Page 49 of His Until Christmas

I never would. They’ve been sent with nothing but love on behalf of someone as fragile as Reece treated that bauble he’d cradled.

Mum:This year’s photos have been such a tonic, love.

Mum:Now she can’t wait for next Christmas!

I shove my phone deep in my pocket. More than that, I leave work before it’s even lunchtime, and if that breaks a rule in the PA handbook, I might as well rip out the page and shred it.

Can’t wait for next Christmas?

I’m not ready for this one to be over.

I could messageReece to let him know I’m on my way to gate-crash his reunion. I even pull out my phone when I’m on the Tube, only that lock-screen selfie stops me.

Reece smiles out.

I don’t.

My lock screen shows me making heart-eyes at him the same way I saw in a photo of Reece taken across a breakfast table in a castle.

He told me he regretted not making his move after that meal. Valentin got between us down in Cornwall. Lito Dixon did for a while here in London, if only in my head. Now New York looms, and I…

Don’t want it.

That truth spins in circles all the way to Hackney. So does the revolving door letting me into a library building where I roam the children’s section, looking for someone I’m not ready to say goodbye to yet.

Yet?

I won’t be any closer on Friday morning.

Reece isn’t in any of the areas with child-height shelves and seating. I can’t hear him either, which I should be able to if he’s still here telling stories.

Shit.

I missed him.

I pull out my phone to send awhere are youmessage, hoping against hope that we haven’t passed each other, because that countdown clock he mentioned?

It ticks even louder for me.

I can’t stand the thought of missing any more of his too-brief visit, and that’s what I need to tell him.

“Can I help you?”

I whip around to see someone a Kensington mirror already showed me—this young librarian is just as fierce and protective as me, and I guess I don’t blame his suspicion. I’m even less neat and tidy now than when I got to work this morning, and prowling this children’s section can’t have done me any first-impression favours.

“I- I’m looking for someone.” I dodge a toddler to approach him. “Reece Trelawney, from the Safe Harbour Foundation? He should be here for a storytelling session, but I can’t find him.”

He glances at another area of the library where blinds block the view into glass-walled meeting rooms. There’s no way to see inside them, and something also shutters in this librarian’s eyes when I head in that direction. He steps between me and gets even fiercer. “Stop. I can’t let just anyone in. Anyway, they don’t have long left.”

I don’t imagine many people want to gate-crash a refugee reunion, but I spy the titleassistantwritten belowIsaacon this mistrustful librarian’s name badge, so I get it. I share the same job title, which involves guarding time as well as people. “It’s okay. I’m with him.” I fish out my phone to prove I work for the foundation and that I made this booking.

This assistant doesn’t look. He still blocks my way, his chin lifting. “Anyone could say that. I can’t let anyone interrupt. Especially after Mr. Trelawney got here late.”

Late?

He left in plenty of time.

The librarian isn’t finished. “He only has another half hour booked. These kids…” His fierceness melts. “They don’t ask for much, or get it. Let them have the rest of their story, yeah?” Isaac’s gaze lands on my phone, and his whole demeanour changes. “Oh. You meant you’rewithhim. Sorry.” He’s wistful when he adds, “Nice pic.”

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