I don’t, of course, and manage to “get caught” staring at his bottom three more times before we give up the ghost on sledding an hour later. By then, my fingers are numb in my mittens, and Oliver’s nose is adorably red.
So, we decide to wander down to Borough Market for a hot chocolate to warm up. Oliver insists on buying the most ridiculously overpriced artisanal cocoa available, and soon my nose is covered in hand-churned whipped cream and flecks of gold leaf.
But damn…a buttered bourbon hot chocolate with extra vanilla crème is something everyone should experience at least once in their lives.
We meander through the market, where holiday music piped through the speakers wars with noise from the crowd and a busker playing saxophone down the street. The air is full of delicious smells, and soon we’re buying smoked honey sausages and bags of freshly fried truffle chips to go with our hot chocolate.
As food pairings go, it doesn’t make much sense, but is weirdly fantastic.
Kind of like us…
“Where to next?” he asks as we emerge from the market.
“Dealer’s choice.” I glance up and down the cobblestone street. “You obviously know the city better than I do.” I turn back to him. “But I’m not quite ready to go home yet, if that’s okay with you.”
“You need more holiday adventure,” he declares, understanding immediately, the way he so often does. “Right then, let the adventure continue.”
He takes my hand, leading the way until we reach streets I start to recognize. We end up in Covent Garden, where the Christmas decorations are copious, over-the-top, and perfect. Mistletoe hangs from every archway, silver bells chime in the wind, and a woman in a gorgeous velvet gown plays violin near the main tree.
It’s God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, one of my favorites, but I swear it sounds even more magical than usual.
“Dance with me, Darling?” Oliver murmurs, pulling me into the small crowd already swaying beside the tree.
“Love to,” I say.
As “God Rest Ye” transitions into an instrumental I can’t quite place, we continue to sway, lost in each other’s arms. Meanwhile, the tourists wander by without a second look. We’re just another couple falling in love in London at Christmastime.And even with all the obstacles and complications waiting in the future, right now, I couldn’t be happier.
Well, maybe a tiny bit happier…
“Take me home?” I whisper.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
We head off again, through streets growing chillier as the winter sun turns in early for the night.
By the time we get back to his flat, my aching joints are feeling every fall on the sledding hill, and my jaw hurts from smiling. I grab two ibuprofen and a heating pad for my knee, while Olly orders Thai food. When it arrives, we head for the couch, spreading containers across his coffee table like a feast.
We’ve decided to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol—continuing our holiday movie marathon with a childhood favorite—but as we’re flicking through the channels, we stumble across Love Actually and get sucked in.
“I don’t know why I’ve watched this so many times,” I say forty minutes later, full of green curry and feelings. “It always makes me cry.”
“But a happy cry?”
I cock my head, considering. “I mean, yes. Partly. But sad, too. Not everyone gets their happily ever after. At least not the happily ever after I wanted for them.”
He grunts. “Yeah, Laura Linney deserved a good shagging.”
I snort. “Totally. She deserved a fantastic shagging and to turn her stupid phone off every once and a while. But I guess boundaries weren’t a thing back then?”
“And they clearly had no idea what the word ‘fat’ meant.” He gestures toward the screen, where the Prime Minister and Natalie are getting caught kissing at the holiday pageant. “That woman is the furthest thing from fat. If anything, she’s a touch too thin for my liking.” He sniffs, pretending not to notice mestaring at his profile as he adds, “But then, Idolike a curvy girl. As you know.”
“I do,” I murmur. “I know that very well.” He turns to me, but instead of the kiss I can tell he’s expecting, I whisper, “What if the presentation goes badly tomorrow? What if I drop the ball and fuck it all up?” I exhale a shaky breath. “Sorry, I’ve entered the ‘stressing about Monday’ portion of Sunday funday.”
“No need to apologize.” He smiles as he gathers my feet into his lap, rubbing my arches in a way that feels absolutely delicious. “I seriously doubt that will happen, Em. You’re quite possibly the most prepared person I’ve ever met.”
I nibble my bottom lip. “I know, but what if it does? Or what if they just like someone else’s pitch more than mine? I was hoping to use this as a springboard to get more business in the U.K., and maybe even open an office here someday.” I shrug. “That’s probably a pipe dream, considering the state of our finances right now, but…”
“I don’t think so.” He gives my foot a reassuring squeeze. “From what you’ve said, all it would take to turn things around is one big client to replace the one you lost. Right?” I nod and he continues, “Well, then. I see nothing but blue skies ahead. First Fletchers, then a big, juicy, corporate client who can’t get enough of your fantastic work, and then…” He blinks, pondering for a moment before turning to me with a straight face and declaring, “Well, and then, the world.”
