Page 47 of His Until Christmas

I’m not talking about us getting naked.

He made himself bare first, didn’t he, in a store full of toys and baubles.

Now that I think about it, he’s been busy showing me who he is for way longer than this sole working week together. He’s done it for years, every morning, and he did it last night too by giving me choices outside this bedroom. I guess that’s because someone crowded me once. Reece isn’t that person, so I didn’t take him up on his offer to sleep in Pat’s room or to go back to Rex’s. We spent the whole night sharing my pillow, and I slept like a fucking baby.

Now I can’t wait to see him.

If there’s a world record for rolling out of bed in a hurry, I break it, and so what if I brush my teeth even faster, and bypass my comb and hair gel. I can get neat and tidy later. Right now, the only firm hold I want is from the man I find reading his brother’s affirmations in my kitchen.

Reece turns to see me in the doorway, and something inside me rises, so maybe Patrick wasn’t wrong to chalkyou can flyon that blackboard. Even if hisyou get to choose your own directionwas optimistic, it’s Patrick who I mention while I’m still in the doorway. “You really asked your brother if I was seeing anyone?”

Reece sounds extra Cornish this morning. His voice is a reminder of seawater shushing against pebbles. “I needed to know, and Pat’s incapable of lying. I just forgot that he also doesn’t do nuance.” His smile turns sheepish, and that, coupled with his arms opening, is a hell of a way to start my morning.

I have myself a warm and cosy cuddle that comes with another gravelly confession. “Couldn’t stop thinking I’d missed my chance, so I asked him again in September.” He lets me go to chalk an affirmation of his own to the board.

omg hurry tf up why r u so slow

I snort. “That’s really what Patrick told you?”

“Came from Pat’s phone. Pretty sure he didn’t write it. Or this.” He chalks again.

Fuck no. I was saving Jack for my great big bi reveal. Keep your hands off.

“Calum.”

It isn’t every day I start off with a cuddleandacackle, but I’m not complaining. I also don’t complain when our elbows knock during a shared breakfast.

I’m the one who pushed my stool too close to his, but right now,too closeandReecedon’t fit in the same sentence. Maybethat’s what comes from all the space he offered last night. I do manage to form a question around a mouthful of toast. “You really think they’d be okay with?—”

“What we did last night?” Reece swivels to face me, no avoiding this warm eye contact. “I’m not about to tell those nosy fuckers the details, but I do know they love you.” He studies me so closely that I wonder if I dribbled in my sleep, and he noticed.

ha ha?—

“They’re right to,” he murmurs. “Last night meant so much to me.”

I nod. It did to me as well, only he doesn’t mean what we did together as tree lights flickered and we were naked. I guess he’s talking about sharing a childhood worry with me that only angels witnessed. He’s quiet all over again now, with no one but me to hear another bittersweet confession.

“The best part of my work is when kids share their worries, you know? The ones they hide because they’ve seen their family hurting and don’t want to be the cause of more. I had no idea I’d…”

“Slid a worry of your own away in a desk drawer?”

“Exactly. It’s wild what brains hang onto, isn’t it? I could buy Mum any tree ornament under the sun and she’d love it.” He huffs gently. “You wouldn’t believe how many of my kids believe they’re to blame for their family situations. That warfare didn’t blow up their lives.Theydid somehow.”

I should be getting ready for work. Nudging this drawer further open for him feels more important. “Go on. I’m listening.”

Reece sips tea before saying, “Those little-kid beliefs turn into shadows that get darker each time they feel like they can’t mention what upsets them.” His gaze drifts to the blackboard. “To start with, letting in light can hurt. Can make you blink. Covering your eyes to protect them makes sense, right?”

I nod. There’s plenty I haven’t wanted to examine under a spotlight lately.

“That’s textbook avoidance. You know what the sun can actually do to shadows when it’s at its highest?” He demonstrates by closing a gap between his thumb and forefinger. “It can shrink them. Doesn’t matter how it happens. Whether you play those shadows away or draw them. Or whether you play a game of see-word-say-feeling. That’s how life stories can get rewritten.”

I nod as if I know that.

I also squirm on my stool and rub away goose bumps which shouldn’t rise when I’m sitting this close to a Trelawney-shaped radiator, but I shiver again when he adds this.

“I should have done some of that with Mum much sooner.” Here’s a soft snort, which is more forgiving than dismissive. It’s wild how easily he does that—how he lets go and doesn’t blame his past self for not being perfect. He even chuckles.

“I tucked two bad Christmases away somewhere dark where no one else could see them. Kinda explains why this time of year always makes me uneasy.” He rubs away goose bumps of his own. “And it explains how come I always hesitate before walking through my own family’s front door each December. And why I can’t stop hearing a mental clock ticking towards Friday evening.”

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