Page 34 of When London Snow Falls

Jasmine continues to look out at the floor as another rush begins. She purses her lips, seemingly in deep contemplation.

Muttering under my breath, I turn from the till once I’ve handed the latest customer their receipt. “Jas?”

Jasmine nods out at the crowd. “I think you’ve got business, Charlie.”

“Of course we’ve got business. There’s a queue nearly to the door. So, kindly hurry up. Please and thanks.”

“That’s not what I mean. Settle down, cowboy.”

Scowling, I follow her gaze. “Oh, fucking hell.”

Right in front of me, next up in the queue, is Ben.

As usual, he wears an irresistibly soft jumper, this one with alternating pale gray and charcoal stripes and a black V-neck collar that gives a peek at the hollow at the base of his throat. Something I wouldn’t mind investigating with my mouth anywhere but here. He’s in a moss-green wool hat, his bleached fringe brushed across his brow, and the usual colorful scarf and leather jacket.

Ben’s beautiful as ever. And…unsmiling, his jaw set.

I gulp.

Shit.

So much for my twenty-four hours of careful denial. Ben’s missing his usual spark. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders are slumped as he considers me.

The man’s turned up days early. If he had the sense to keep to the usual routine of when we see each other, I’d be safely away in Wales, and he’d probably be off doing whatever he did at the holidays.

“Maybe you should go on a break.” Jasmine hovers by my side, hesitant. Finally, she shows signs of filling the food order. “Lars and I will cover. You’re nearly done for the day anyway.”

Swallowing hard, I ignore her, fixed on Ben.

He doesn’t say anything, apparently caught in the same awkward moment that I’m drowning in.

“Americano?” I ask in a whisper. “I, er, hear the brioches are delicious.”

Ben purses his lips slightly, searching my eyes.

“On the house.”

He sighs, shakes his head, and walks away.

Fuck. I’ve hurt him.

So much for slipping away being the light escape for both of us. Clearly, we need to talk about this. Except I’m absolutely terrible about discussing my feelings, quite possibly the last man in England qualified to talk about them. Especially when I shouldn’t have any, since it’s only been a couple of encounters.

But…he’s more than a couple of encounters. A lot more. Already. And…if he’s upset, maybe he feels like it’s something more too?

What have I done?

“Hey! Wait.” Hurriedly, I pull off my apron and trail him outside into the snowy cold like we had done before, pre-stockroom shenanigans. Except that had been magic and this…this is all my fault.

“Wait. Please.”

Ben stops in the middle of the pavement. It’s a long moment before he turns to look at me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ben. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I would’ve left you a note, but then I thought maybe you wouldn’t be able to read it, especially with my terrible writing, and this is all definitely my fault. Not yours. I should have left my number but I thought it was a one-time thing and—”

I stop to gulp air as my eyes sting.It’s not everything. Shit, Charlie. Say something to make it better.“Sometimes I can’t think straight, and—and I just have to get away. And breathe. And I guess I’m still breathing, so that’s a win? Why am I still talking?” Oh my God, I’m standing in the street rambling and making a scene. My mother would die to see my display of emotion out in public for anyone walking past to see. The words won’t stop till blood rushes in my ears and my face burns and the world spins.

That much is true. I can’t say to him to look me up when I’m forty instead. That’s going to lead to a lot more talking and there’s no way that it can work out. Not with him living large as a rocker and me as a dad, even if my little girl’s in another country. I’ve got to put her first, even so.

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