn’t chase it now.

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