Page 6 of His Until Christmas

“Pah.” Rex usually saves sounding dismissive for Lito or Smallbone. Apparently, Valentin has joined their ranks. “He’d only consider helping if a big enough audience was watching. That’s the only reason he spent time with Reece. To video rescues, Jack, not to get up close and personal.”

I’m not so sure about that, but I flick my lint roller over Rex’s sweatshirt one last time as he chunters under his breath about a man who was rude to me the one and only time he tagged along on one of Reece’s rare city visits. Valentin probably didn’t meanto be condescending about what he found me doing. Rex isn’t as forgiving.

“Why do you think he videoed you sorting through your sticky-note collection? Do you really believe he did it because he noticed what I do whenever you have an organising session? Or do you think he videoed it because he wanted to laugh at you in front of his three subscribers?”

“Three subscribers? Try three hundred thousand.” Theirha ha,losercomments took me straight back to my school days.

I’m not sure how Rex makes that tinkly bell in his Santa hat sound angry. “The only three people Valentin Juno cares about are me, myself, and I. He wanted you to feel small.”

“I am small.” My lack of height never usually bothers me. I don’t know why I squirm even lower in my seat to admit this. “At least that video means I don’t stick my tongue out anymore when I’m concentrating.” Nothing like seeing your tongue tip almost touch the end of your nose in high definition to break that habit—one I got to see in a video also highlighting that my flush isn’t pretty.

The cab draws closer. So do I, but only towards Rex to revisit what else he mentioned. I ask this quietly, sure the heat clambering up my throat right now is as ugly as YouTube showed me, but I have to know this. “Whatdoyou notice when I’m having a Post-it sorting session?”

Rex isn’t only a nightmare. He isn’t just a handsome devil either. He’s entirely too soft for the cutthroat world of finance, or at least his voice is.

“I notice that you’re trying to solve a problem for me, Jack. That’s why I never, ever disturb you when I see you setting out all of your stacks in size and colour order. And it’s why I always keep my eyes open for these whenever I travel.” He rummages in his pocket before dropping something else from my Christmas wish list onto my lap.

This packet of sticky notes is bordered with cute puppies.

“Limited edition,” he says gruffly. “Picked them up in New York. Merry Christmas, you ship-jumping traitor.”

“My first present of the year. Thank you.” And it will probably be my last. I’m pretty sure I’ll only get coal from Santa for wanting the answer to my next question to be yes. “Do you…” My gaze darts to the man still waiting for our cab to pull up. “Do you happen to know if Reece came up to town on his own?”

Rex isn’t stupid. “You mean, did he bring the not at all attention-hungry Valentin with him?” He lets out a very Heligan harrumph as the cab reaches the school gates. “I’m not sure, but Reece knows our children mustn’t be used to boost anyone’s viewing figures.”

Reece crossing the playground to meet us all on his own seems like confirmation.

Rex straightens his Santa hat, ready to get out, but not before admitting, “Plus, I think Valentin’s been busy lately.” He eyes Reece approaching and quickly adds, “Be a damn shame if a second pod of orcas tried to sink another boat with him aboard it.”

At least I won’t be alone in getting coal for Christmas, or in going to hell for letting out a cackle, but killer whalesareto blame for a meet-cute that only a masochist would watch over and over on Valentin’s YouTube channel.

Okay, it’s me.

I’m that weak-willed person.

In my defence, my view count can’t be the sole reason that rescue video went viral. Plenty more people watched Reece pull Valentin clear of apex predators that could have tried a whole lot harder in my opinion.

If they had lived up to their killer reputation, I wouldn’t have seen Reece clutch tight someone the exact opposite of me—anactual socialite invited to every party, not the hired help who only gets to peer through ballroom doorways.

Not that I’m jealous of his social standing. A few years in private banking only proved that money does not bring out the best in people. Regardless, I shouldn’t care. What I should be is professional. Only that’s a real struggle when Reece yanks open the cab door and says, “Jack, it’s you,” like I’m the one and only item on his own wish list.

Of course, I’m a complete twat, so I breathe, “Yes, itisme,” like the oblivious idiot in one of Gran’s favourite rom-coms who doesn’t realise he has no hope of snagging the lead. I can’t help being breathless, and not because Reece is better looking than a movie hero or more handsome than either of his brothers.

He isn’t.

I mean, yes, he’s a walking, talking reminder of two of my favourite people on the planet, but one of his brothers has a six-pack sculpted by pro ice time and the other has biceps built by a gym-based career and a protein powder addiction. Reece doesn’t have either of their physiques, but I also don’t get anything like this pitter-pattering behind my ribs whenever Calum tries to teach me to skate or I walk into my kitchen to find Patrick doing yoga in his undies.

If anything, Reece is a more rumpled edition of the Trelawney blueprint. I don’t mean his body is like the saggy sofa in my house share. I have no idea what’s hiding under that twin of Rex’s sweatshirt printed with theSafe Harbourlogo. I just mean that he doesn’t take up space like they do. I’m not sure how Reece actually makes space for other people to sink into, but no wonder children share their secrets with him.

Having the same warm smile aimed directly at me?

It’s like waking up to find out Christmas has come early. It’s just my luck that Santa stuffed a stocking with gifts meant for another person.

That’s how it feels to know Valentin gets to wake up to all of Reece instead of to the single-word breadcrumb I receive every morning. Or that Ididreceive every morning, apart from a weird week in September when Reece went radio silent. I hated those seven days so much it scared me into getting real about my future. That’s why I’m stopping this stupid heartsick spiral before he, or either of his brothers, realise I’m as bad as Lito Dixon.

End up making things awkward between all three of them because I want what Reece doesn’t?

Nope.

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