heaven,” Dante says.
“You know it.”
He grins, tilting his head and studying me. “You look good, Rosie. Have I told you that lately?”
He tells me on a regular basis, but I never get tired of hearing it. Just like life in Greece has been good for Dante, life in London is agreeing with me. In fact, it’s pretty much exceeded my wildest dreams. I fell in love with the city from the moment our plane landed, and while it’s been an adjustment in many ways, it’s also been the adventure of a lifetime.
I preen a little, drawing the desired laugh. “Have you talked to Maura lately?” I can’t help but ask the question, even though I already know the answer. Declan and I have a standing Skype date with Maura twice a week, and she and I text regularly.
“Yep, talked to her last night.” His voice has a forced lightness to it that tells me he knows about the guy who asked Maura out last week. “She’s really enjoying that business class. Says she’s learned a lot, and Sharon’s slowly giving her more responsibilities in the pub.”
“She and Declan seem to talk business more than personal stuff lately,” I say. “But I’m glad she’s so happy.”
“Me too.” His gaze shifts away from the camera. He has a tiny bedroom in his uncle’s house over the family restaurant. The lack of space is made up for by the stunning view of the ocean from the window near Dante’s desk. Sometimes I make him turn the camera to face the window so I can enjoy the view while we video chat.
“She turned the guy down, you know,” I tell him.
His gaze snaps back to the screen. His look of surprise morphs into a small, rueful smile. “I told her she should go out with him.” He settles back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “She said she was too busy to date, blah, blah, blah. I told her the same thing I told you when you said you were too busy to date: that’s bullshit. She and I agreed it was okay to see other people. The timing wasn’t right for us, so all we can be now is friends, and it’s better than nothing. I want her to be happy.”
“Your optimism is one of the things I love most about you, Dante.”
“Don’t forget my good looks and sparkling personality.”
I snort. “Never.”
We talk for a few more minutes before signing off, promising to talk again soon. Since we’ll all be separated for Christmas, he, Maura, Sharon, Declan, and I plan to do a video chat on Christmas Eve and open the presents we all sent to each other.
I thought it would be strange not spending Christmas at home, but I’m actually excited to spend it in London, especially since my dad and Pamela are coming. There’s a tiny part of me—very tiny, like a whisper in the back of my mind when I’m sitting in a room that’s too quiet or I’m having trouble falling asleep—that feels bad I won’t be spending Christmas with my mom. I’ve talked to her a handful of times since coming to England, but our conversations are stilted and never go past surface things. I hate the emotional distance between us, but I keep telling myself the physical distance will be good. Maybe by the time I get back to Avonlough—if I ever do move back—time and perspective will have worked its magic and we can have some sort of relationship again. And maybe we won’t. Only time will tell.
For now, I’m doing the best I can. Christmas has never been my favourite day of the year, but this year holiday cheer seems to have worked its way into my bloodstream. I found happiness this past summer when I freed myself from my mother’s control and a job I hated, and I chased that happiness until I caught it and wrapped it around me like a warm blanket. I wish that for my mother, too, but as I realized a few months ago, I can’t make that happen for her. She has to figure it out herself, find what makes her happy, and go after it. Like I did. Like I’m doing.
And the main source of that happiness is waiting for me a few blocks away.
I send Declan a quick text telling him I’m home and can’t wait to see him. He answers almost immediately, asking if I’d like to meet at his place and we can make plans from there.
Half an hour later, freshly showered and dressed in warm clothes, I call goodbye to Denny, promising to be home in time for dinner.
I step outside and pause on the front step, breathing in the crisp air. We live on a quiet street lined with old houses and even older trees that tower over the neighbourhood. The leaves were a riot of colour when I first arrived, but now the limbs are bare. Our neighbour across the street, Ken, who lives with his wife and two kids, is winding lights in the branches of the smallest tree on his lawn.
“Looking good!” I call to him as I reach the sidewalk.
