Page 82 of On Circus Lane

“I can see that, but why?”

He grins at me. “Everyone should have a dance on a snowy lane at Christmas.”

He sets me down and then scoops Ivy up and twirls her madly until she’s giggling and pleading for mercy. When he sets her down, her eyes are soft, and her cheeks are cherry red.

He moves on saying something about a pretty door ahead of us, and when she looks at me, she mouths, “Don’t fuck this up.”

“I havenoidea what you’re talking about,” I say loftily.

“Pardon?” Tom calls.

“Nothing, and I do really mean that,” I say, hearing her laugh.

There’s something to photograph everywhere—an iron bench painted blue, a house with a small front door painted green. Ivy growing up old stone and more prettily painted doors. A chimney puffing smoke into the cold air, and pots of winter roses that bloom brightly in the dim light. Even as I watch, ornate lampposts wink on against the afternoon gloom.

“It’s like a fairyland,” I whisper as I catch up to Tom. I wouldn’t say that to anyone else, but it’s safe with him because I know he won’t laugh. And why is that?

The answer is wonderful in its simplicity. Because he’s kind.

I watch him as he strolls along, giving us a chance to take photos and reeling off historical facts that I damn well know he’s looked up for me. It gives me a warm feeling in my belly.

You’re a kind man, I think.

He turns to me, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “What’s up?” he asks with a crooked smile.

Well, Tom. I’ve just realised that I could fall in love with you. I blanch.Fucking hell.

His smile dims a little, and I step forward quickly, unable to bear it when he’s even a little sad. “This is the best place I’ve ever been,” I declare, watching that grin come back in technicolour.

He winks. “And even better, I happen to know there’s a Starbucks on the street at the bottom of the lane.” He raises an eyebrow. “Buy you both a tea?”

I grin. “I bet you say that to all the boys, Tom.”

His smile becomes something else. Something I can’t recognise. “No. Just you.”

He raises his hand, and I take it. He crooks his arm for Ivy, and like we're on the fucking yellow brick road, we let him lead us down the pretty little lane.

“Circus Lane,” he says, approaching the lane's end and looking up at the sign there. “It’s a nice surprise.”

It is, but Tom Wright is the better surprise and the one that has the potential to changeeverythingfor me.

Chapter Eleven

BEE

It’s snowing heavily by the time we get back to the apartment building, and we all heave sighs of relief when we enter the foyer and the toasty heat hits us.

“Now I know how Ernest Shackleton felt,” Ivy says, removing her hat. Her face is flushed, and her hair a wild tangle.

“Yes, because he always went back to his designer apartment at night.” I strip off my gloves. Even with them, my hands were cold, and now my fingers tingle.

“He might have looked a bit more cheerful in his photos if he had,” she says, pushing the lift button.

Tom grins at me. Unlike Ivy and me, who are in a bedraggled state, he looks healthy and raring to hike some more. His eyes sparkle, and the colour on his cheeks makes his grey eyes very bright. I smile at him affectionately. Ivy is pretending so hard she’s not looking at us but she’s accomplishing the opposite.

We step into the lift, and she presses the button for her floor.

“Aren’t you coming back to our apartment?” I ask, surprised. “We can get a late lunch.”

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