I feel a little bit sick at the thought of unwanted feelings in the workplace, ones that replay each time I relive a Christmas kiss between me and Reece that was more of a near miss than the real deal. That was my first year in London, when I knew nothing apart from Gran’s stories of finding her Prince Charming in a weeklong romantic whirlwind. Almost three years of hindsight mean I know Reece actually tried to dodge making mouth-to-mouth contact with me, then was super kind about it. We’ve built what feels like a real friendship one word at a time since, so adding more distance, not less, had been my plan to preserve it.

I only meant to move desks in London. Maybe up a floor at the bank, or along the hallway from my current office. Adding an extra three and a half thousand miles across the Atlantic only came up after I mentioned to Gran that a partner from the NYC office had reached out. Her eyes lit up for what felt like the first time since we lost Gramps, and I’ll do pretty much anything for more of that brightness for her.

Now the whole Atlantic wouldn’t be enough distance to avoid Rex’s eyes lighting up the same way as Gran’s did, only my boss’s eyes gleam at the sight of Reece pulling me into a squishy cuddle.

“Jack.” Reece’s murmur is a warm gust that should chase away my sleet-induced shivers.

It doesn’t.

“Jack,” he repeats, as if my name is his all-time favourite. Which is silly. My phone is full of reminders of his extensive vocab—words I’ve needed to look up before responding. The four letters spelling my name shouldn’t sound like a revelation. They do all over again when he breathes my name for a third time. “Jack, it’s been too long. You haven’t come down to Cornwall in forever.”

I shiver even harder and squeak out my usual excuse. “London is life!”

He’s such a textbook Trelawney; his hug shows no sign of stopping. Reece inhales so deeply his lungs must go all the way down to his ankles, and his happy hum rumbles right the way through me. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you yet.”

I wriggle free. “Yet?”

“I mean before tonight.” A small frown flickers across Reece’s comfy-cosy features. “At dinner? You do all still have dinner on the first Friday of the month, don’t you? Thought I’d surprise you then.” That flickery frown deepens, his forehead a worried concertina. “Me turning up would have been a good surprise, yes?”

The best.

Also the worst.

I look around him for the reason, searching the school playground. “And will Valentin be eating with us?”

“Valentin?”

Reece shrugs and gives me a second early Christmas present.

“I haven’t seen him since September.”

Rex isn’t assurprised as me. I see it in those aristocratic eyebrows rising and, after years of watching him in meetings, I translate that with no problem.What did I tell you?But Valentin’s absence doesn’t change anything else, does it? Even if Reece is actually single, I’m still not going to pull a Lito Dixon the moment we’re alone in a shared office.

Make him feel as trapped as I did?

I’d swim the Atlantic to stop that from happening.

Reece must mistake my shudder for another sleet-induced shiver. He slings a heavy arm across my shoulders and shepherds me across a community centre car park to an entrance where a social worker meets us. She talks Rex through the plan for this visit—a quick catch-up with kids Reece has already spent time doing his play therapy thing with, then both of them will meet with the kids’ parents or carers. As she explains that to Rex, Reece asks me a quiet question.

“You staying for both sessions?”

“No. I need to get back to the office.”

“But you’ll definitely make it to dinner?” He steers me to an alcove off the hallway before I can answer. “I did wonder if you already guessed I’d be here today after…” He slides out his phone, giving it a little wiggle.

I pull out my own and find our daily chat thread. “That’s why you sent this to me this morning?”

“Yes.” He ducks his head, standing close enough that the sleet darkening his golden-blond hair drips onto my phone screen. The wordLondonblurs under that water droplet. So does my resolve for distance when he rubs it away. He’s got suchgood hands—square and solid, careful and oh-so steady. I’m the opposite of steady as soon as he says, “I wanted to see you.”

“Me?” I wheeze so hard he must think I’m asthmatic. “Why?”

“Because you emailed the foundation restructure agreement to me.”

Oh.

“Yes. Yes, of course. But you?—”

“Could have signed it in Cornwall? I know. I almost did. I just wanted to check in with?—”