He gives me a smile that appears almost rueful. “The missus thought the house needed an extra festive touch this year. I’ve a feeling I’m going to be here all day.” He holds up the string of lights so I can see the tangled mess near the end.
Cringing in sympathy, I point over my shoulder toward the flat. “Denny’s home and full of caffeine. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help and could probably get it done at super speed.”
Ken chuckles. “I might pop over and recruit her in a bit if this keeps giving me trouble. Thanks, Rose.”
“Good luck.” Continuing down the street, I round the corner and just like that, I go from quiet neighbourhood to busy street. It’s one of the things I love most about London—the fact you can be on a peaceful street one minute, feeling like you’re in any small town, and then a second later you’re thrust into the city with cars and bikes and red buses zooming everywhere, crowds of people, and shops with bright signs.
I love London even more than I expected I would. I thought it’d be a big adjustment, moving from a place like Avonlough to a huge, metropolitan city. While I’ve had a few hiccups and there’s been a learning curve in some ways (like taking the Tube or remembering to look left when crossing the street since cars drive on the opposite side of the road here), it’s also been amazing. It didn’t take long for London to feel like home.
I’ve been working hard for Isobel; there are a lot of days when I barely see the outside world because I’m shut away in a library doing research for her King Arthur series, but it’s worth it. The work is something I enjoy, even when it leaves me cross-eyed and so stiff I’m barely able to walk home. During my free time, I can wander through one of the many parks or museums London offers, or visit somewhere with hundreds of years of history, like the Tower of London or Westminster Abbey. When Dante joked earlier about nerd heaven, that’s how I’ve felt since the moment I started exploring London.
I cut through the park that separates my neighbourhood from Declan’s. He spent the first few weeks here couch surfing at friends’ places until a guy he met in Scotland a few years ago offered him the spare room in his flat. We talked about living together, but since things moved so quickly for us this past summer, we agreed this arrangement is best for now. If Professor Gillingham extends my internship past the six-month trial period, we’ll decide whether it’s time for us to live together again. For now, we go on regular dates, hang out at his place or mine, travel together when we can, and basically just enjoy being young and in love and living in a great city where there’s always something to do. I wake up every morning excited about what the day will bring, and I’ve never experienced that before. It’s a wonderful kind of magic.
Soft Christmas music follows me as I turn onto the street of shops near Declan’s place. I detour to the coffee cart I discovered my first week here. Wilf, the white-haired, wrinkly-faced man who runs it reminds me of a British version of Mr. Alexander, my favourite customer at the diner where I worked for three years.
“Good afternoon, Miss Rose,” Wilf says, smiling his endearingly crooked smile. “Beautiful weather we’re having.”
“It is.” Small talk about the weather seems as common in London as it is back home. Even though I see him nearly every day, Wilf always leads with the weather. “Do you think we’ll get snow any time soon?”
Wilf sticks his nose in the air and inhales deeply. “The smell of it has been in the ai
r the past few days. I won’t be surprised if it snows by the end of the weekend. I suppose you’re hoping for a white Christmas?”
“I am. It’s hard to imagine Christmas without snow. Even a light dusting would be nice.” It’s not that I particularly like snow, but a lot of my best childhood Christmas memories involve snow. Waking up on Christmas morning and seeing a fresh blanket of sparkling white outside the window. Opening presents and then dashing outside to play. Christmas was the one day my parents would play in the snow with me; we’d build snowmen and forts and have snowball fights until our noses were redder than Rudolph’s and our fingers were numb inside our mittens. It was the only time my parents seemed to let go of all their problems, stop fighting, and act like kids who didn’t have a care in the world.
Wilf turns to fill two cardboard cups with coffee. With his back to me, he places something from the baked goods tray into a paper bag before setting it and the cups on the counter. I eye the bag with raised brows, but he simply smiles and rings up the drinks. I hand over the money and slip a couple pounds into his tip cup when he’s not looking.
“I hope you get your white Christmas, Rose.”
“Thanks, Wilf. See you later.” I scoop up the cups and the mystery bag and continue toward Declan’s place. Curiosity gets the best