Page 51 of His Until Christmas

“Let me see.” I shift my chair even closer and get busy categorising. Then I do a bit of ranking. Man, I do love organising, but there’s no denying there are more toys here than I can squeeze out of Rex’s dog-treat budget.

One of our tablemates pays attention.

“Hey, whatareyou guys doing?”

This tourist seems friendly enough, so I tell him. I also show him the foundation website on my phone, and, in the same way that a lock screen convinced a librarian of my credentials, an image of Reece manning a lifeboat on the homepage does the same for someone else new to Britain.

The next image has even more impact—Arthur and Rex might not look too alike on the surface, but sharing the same blood means they both have regal bearing.

“My employer, Lord Heligan, and his grandfather, his Grace, the Duke of Kara-Enys.”

“A real duke?”

“The realest, with his very own castle on a private island off the coast of Cornwall.” This tourist is so interested that an idea stirs. I test it by saying, “That’s where the foundation is based. We’ve been busy all week long planning fundraising events like parties and dinners. With the duke.”

“A dinner with a duke?” My new transatlantic friend pulls out a credit card. “How much for a ticket?”

A ripple effect spreads, more tourists crowding out table, and I glimpse Reece grinning. I bet he’s imagining Arthur’s horror at being invaded, so I clarify ASAP. “We’re only in the early planning stages, but the duke is always extremely grateful for any donations to his foundation.” I pick up a Post-it and get busy making work for a future PA. “He’ll absolutely send a personalised thank-you letter to anyone who donates to our toy fundraiser.”

Reece’s smile doesn’t widen exactly. It coalesces into something I don’t have a name for but have seen on him before.

Before?

He’s looked at me like this so often.

I saw the same smile last Friday in a hallway when I spun on marble flooring. His eyebrows rise again now, sayingdon’t stopwithout words, so I keep going, only this time, I spin around to find a chair to stand on, and his eyes twinkle. I see that as clearly here as I did under courtyard stars where he told me I could lead if I wanted, he was happy to follow. I trust he meant it as I lead again now with what feels like the whole of London staring.

“What am I bid for”—I squint at a sticky-note, and take a best guess—“one speedboat?”

Reece laughs, his grin a mirror of my lock screen, a look a complete stranger interpreted as love, and one that I…

Want to believe in.

My throat was tight earlier. Now I roar, “Who will start the bidding?” and Patrick was right. Icanfly when I’m ready.

I fucking soar with Reece watching, and I couldn’t have guessed the foundation PayPal would swell this quickly or that a bidding war would break out, every last toy purchased.

I raise a final sticky-note wish in triumph before handing it over to the winner, but all I see is Reece, who offers me a hand down. I find his hand again outside the pub when I’m done collecting names and addresses.

He squeezes my fingers, oblivious to passing people. Then he straightens my scarf with fingers too slow for this fast-paced city. He tells me, “You’re amazing,” and I’m not done flying. Or leading.

I tug him in the wrong direction for purchasing gifts for Christmas.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

If I’ve got less than twenty-four hours left with him, I can’t waste a single one on shopping.

Kensington isquickest to get to.

I stride past tall, white-painted townhouses worth millions, but Reece matching me step for step is worth more than a whole row of them. Seeing his pride and admiration at what we made happen means I almost skip all the way there. I’d definitely twirlif I was done with soaring, and not only because my phone keeps buzzing with texts from Rex. I don’t need to read hiswtf, Jackquestions. I’ll explain where that new flood of cash came from later.

I’m pretty sure Reece and I are on the same page about what will happen when the front door closes between us and London.

I don’t need to hear him say so to know it. Two men who have spent years seeing and saying without thinking don’t need conversation, not after sending and receiving so many versions ofwishandwantto each other.

If I unlocked my phone right now, that’s exactly what I could show him—me wishing for more than a text-based friendship, and him wanting the same. Now we both want something involving a whole lot more touching, which Reece tests in the hallway once I get the front door of the townhouse open.

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