of me when I round the corner. I set the drinks on a stone wall and open the paper bag. Inside are four chocolate-covered peanut butter balls—my favourite. They’re dusted with icing sugar, which is unusual; I guess Wilf wanted to make sure I had at least some snow before Christmas.
Have I mentioned I love London?
Declan is waiting for me at the front door when I arrive at the flat he shares with his friend Alistair. His eyes light up and his face creases in a grin the minute he sees me. This never gets old. I hurry up the steps, wishing I could throw my arms around him.
He greets me with a too-short kiss before ushering me into the flat. The instant we’re inside, he takes the paper bag and coffee cups from me, sets them on the table, and wraps his arms around me. I’m enveloped in his warmth and the familiar scent of his cologne and shampoo. Three days away felt like an eternity. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if I’d come to London on my own and left him behind, as we’d originally planned.
His lips trail through my hair and down my face. His mouth meets mine, and he cups my face in his warm hands. I sink into the kiss. It’s long and languorous and feels like making up for the days we spent apart.
“I missed you,” he says, his breath tickling my lips.
“I missed you, too. Next time I leave London I think you should come with me.”
“Gladly.” He brings his mouth back to mine for a moment, then peppers my face and neck with kisses. “I say we both take a few days off in the new year and head up to Bath. We could even do a detour and finally see Stonehenge.”
“I support this idea wholeheartedly.” I kiss him again, taking my time and revelling in Declan’s quiet moan when I release him. “Is Alistair home?”
One of Declan’s eyebrows quirks up. “Aye, he is…”
“Good.” I laugh at his confused expression. “It would be way too easy to hole up here for the rest of the day.”
“That does sound appealing.”
I poke him in the chest. “It does, but we have all winter to do that. The Christmas markets only last so long.”
“You and your Christmas markets. You’re obsessed.” He shakes his head, but I can see the smile twitching around the corners of his mouth and the affection in his eyes. He secretly likes them, too. Or maybe he just likes how excited I get by them. Either way, he indulges me every time I ask if we can go, and he never complains when I buy way too much stuff and he ends up being my human pack mule.
We take a few minutes to drink our coffee while it’s hot, then set out for the nearest Tube station. We get off at Covent Garden and join the throngs of people making their way up to the street. It’s so crowded we’re moving at a snail’s pace. Seems a few dozen other people had the same idea we did. Declan has a firm grip on my hand, and he ducks around people when he can until we’re finally away from the thickest part of the crowd.
Covent Garden is one of my favourite neighbourhoods in London. Declan and I come here often to check out the markets, and I’ve been here at least once a week since the Christmas Light Switch On, when what seemed like thousands of glittering lights were lit in a ceremony with live music, food, and the kick-off of the Mulled Wine Festival. A lot of places in London are decorated for the holidays, but for me, nothing beats Covent Garden. Every time I visit, I feel like I’ve stepped into a Christmas movie.
“Where do you want to start?” Declan asks. “Do you still need gifts for anyone?”
“I’ve already picked up Dad and Pamela’s main gifts, but I was thinking I’d make them a little basket of local stuff—teas, cheeses, meats. Maybe get them a gift card from one of the bakeries or tea shops and bring them down here next week for a day.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, love.” Declan kisses my cheek. Even after all these months, a simple gesture like that can flood me with warmth. I tighten my grip on his hand, and randomly point out a place to start.
We visit a variety of shops and stalls, sampling goodies along the way before stopping for hot chocolate, which we take outside to a bench. We watch a street performer who looks and sounds just like Elvis. He croons “Blue Christmas” while a nearby mime in a Santa hat pretends to swoon and cry and keep himself in an invisible box separated from the singer. After a spirited group sing-along of “Baby, Please Come Home,” we go into the covered markets for more shopping.
I drag Declan over to a rack with handmade Christmas ornaments. I pick through them, looking for ones my roommates would like. We agreed to do a small gift exchange before John leaves, and while I’ve already reached my £5 apiece spending limit for all three of them, these ornaments would look perfect on our little tree. I find an adorable kangaroo for Denny and hold it up for Declan to see. He’s looking over my head, a deep line forming between his tightly pinched brows. I follow his gaze, but don’t see what’s caused the dark look.
