Page 2 of Our Bright Christmas Town
“Welcome home,” I said, voice a little too raspy.Stupid.I turned my face away to hide the crack in my expression. Jesus, it wasn’t like he’d come back from the war.
“Good to be here,” he said.
“London not living up to the hype?” I asked since apparently, I had no sense of self-preservation. What if he loved it and intended to stay? Had met the woman of his dreams and was planning to have 2.5 kids with her, along with a dog and a white picket fence? He hadn’t mentioned anything, but we’d mostly texted since he’d left in August. Seemed news like that would warrant a proper conversation.
She was probably a doctor, too. A doctor who modelled on the side. Yep.
“It’s big,” Kieran said.
“Big.” I quirked a brow. “Really, mate—big. Five months in the capital, and that’s your brilliant conclusion?”
He shot me a grin, shrugging off his coat. “Pretty much, yeah. Seeing as I mostly sleep, work, eat, repeat, I can’t say I’ve seen everything it’s got to offer.”
So, no plans for a white picket fence just yet. Not that it meant I had a chance, but… still.
“Sorry for your loss,” I told him lightly even as I reached out to squeeze his shoulder. The second year on the wards was said to be as draining as the first, and I suspected Kieran didn’t find the increased responsibility easy. He’d always suffered from a hint of imposter syndrome.
“Ah, well.” His hazel eyes were bright. “I’m here now.”
“That you are,” I agreed.
He smiled at me for a heart-twisting second, then ducked his head. “Yeah.”
Comfortable silence hung between us for a moment. Then he grabbed his backpack and brandished a bottle of Bailey’s withthe air of someone who’d returned from a heroic quest. “I come bearing presents.”
“I’m feeling seventy percent more festive already,” I said drily.
A slow smirk curved his full mouth. “That’s the spirit.”
Really?
“Was that supposed to be a pun?” I asked.
“It was a good one!”
“Debatable.” I led the way into the living room. He followed, only to stop on the threshold with a dramatic gasp.
“No. Ashby,no.”
Huh? I’d done a bit more decorating since his last visit—a couple of pictures on the walls, a table and chairs that I’d restored myself, and a wrought iron lamp that cast a golden hue on the ceiling. The effect was rather nice, if I said so myself. Yes, it was a fairly small, rented flat, but quite a step up from still living with my parents at twenty-six.
I sent Kieran a narrow-eyed look. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Where are your fairy lights?” He swept out an arm. “Where’s yourtree?”
I shrugged, hands tucked into my hoodie pocket. “Who declared you the Christmas police?”
“You can’t exist in December like… Likethis.” He made ‘this’ sound like a grievous offence, and I stifled a laugh.
“Drama queen,” I said. “Look, I’m not hosting anything. Going to my parents’ for actual Christmas, so what’s the point?”
“The point, Ashby.” He stepped closer. “Thepointis it’s Christmas, and the only way to handle the short days is sugar and fairy lights. So, we’re getting you a tree.”
I did laugh, now. “Kieran, please. You just want to find the most miserable-looking pine out there and rescue it from a life of rejection.”
“You choose a crooked treeonce…” He blinked big eyes at me, and God, I’d missed him.
“Fine,” I said because it wasn’t like I’d ever managed to deny him anything. Jump into an ice-cold lake in April? Sure. Three weeks on the South West Coast Path, carrying a tent and splitting our nights between official campsites and the occasional hostel? Bring it on. Where he led, I followed. “But just a small tree, okay? I don’t want to squeeze around some giant monstrosity.”
