Page 85 of All I Want for Christmas

Aksel’s flat had been cold and for most of the night she had slept curled around him. The big spoon. At least he slept hot, a heat stone under the duvet.

She had woken before him this morning – roused by a headache that was only getting worse – and she’d left before he could even turn over. She figured a discreet exit would be a mercy for them both after last night.

It was almost half eight; too late to get back to the apartment to change, but she didn’t think Viggo would notice, or even care, that she was in yesterday’s clothes. She just needed fresh air, some coffee and toast and a painkiller to shift this hangover.

She walked up the steps to the gallery with a heavy tread. The lights were on, the reception staff already setting up the tills with fresh rolls of receipt paper and readjusting their stool heights as they chatted.

‘Good morning,’ Darcy smiled wanly, a familiar face now as she stamped her feet lightly on the mat and unbuttoned her coat.

‘Heavens, it is snowing hard now!’ one of the ladies said,her gaze falling to Darcy’s hair. Darcy glanced down and saw it was thick with flakes.

‘Oh yes.’ She hadn’t really noticed, walking through the parks blindly, lost in her thoughts. ‘I guess it is...’

‘You must be perished! You’re white as a sheet.’

‘Oh...I’m okay...’ she protested feebly. Nothing Viggo’s hourly coffees couldn’t fix. ‘Have a good day.’ She walked across the reception area, looking down and reaching for her pass in her bag, so that she didn’t notice the door was already opening –

She fell back as it swung towards her, almost hitting her. ‘Oh!’

It missed her by millimetres and she saw Max on the other side, looking just as startled. ‘Darcy!’

She swallowed, the events of yesterday coming back in a rush. Of all the people to have to see, this morning of all mornings.

‘I didn’t see you there.’

‘Evidently.’ She looked away, catching sight of the tips of his leather-soled shoes: beautifully polished. No scuffs, no cracks. As the shoe, so the man. ‘I take it you’ve just had your daily briefing on what work I got up to yesterday afternoon?’ she asked coldly, making no attempt to hide the hostility in her voice or the hardness in her eyes.

A moment pulsed as he read the situation between them now. Not colleagues. Not friends. Certainly no possibility of something more...Had he really thought that carousel was going to stop her from hating him for what he’d done?

She was in no fit state for a conversation, much less an argument, and she went to move around him. He stepped aside to allow her to pass, his gaze fixing upon her pale cheeks, then travelling down the length of her.

‘Nice top,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The colour suits you.’

Darcy’s head whipped back at the echo of yesterday’s words. She knew exactly what he was saying – what he knew – and her cheeks burned as he stared at her in silence for several long, drawn-out moments. But his look wasn’t cold. It was hot. A roiling boil.

He was angry.

She watched him walk away without another word. A bad start to both their days.

Freja was already at their favourite table by the time Darcy barrelled up for the late lunch. As ever, the place was packed, the hanging rail at the top of the stairs laden with coats, windows steamed from hot chocolates and non-stop conversation. There was no ‘quiet’ time at Paludan cafe – breakfast service merged seamlessly into brunch, lunch and mid-afternoon tea, students congregating at every hour for much-needed caffeine and carbs. Darcy was grateful to be back on university turf, away from the reach of the Madsens.

The snow was falling heavily now and small puddles of water collected on the strip wood floor where coats were shrugged over chairbacks.

‘I already ordered chilli for us,’ Freja said, as Darcy hugged her and took her seat opposite.

‘Thanks. I amravenous.’

‘Hangover?’

‘Of course.’

‘Another good date, then?’

‘We went to Bar Poldo. Know it?’

‘Sure,’ Freja nodded. ‘Buzzy there. Good olives.’

‘Yeah, exactly. The olives were good,’ Darcy agreed a little too enthusiastically.

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