“You okay?” I ask.
Declan’s gaze snaps to mine. The furrow between his brows slowly smooths. “See that woman over there with the dark brown hair? The one in the red coat?”
I glance back over my shoulder and spot the woman he’s talking about. She’s standing in front of a jewelry store window admiring the display inside. “You know her?”
He makes a funny little sound, then clears his throat. “Aye, that’s...she’s my mum.”
A light breeze could blow me over right now. I whip around to look at the woman—Declan’s mother?—again. From what Declan has told me, I know she’s about my mom’s age, but she looks younger, with smooth, glowing skin, and her dark hair swept into a fashionable up-do. It’s hard to believe this seemingly regular-looking person caused Declan so much pain, heartache, and self-doubt for most of his life.
She steps back from the window display and picks up four or five shopping bags at her feet. She scans the crowd as she straightens. I turn quickly to face Declan. I’m not sure why; it’s not like she knows who I am or would recognize me. Watching Declan’s face, I know the instant their gazes connect. His whole body goes rigid, his eyes tightening around the corners as if he’s resisting the urge to cringe.
“Should we go?” I whisper. I don’t know what to do. I can’t bring myself to look back and see his mother’s expression. For all I know she saw him and walked in the other direction. From what Declan’s told me about her, it seems like something she’d do.
He draws in a long, slow breath. I brace myself before taking Declan’s hand and moving to stand beside him.
“Mother.”
“Declan. This is certainly a surprise.” She stops a few feet away and gazes at him steadily, her expression friendly in a bland way. She makes no move to embrace him or show any other sign of affection. Any sign that the man in front of her is her only child.
“I could say the same.” His fingers twitch around mine and I squeeze back. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable this must be for him. It’s been years since he spoke to his mother and even longer since he saw her. You’d never know this was a reunion between mother and son. “Are you here for the holidays?”
“Yes, your father and I flew in last week.” Her gaze travels around, as if hoping her husband will suddenly materialize from the crowd. “He’s about somewhere. He grew tired of trailing after me and said something about finding a place to have a pint.” Her lips quirk into an almost smile.
She hasn’t looked at me once. I have a feeling it’s more indifference than any sort of personal snub. Her gaze flicks over Declan, and I wonder what she sees. If she feels anything toward her son. I wait for her to suggest they find Declan’s dad or get together for dinner or even go for coffee. After several long beats, I have a feeling I’d be waiting a long time for any such suggestion.
Declan finally breaks the silence. “Are you staying at the Ritz?”
“Yes. You know your father, it’s his favourite. We’ve stayed there the last few Christmases, so it’s a tradition of sorts now.”
Declan flinches slightly. His mother doesn’t seem to notice.
“That’s
nice. I’m sure they put on a grand Christmas for their visitors.” I’ve never heard him sound so stiff and formal. It’s like he’s talking to a stranger, but even with strangers he’s warm and kind, treating them as if they were long-lost friends. His tone, paired with his blank expression makes my heart hurt.
“Oh, they do.” Her smile widens without reaching her eyes. “Well. It was nice to see you. I hope you have a happy Christmas.” Her eyes shift briefly to me. There’s not a hint of warmth or curiosity in them.
I wait for Declan to introduce us, but can’t really blame him when he doesn’t. This chance meeting isn’t going to go any further. His mother and I won’t go to tea together or bond while shopping at Harrod’s. I’m the love of her son’s life, and she doesn’t even care to know my name.
“Happy Christmas, Mother. Please pass my wishes along to Father.”
She nods, smiling tightly. When she turns, it only takes her a second to disappear into the mass of people around us.
Declan’s shoulders slump as he expels a loud burst of air. His hand goes limp in mine, then tightens again. He brings it to his lips and kisses it, lingering, then holds my palm against his cheek. “Did that just happen?”
“Yes. Unless we both simultaneously hallucinated the same thing.”
This draws the desired smile from him, weak as it is. “My heart feels like it’s twisted.” He knocks a fist