Page 66 of When London Snow Falls

“It’s fine. Obviously he’s into you too. And he knows you work in a café, remember?” She pats my hand encouragingly. “What would you like to do on your date? You have choices, you know.”

My immediate thought is to go into hiding. My second thought is to pull Ben tight, to kiss him till I’m sure that I didn’t imagine him or the snow that caught us together. I would kiss him till spring arrives. Till I know he’s real—and till I know we’re real together.

“Um,” I say.

And Emily nods sympathetically.

“I need a photo,” she declares.

Obligingly, I find a photo—a decent one—of Ben grinning broadly at me, his striped scarf around his neck on a snowy London street.

“Oh!” Emily sits up abruptly. “I remember him! Rumor has it that Maximus St. Pierre left his wife because of him.”

“Wait. What?” I frown. “This doesn’t make any sense. Ben told me he’s single.” And as I think back, I remember Ben saying he dated a man for a while before finding out he was married.

My eyes widen as the pieces come together. Were the headlines back in Victoria Station because his relationship was on the rocks with his wife? Or—because he misses Ben? But I shake my head. That doesn’t make sense either. Anyway, this is all speculation based on Emily’s take on rumors from entertainment news, not from anything that Ben’s said to me. Never mind all of this.

“It’s got to be fine,” Emily reassures me. “He’d have mentioned to you if something was going on, right?”

“Right,” I concede, telling my anxiety to fuck off. For now, it actually does.

“Show me another photo,” Emily insists. And I do and then we switch back to safer topics.

Whatever we say next is nothing compared to my newfound angst about living up to first-date expectations with a certain Ben Campbell. And some lingering curiosity about who Maximus St. Pierre is to Ben, exactly.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Late that night, I’m exchanging lazy texts with Ben. Maximus St. Pierre doesn’t come up. It’s just us, catching up on our holidays, and everything feels good. Em’s right. There’s nothing to worry about. Especially not any tabloid nonsense. I’m flopped on the bed in the spare room, everyone else asleep in the house but me. I’ve put Carys to bed myself, after three stories, tucked in with a mountain of stuffies and blankets arranged to her satisfaction.

Out here, the snow’s turned to rain. Soft gray skies beyond my window look to the nighttime sea. I’ve left the curtains open for the view. No one’s around to peer in but seagulls. In the day, the view’s stunning, the opposite of my house-share in London, where my room looks out on chimney pots and red-bricked terraces, stacked row upon row.

Somewhere beneath that nighttime sky, Ben’s tucked up in a Scottish bed, curled under a duvet to keep him warm. I know this because he’s already sent a sleepy selfie, but he rings me anyway on a video call.

“Hey.” Ben smiles at me, drowsy but happy. “Five more sleeps.”

“You counting down till caviar and champagne?” I tease him. “Or whatever it is we’re doing?”

“I’d settle for a kebab and kisses, to be honest.”

“Discerning palate,” I say lightly. “Good to know you’ve got reasonable expectations for a New Year’s date.”

“Nothing wrong with a good kebab.”

“Fair. Do you cook?”I ask.

“Only breakfasts,” Ben tells me from where he’s nestled against his pillows, hair fanned out. “I have brunch sorted if you stay over.”

Smiling, I laze back into the pillows, imagining Ben making me food. Making me anything, really. Hopefully in his great kitchen. I’d be embarrassed to have him over to mine, woefully small, and bursting full with all of my housemates and their things, plus two heaving fridges and nowhere near enough storage. It’s not nearly as charming.

“Am I invited?” I ask. “If I play my cards right?”

“Only if you’re naughty.”

I laugh. “Sold. For the price of a kebab. Somewhere atmospheric, though. I like ambience. Like a tube station. Or a night bus.”

“I like running for the last train myself. A great way to finish the night. Especially with company.”

“Where would you like to meet? And when? I’ll drop your van off when I’m back to London.”

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