Page 8 of His Until Christmas

Rex joins us, eyeing both of our phones.

“Ah, swapping numbers?” He nods. “Good plan.”

Swapping numbers?

I flash Reece a look, asking a silent question about our daily texting habit that he must translate as easily as I did Rex’s arching eyebrows. His negative head shake is subtle enough Rex doesn’t notice. He’s too busy being swept away from us and into a meeting room across the hallway by excited children.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Reece edges closer to me in this sheltered alcove. “Listen. I wanted to check in with you about something. Talk face-to-face before signing those papers. You see, I wondered if we shouldn’t…”

More sleety drips fall. This time, one catches on his eyelashes. He brushes away that glistening diamond, but I’m hung up on the sweep of his fingers. On the feathering of lines at the corners of his eyes. His crow’s feet are deeper than either of his brothers’. He’s still only in his early thirties, so age can’t be the only reason. Those worry lines must be due to all the stories his trafficked children share with him.

I instinctively clutch my phone tighter, remembering a spate ofsad, sorry,andalonewords he sent me in early autumn, which suggests he has worried about them. And that he still carries the weight of their survival stories.

He’ll only have more to carry when his workload doubles.

It’s the worst possible time to want to help him shoulder that load, because Reece finishes what he started—what he must have caught the train all the way from Penzance to Paddington and then to Hackney to accomplish. He draws a professional line like the one I tried to by giving Rex my notice.

“Jack, if I’m going to take on a full management role with the foundation, should we stop?”

“Stop?”

I bet I look as witless now as when Valentin’s camera caught me getting busy with my collection of sticky notes.

“Yes.” Reece straightens to his full six-feet-something. “Should we stop our…”

Silly little game of word association?

He uses a different descriptor.

“Sharing?”

Reece cradles his phone as if it’s precious.

“Because we might also share an office.” He hurries to add, “When you relocate to Cornwall with Rex, I mean.”

At least this is proof that Rex hasn’t leaked the news of my leaving. Neither can have Sebastian or Patrick since this morning. I should be grateful. I’m actually a little bit sick instead at Reece hovering a finger over the chain of words we’ve spent close to three years exchanging like he’s about to delete them.

“Don’t.”

He meets my eyes. I’m not sure what his show me. I can’t read him like I can Rex. Perhaps that’s why he edges closer. Reece blocks my view of anything but him looking worried. “Listen, Jack. I really, really don’t want?—”

Me.

I know that.

I do.

I’ve built something imaginary out of nothing more than what barely counts as a Christmas kiss and my phone pingingbefore six every morning. Now it pings with a reprieve from a conversation I didn’t anticipate having under decorations pinned to the ceiling of a community hall in northeast London. That’s what I focus on after reading that new text, avoiding his eye contact by locking my gaze onto those decorations rather than on him still looking worried. Or cornered.By me, even though I’m the one with my back to the wall here.

Above me, red-nosed reindeer dance and miniature Christmas trees twirl, but it’s a cardboard cutout of mistletoe that guts me.

If my housemates were here, they would snog under those painted green leaves and white berries as quick as blinking. Mistletoe has been their thing ever since they officially became boyfriends. Now all I want to do is kiss away the worry lines worn by Patrick’s big brother, and fuck knows what that does to my expression.

Reece crowds closer. “Oh, no. Bad news?”

I slide away my phone and do what he just modelled by pulling myself up to my full five feet six and a quarter. I also get back to being professional. “No. Just something I need to warn Lord Heligan about.”

He frowns at me reverting to Rex’s formal title. “If it relates to the foundation, maybe I could deal with it for him? You do look worried.”

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