Page 29 of His Until Christmas

He’s golden to me.

Always has been.

I’m not certain the whole Atlantic could dilute my response not only to how he looks, but to what he next tells me.

“For the first time, I got to see you read one of my texts, Jack. That smile? How you reacted? I told myself I’d do more than send you a single word the next time we messaged. That I’d break the rules we both agreed on. I’d do it to test the waters—type more to you as a low-pressure way to gauge if you were interested in more than playing.” He ducks his head. “I even checked in with Pat to find out if you were seeing anyone.” His eyes rise to meet with mine. “Really hoped you weren’t, but he said you were seeing lots of people.”

“Not seriously.”

He snorts. “Pat’s so literal. I should have asked Seb.” I’m not prepared for his next confession, or for storm clouds gathering in his gaze like in some of those rescue photos. “But I got too busy.”

“Busy?”

He nods. “Because an hour after you and Rex flew back to London, I pulled Valentin from the water.”

A moment ago, my gingerbread was Christmas flavoured. Now I chew on ashes.

Fuck knows what my face does.

This café is empty apart from us. The scrape of his chair is loud as he switches seats to the one beside me, and if there are any of Ian’s photos on the walls in this room, I don’t see them. I only see the same version of Reece who steered a lifeboat out of a safe harbour. He’s determined again now. So is how he cups my jaw so I face him. “Jack, I should have asked you before that happened.” His hold on me instantly gentles. “Only I got caught up?—”

I almost expect him to sayinanew relationship.

He doesn’t.

“—in a filming production schedule Valentin said could make a real difference to kids and families. That could help publicise the foundation if I let him make a fly-on-the-wall documentary, which coincided with our busiest few months yet. He stayed with me in both France and Cornwall to record every single minute, right up until September.”

I find my voice. “What happened in September?”

“Two things. Or maybe three.” His hand slips from my jaw, and I miss the contact. I can’t miss what flickers across his face when he mentions a family member. “You know how Mum likes to plan ahead for Christmas. How she tries to schedule at least one day at home or in London where we can all eat together before she and Dad fly to the States to be with Calum.”

I do know. That’s why Patrick and Sebastian will be gone when I get home this evening. Their weeklong break will end with the same family meal on Friday that Reece will leave London to share with them. I attended one of those early Christmas meals during my first year here, which means I can nod with conviction when he says, “They’re important to Mum. So is us bringing along whoever is important to us.”

“Same.” I clear my throat. “My mum always asks if I’m bringing someone special home with me.”

“She does? That’s… That’s good.” His forehead furrows. “And have you? Taken anyone special home at Christmas?”

I shake my head, which Reece mirrors before saying, “I wasn’twithValentin. Not sure anyone could be.” Those forehead furrows deepen. “Because I’ve never met anyone as isolated. As closed off. I gave him openers. Chances to talk.” Reece shakes his head again. “The whole time he stayed at my place, he never once volunteered information about his own family. I couldn’t imagine leaving anyone alone at Christmas, so inviting him along to share ours seemed like the right thing to do. But he just shrugged when I asked him.”

Reece replicates a movement that should look charmingly French or sophisticated.

Somehow, it’s plain dismissive.

“He said I shouldn’t bank on it. By December, he’d be busy with parties and boat shows. Plus, he’d probably be done filming his rescue series way before then. Turning it into a documentary would be his first venture outside of YouTube, and if it was up for any awards, he’d call me. Only I’d need to tidy myself up if I wanted to be seen on a red carpet with him.”

My jaw drops, which must give a lovely view of gingerbread from this close up.

Reece closes it for me with the tip of a finger under my chin. He also looks confused.

With himself.

“I learned about crewing lifeboats from Dad. All of us were volunteers years before I studied psychology to understand human behaviour. I needed even more certificates to be a trauma counsellor and play therapist. I’m qualified to know how people tick, so how the fuck did I end up?—”

“Playing a bit part on the Valentin Juno show when you thought you were a co-star?”

“Co-star?” Reece actually laughs, which is better than all that sad confusion. He just as quickly sobers. “Believe me, I’m not interested in being the centre of attention. But that’s how come I sent you the wordChristmasin September while wondering how the fuck I’d let someone suck up so much of my time. Time I could have used to find out if Patrick was right about you seeing people. Do you remember what you sent back to me, Jack?”

I don’t, but he just saidChristmas, so I go with my gut feeling.

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