Page 34 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“Yes, but in the pub, you said you loved Christmas. IfI remember correctly, you described yourself as the ‘Christmas fricking queen.’ You told me you were always the first person you knew to get their decorations up. So I’m wondering why Christmas’s biggest fan doesn’t have a single piece of tinsel hung.”
He remembered that?She hadn’t expected to even see him again, let alone have him remember the things they’d talked about.
“Oh. I, um.” James Knight had an uncanny way of dissolving her bull-whoopie. She sighed. “I can’t see the point.”
He frowned at her. “Go on…”
“Why make all that effort if there’s no one here to appreciate it?”
“You’ll be here.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it.” How could he possibly understand, living in his penthouse apartment, a high-flying career man? He’d probably only ever had to put himself first, selfishness coming as second nature. And why shouldn’t he? She could understand how that would work for him, but her life was different; her life was built around being a parent.
“Has it always been just you and your daughter?”
Her wary side reminded her that they weren’t drunk anymore; the rules were different now. And yet she found herself drawn in by his open expression, compelled to answer.
“Since she was two. Pete, my ex, is very present in her life, our life. His wife is my best friend.”
She enjoyed James’s surprise. People were always surprised. Or skeptical. But mostly surprised.
“That’s very…I don’t imagine that’s very common. I know lots of adults but not so many of them that behave like grown-ups. You must all be very sensible.”
She smiled. “I don’t know about that. Pete and I simply weren’t in love. Then he met Emma, and I guess we both fell for her. It’s not that surprising, really. Pete and I are very similar, that was the problem, we were more like siblings than partners.”
“You consciously uncoupled, like Gwyneth and Chris. I’m impressed.”
“Actually, they did it like us.” She gave a wry smile and went into the kitchen, where she stuffed a roll of black sacks and some rubber gloves into a large shopper with several litter-grabbers she’d borrowed from school. “What about you? Any significant exes? Kids? I assume you are single?” she fished.
His brow furrowed.
“My history isn’t quite as clean-cut as yours. Or as amicable. I have an ex-wife who doesn’t speak to me. I met her when I lived in the U.S. I was twenty-six. We got married, I put my career first, she felt neglected, rightly so. I wouldn’t give up my career progression for my marriage, and after three years she called it. She met someone else. Last I heard, she was happily married with a couple of kids, a dog, and a house in the burbs.”
Was there a hint of regret in his voice?
“You’re probably imagining that I’m full of regret for what could have been.”
“Are you?”
“I am sorry that I made her feel unloved. That, I do regret, but you can’t reach your late forties and not have things you wish you’d handled differently. I don’t regret the effort I put into my career. I’ve built a good life for myself.”
There was something else behind the unapologetic sentiment. It felt like he was holding something back, a sadness; she could feel it hiding in the spaces betweenthe truth. He was being careful with his words, but it was the ones he didn’t say that sounded loudest to Harriet.
The sex between them had been easy, but getting to know someone took work. They were, technically speaking, middle-aged, and had naturally acquired some baggage that would take some unpacking. Of course, they didn’t need to share their stories. They could work on this project as colleagues. But Harriet couldn’t ignore the rising desire inside her to know absolutely everything about James Knight.
Eleven
Upon further inspection, the messin the theater wasn’t as bad as she remembered. But the sheer dilapidation of the place meant that they could litter-pick for a year and it would still look like the opening scene for a zombie apocalypse movie. Stale cigarette smoke and dust hung in the air, mixed with the earthy scent of damp chair fabric and dirty carpets, and with no windows in this part of the building and the ventilation system out of action, there was little chance of things improving soon. The enduring chill that clung to the old bones of the auditorium kept it from feeling claustrophobic, but it felt like a place outside the normal rules of time.
Harriet hoped the act of cleaning would keep her warm and was glad she’d fitted a jumper beneath her cardigans.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home and change?” she asked.
James was using a litter-grabber to gingerly maneuver a takeaway coffee cup into a black sack hung on the back of a music stand. He stood out even more than usual in the shabby surroundings.
“It’s fine. This suit was due to be dry-cleaned anyway.”
Harriet pulled a face.
