Page 30 of Just for December

They walk for maybe ten minutes, passing the accident where nobody seems to have been seriously hurt, but two cars block the road in its entirety. The ambulance is snowed in now, as is the police car, and so it doesn’t take hugeimagination to figure out that the tow truck was too late to make it through the snow.

‘I’ve never known weather like this!’ Evie exclaims, as they reach the services. It’s a medium-sized squat building that thankfully has power. There’s a couple of fast-food restaurants, toilets, paid-for showers and two coffee shops. There’s a subdued atmosphere, like the snow has insulated the collective volume.

‘No,’ Duke says, carefully moderating his voice to compensate for snapping earlier. ‘Me neither.’

The driver excuses himself and tells Duke he’ll text when he knows anything, leaving just the two of them. They stand side by side surveying the service station, and when Duke has cast his eye over the place once, twice, twenty times, he goes to say, ‘Shall we find something to warm us up?’ but right as he does Evie announces: ‘I’m going to explore. Catch you later.’

She’s gone before he can stop her. Damn. He’s screwed this up; he shouldn’t have been so short. He was getting it from all ends, though: production, Brad, his team – even Daphne had made a throwaway comment about him being away with the fairies.Who doesn’t look at their phone for five hours after they’ve disappeared from set?was the general gist. How does he explain that whilst hanging out with Evie he forgot that the rest of the world existed, let alone his phone? And that deep down, he’s not sorry about it?

He hadn’t wanted their night to end. Something was different with her – she opened up to him. He hasn’t known her long, but he knows enough to understand that that occurrence is a rare one.Serendipitous, that was the word. That hewas there, and she was there, and they both felt like being together was better than being alone. So they’d walked and talked and laughed and she’d made him think, too. Everything he takes for granted, she challenges and questions. It makes him aware that if he’s been unhappy, he’s got more control over it than he’s given himself credit for. She’s been more effective in holding him accountable to himself in a night than Phoebe, his therapist, has been in six years. The way Evie sees the world makes his own vision clearer.

He unzips his coat, but keeps it on for now. Maybe there’s a heater he can leave it on, or at the very least a coat hook. His feet are like ice, so he heads to the store where he’s delighted to find a modest selection of winter essentials: socks, gloves, wellies, little gel packs that you crack to warm up. He buys a veritable smorgasbord, just in case this thing goes on for longer than he’d like. He heads to the biggest window at the far end to take a look at what’s going on. It’s still going strong. Bugger.

Three laps of the space and a toilet trip later, his feet have warmed through in his new climbing socks and horribly plastic-looking rain boots, and he spots her in the café, sat with a man. It can’t be her, he decides, at first glance, because she’s not alone – but it is. Her coat is over the back of her chair, her hair tucked into her polo neck, her hands wrapped around a big blue mug, as if she’s the actor, not him. Nobody actually holds a cup that way. What’s wrong with the handle? She keeps touching her cheek and laughing. No, not laughing.Tittering. The guy is maybe early forties, all salt and pepper hair and strong jaw. Duke notices the jawline of every single man he sees, because he’s had to work hard for his. He chewsrubbery weights to help with the definition. He already hates this guy for being so sharp.

Should he go over? Interrupt? He can’t decide. Evie isn’t his property. She can talk to whoever she likes. Flirt with whoever she likes. And yet there’s a feeling in Duke’s lower belly, his gut, he supposes, that doesn’t like what he’s seeing and wants it to stop. She looks up before he can decide what to do. They lock eyes. If panic response is fight or flight, Duke doesn’t know where he’d fall since he finds himself frozen stuck to the spot. She lifts a hand. He doesn’t know if that is acknowledgement or a welcome over. She goes back to chatting with her man. Duke can’t stand it, he decides. Even if he just goes over to know what they’re talking about, what’s making her look up from under her eyelashes that way, that’s enough.

‘You look like you’re settled in for the duration,’ Duke says coolly as he reaches their table. With his coat still on, ridiculous petrol station boots and laden down with bags of his discounted stock, he looks ridiculous. This meathead Evie is sat with is all thin layers and fleecy fabrics and effortlessly Bear Grylls.

‘Duke,’ Evie says. Is she happy to see him? ‘This is Markus. Markus thinks we’re going to be here for a few more hours yet.’

‘I work at the national news station.’ Markus smiles. ‘So I have a meteorologist on speed dial.’ He has an accent, but perfect English.

‘Shame you didn’t call him before you set off this morning.’ Duke smiles back, but the humour he thought he’d injected into the joke doesn’t translate.

‘Yes, I thought so too until I met Evie here.’ He’s smooth. Too smooth. Duke will not be leaving her alone with him. Nope. No way. Duke sets his bags down and turns around an empty chair from a nearby table.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he asks, but he knows they can tell it isn’t really a question. ‘Another hot chocolate for everyone?’

Evie narrows her eyes, evidently weighing him up.

‘What?’ Duke blinks, because he’s not going to bring up their fight if she isn’t.

‘Marshmallows and no whipped cream,’ she says, evading his prompt.

‘Cream and no marshmallows,’ Markus says, and instead of going to the counter – because Duke will be damned if he’s leaving them alone for one more second.

He waves at a twelve-year-old kid nearby and says, ‘Hey, do you speak English?’

‘Of course,’ the kid says, in English as good as all the other Germans Duke has met.

‘Want to make fifty euro?’ Duke says, and he knows it’s somewhat of a dick move but he gives him a hundred-euro bill and the kid goes to buy their drinks.

‘You’re unbelievable,’ mutters Evie, but her eyes are crinkled at the edges, betraying her tone. Duke knows he is hazardously close to the fine line between eccentrically charming and douchebag, but given the crinkles … he thinks he’s on the right side.

They talk amiably enough, and Duke hates that Markus isn’t overawed by the fact that they’re here, in this tiny pit stop largely in the middle of nowhere, the last place you’d expect to bump intoPeople Magazine’s Sexiest Man 2018. Hetakes everything in his stride, and if it wasn’t for the way he keeps looking at Evie, Duke would almost want to be his mate. Except, Markusdoeskeep looking at Evie that way and so Duke needs him to piss off.

‘What are you doing?’ Evie hisses at him when Markus excuses himself to answer a phone call. ‘There are no cameras here, Duke. The show can break for intermission.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Duke replies. ‘I’m talking with our new friend. There’s nothing else to do whilst we wait, is there?’

She shakes her head. ‘What about all of that massively important texting you were so busy with before? Or some more sulking? You’re very good at passing the time that way.’

God, he really does find her sexy, he thinks, quickly followed by:Oh, hell. What? Where did that come from?He looks at her properly then. Her pointed barbs sharpened and designed to kill, her flushed cheeks, the tiny bit of cocoa powder near her nose – she’s amazing.

‘Look, Iamsorry about earlier. I was … distracted. Would you like me to get on my knees and apologise one thousand different ways?’ he says. ‘Because I can.’

‘Getting on your knees sounds perfect, actually,’ Evie counters, calling him on it. Duke takes a breath. Well, if that’s what the lady wants …

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