Page 11 of Away With You
Wow. That’s…something.
“But tell me this,” he continues, like he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of me. “The Katie I remember loved Christmas. You adored the holiday season, wearing reindeer headbands and candy cane earrings.”
I did?I think back, trying to picture a time where the festive season was…festive. “You remember that?”
He smiles that secret smile again. “I don’t think you realise how closely I paid attention to you back then.”
Hmm. That’s it. I’m dead.
“So, yes,” he continues like he hadn’t just slayed me. “I remember that. So, imagine my surprise when I’m in your flat and it’s three weeks out from Christmas. There’s not a tree or decoration in sight.”
I flush, surprised again that he noticed any of that in the short time he was up there. At least it wasn’t my beige underwear that got his attention. For that, I’ll forever be grateful.
“Ah, I mean, I still love Christmas. Especially the holiday movies. But have you ever tried to get a Christmas tree up into a flat on the first floor by yourself? It’s so comically hard, they’ve made it into many a sad single girl scene in Christmas movies.”
His handsome head tilts to the side, confused.
“You know. InWhen Harry Met SallyorWhile You Were Sleeping? The scenes where the single gals are all trudging along in the snow, trying to wrangle a tree into their sad single gal flats? That’s me. Or that would be me, if I even attempted it.”
“What about a fake tree?”
I glare at him. “Not in a million years.”
His chuckle is deep and does things to my insides. Everything about him—his scent, his voice, his jumper—is rich and decadent and has me feeling fluttery.
“Then I guess we’ll have to figure out a way to get that tree into your sad single gal flat this year.”
I stare into his face, tracing the contours and planes that make it almost perfect, and sigh. I don’t believe he’s going to do anything to help me make my Christmas season more Christmassy, but it’s nice of him to say it. To notice something that was once there and a part of me that is now missing and want to fix it. To remember a part of me I’d almost forgotten.
It’s so nice, I relax back into my chair, order another hot chocolate and let myself enjoy this moment in time with Nathan Jackson. My old friend, and also, world-famous F1 driver.
CHAPTER 4
NATHAN
Saturday night. A rare one for me, at home, alone, with zero intention of going out again. During the F1 season, I’m travelling for race weekend, or trying to catch up with people on the few nights I’m actually at home. But not today. The season is over. I have nowhere to be and nothing to keep me company except my thoughts. And these days, that’s a bleak place to be.
A text message notification lights up my silent phone, and I jump to read it, eager to distract my mind with something other than thoughts of losing, coming in second best, and the real kicker, my ex-girlfriend announcing her engagement to my brother.
DYLAN
Get your sorry butt on a plane and get down here.
I grin at the picture he sends through. It’s my mates from secondary school, the few people who I call my real friends, andthey’re doing what they do best. They’re partying it up in Ibiza, as is standard fare for rich boys who have nothing else to do but travel the world and play with their rich toys. In normal circumstances, I’d be with them the minute the checkered flag fell on our last race of the season, but given everything I’ve gone through in recent months, it seemed wiser to stay home and nurse my wounded heart. Or maybe just my wounded pride.
With a half-smile, I stare at the photo of the three of them, all bronzed, liquored up and smiling wide into the camera, and part of me wishes I’d gone with them. A few boozy nights with loud music and flirty women may have been the answer to the lingering sense of disquiet I’ve been feeling. But that seems too much like what twenty-year-old Nathan would have done. He’d have happily run away from his feelings, towards drinking away his issues, but this time it feels like that would make everything worse. Like running isn’t the answer.
NATHAN
Tempting.
But no.
DYLAN
Come on. Please tell me you’re not going to the wedding instead.
My stomach churns, and I pour myself a generous glass of whiskey, walking over to the window to peer out into the nightsky. The top floor of my house, where I’m standing now, has the best view. My place is only three-storeys high, but on this level with the floor-to-ceiling windows, I get both the glorious sun shining in over the Thames in the morning and the same view lit up every night. When it’s clear like it is now, no snow or rain, I can see across to Battersea Park and up to Chelsea Bridge. It’s not the flashiest place to live, for a young single man like me, but I love my borough of Chelsea and can’t imagine living anywhere else.
