Page 35 of His Until Christmas

There must be another event happening across this dark quadrangle. Classical music drifts across flagstones, sedate instead of fast and frantic, and Reece visibly decompresses until his phone pings.

“It’s Rex.” He reads a message, and his face has shown so much today—I’ve watched it slip from comfy-cosy to determined and back to gentle. This is the first time I’ve seen it crease with moonlit wonder.

He lists several big names in finance. “They all want to talk with me in the new year. About potentially making donations. Significant ones, Jack.”

I make a gentle reminder. “That’s why you’re here.”

“But I didn’t talk to any of these people.” He studies me for a long and silent moment. “How did you do it?”

I sniff. “A PA never reveals his professional secrets.” I’m also a little bit giddy to see him this relieved. So giddy that I can’t help having a little spin right here where only he can see me. I point at the door we escaped through. “More money than you can imagine is in there.” I turn with a flourish to point at him. “All you have to do is ask for what you want.”

He’s still shadowed. I’m pretty sure he smiles.

“Where’s the money, Jack?”

I spin to point at the door.

“And who needs to ask for what they want?”

I’m cackling by the time I spin to face him. It echoes, spiralling like I do again, and his laughter joins mine, only breaking off when my heel finds ice.

I slip.

It doesn’t matter.

He’s there to catch me, although him pulling me upright and then holding me close isn’t how this evening was meant to play out.

His arms around me feel right—safe, instead of constraining—and I’m flooded with more than an urge to spin again to keep him as happy as he looks now. I even go up on tiptoe, my arms around his neck before he murmurs a reminder.

“We said no repeats, Jack.”

I nod. We did.

Something inside me sinks at the thought of Reece letting me go. It also thrashes for the surface. “But wouldthistechnically be a repeat?”

He cocks an ear, listening, so I keep going. I also take a few steps while we’re still connected. “We weren’t dancing last time, were we?”

“No, we weren’t. You’re right.” I don’t need to see his smile to hear it. “This is completely different and not at all the same.”

Music plays, ice sparkles, and Reece says, “How about you lead? I’m happy to follow.” So that’s what we do—we spin in slow circles when he could be inside making more contacts.

That’s okay.

I’ll make more for him tomorrow.

Right now, both of us are too busy waltzing, and if we kiss again as we do it?

Only the stars and moon can see us.

9

I get backto business the next morning, although part of me spins in slow circles all the way to work. I don’t even huff at the usual crush of commuters, their numbers swollen by seasonal shoppers and rucksack-wearing tourists who squash me. Instead, I replay a conversation that travels with me on the Circle line. Today the Tube train wheels singI don’t know how to strike a balance.

It’s so easy for me to fix that problem for Reece.

I do it by sending SOS emails to fundraising professionals. I mention the children more money could help if Reece knew how to raise it and how their expertise could make all the difference. These are busy people, but seeing his forehead furrows lessen when one agrees to meet with him early next year makes reaching out worth it.

Those furrows deepen in a hurry again when guests arrive after lunchtime, but I’m okay with seeing this brand of concern on him. It’s aimed at the kids who didn’t make it to the community centre. He’s grateful I invited them here with their families, if a touch worried. “It’s so good to see them, but they can’t have the cash to burn on travelling in and out of Zone One.”

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