Chapter Fourteen

"Is it like In Bruges —you know, the film?" The man looked up hopefully from the Christmas brochure that Lexie had handed to the little family of three.

"Isaac!" The woman—his wife, judging by the ring on her finger—snatched the brochure out of his hand, while their son, who couldn't have been older than about seven, studied Lexie with a seriousness that was a little unnerving. "Please excuse my husband," she said, adjusting the pair of sunglasses she'd propped on her head when she'd entered the shop.

Lexie smiled at them. "I actually can't say I've ever seen the film. Is it good?"

"Oh, it's great," Isaac gushed. "Very funny. You know Colin Farrell? He's great in it."

"There's a lot of shooting," his wife added. "And various people die."

"Wait, who dies?" piped up the boy.

"No one, sweets. It's a film Daddy likes."

"I want to watch it."

"It's too old for you."

The boy scowled, then went back to observing Lexie like she was about to do something untoward. Out of the corner of her eye, Lexie saw the door at the back of the office open. Her heart gave an unpleasant little stutter as Theo stepped in, glancing around the office. He must have been upstairs this morning the whole time. Ange hadn't told her he was back! Something coiled in her stomach. If she'd known, she could have prepared. His gaze moved toward her, and she looked away before the moment of eye contact, forcing herself to turn her attention back to the family, who were watching her expectantly.

She cleared her throat, trying to pretend she hadn't noticed Theo go out again—toward the back room. "Ah, well, we try to steer away from shooting and death on our holidays."

Isaac smiled a little guiltily, while the woman muttered, "Quite right," under her breath.

"But if you want somewhere to celebrate Christmas, then Bruges is brilliant. It honestly is like something out of a fairy tale—the houses are covered in snow, and you can stroll down cobbled streets and feel like you're in a snow globe. The canals often freeze over, and there are market stalls in the squares of the city if you want to check out the Christmas offerings. Plus the food is amazing—you've never had waffles like theirs—and we work with this brilliant little waffle shop who have a secret family recipe."

"Waffles?" The boy looked at her less suspiciously now.

"And chocolate," Lexie said with a wink. "Belgium is famous for its chocolate, and they go wild at Christmas." He offered her a small smile at that, then glanced up at his mum hopefully.

"That sounds good, doesn't it, Isaac?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to Lexie. "What are the next steps, if we want to go for it?"

Lexie took them through the booking process, added a few more details on the trip, then backed away, leaving them to ponder. No one liked to be pushed—and she was pretty sure they'd go for it without any further intervention on her part. After a few weeks in the office, this was the part she felt she could do. She'd done a lot of customer-facing work over the years, and though she'd not sold holidays before, it was a similar skill set—and something she actually enjoyed doing. She liked trying to figure people out, liked the easy conversation—and she was finding she liked trying to work out what they were after in a holiday—which place they might like to get to know through a local celebration—and matching it up as best she could.

Lexie glanced around the office. Harry was talking to an older couple at what Lexie thought of as his desk, though they were supposed to be communal, nodding along to a story they were telling him. Apparently Christmas ties were not the only festive-themed items in his wardrobe—he was wearing a blue tie with yellow chicks on it as a nod to Easter today.

Most of R then Isaac snuck him a second while the woman pretended not to see.

"We'll book online," the woman said with a smile as she headed past Lexie and back out onto the street. "I'd better get Belgian on my Duolingo!"

"You're good at this you know."

Lexie spun to see Ange standing behind her. Her lips were painted her usual bright red, and she was wearing dangly carrot earrings—presumably because of Easter. Lexie put a hand to her heart. "Jesus, you don't half know how to sneak up on people. And good at what, exactly?"

"Putting customers at ease. Figuring out what they want and offering them the chance to take it. Not everyone can do it." She gave Lexie a wry smile "You made it sound like you wanted to go there."

Lexie smiled too. "That's the problem—I do want to. Every time I'm talking about somewhere, I want to go there."

"You can't be good in a travel business if you don't want to travel yourself."

"I saw Theo come in," Lexie said, in a would-be casual voice.

"Yes, he got back last night, said he wanted to jump straight back into work. Speaking of which, we've got our company meeting in ten. Can you go and remind Theo to come up to the flat? He's in my office." It wasn't technically hers, but no one ever corrected Ange on this.

Lexie hesitated. She wondered if she could tell Ange to go and get Theo herself, or if that was a step too far on the immaturity scale. Ange seemed to read her mind. "You're going to have to face up to him," she said, in a very no-nonsense tone. "And he shouldn't be scaring you off, so don't let him. No matter what he says, you did the right thing coming back—and I know he knows that."

After that, she could hardly refuse, could she? She turned away, then looked over her shoulder when Ange called her back. "Lexie? Just a heads-up—he's never in the best of moods after he comes back from Ireland. Something to bear in mind."

"Fantastic," Lexie muttered as she headed to the back room. Though at least it answered the question of where he'd been. As usual, there were coats hung up in a haphazard sort of way, along with general clutter, including a box of new brochures that hadn't been unpacked yet. There was a small window high up on the wall, showing the bright blue sky outside. And there was Theo, sitting at Ange's computer, frowning at the screen. She had no idea why he had chosen to come down here and work—the flat was much nicer.

She cleared her throat and he looked up. His hair had grown a little longer since she'd last seen him, and he had more stubble too, like he hadn't bothered to shave for a few days. She wished it didn't look attractive. She wished he didn't look attractive. "So, you stayed," he said.

"Yes. I stayed." He nodded slowly, and she resisted the urge to push her hair back self-consciously. "Ange says to remind you we've got a company meeting in ten, upstairs in the…in your flat."

He turned his attention back to the computer screen. "It's not mine." Well, a change from when he'd posited the opposite, in the solicitor's meeting that started all this. It was true, though—he only rented it from the company. Which meant he risked losing it, if the new owners wanted it for themselves. She didn't want to feel guilty about that, but the thought had crept in despite herself.

"So, the meeting?" she prompted.

He frowned at her, clearly distracted. "What? Oh right. Yeah. I'll come up. Thanks." It wasn't exactly gushing, but it was civil, at least.

"OK. Well, I'll head up now. Make everyone a coffee beforehand or something."

He stood abruptly. "I'll come with you. I could do with a coffee." He strode toward her but didn't seem to be quite looking at her. He slipped a hand into the back pocket of his jeans—she'd never seen him wear anything more formal—and pulled out a key, tapping it against his other palm without seeming to notice what he was doing. She was thinking about what Ange had said, wondering what was in Ireland that had made him come back so tense and distracted.

Given she couldn't exactly refuse to walk up with him, she followed him up the stairs. He said nothing as they climbed, though she caught him spinning the key between his fingers.

"So. Ireland." He glanced back questioningly, clearly still not quite in the room, and she shrugged a little. "Ange told me."

"Course she did," he said on a sigh.

"She said you'd be in a terrible mood and likely to bite my head off." Which was hyperbole, but if anyone could handle Theo, it was Ange, so she wasn't too worried. "And I said, ‘Surely not, Theo is always only sunshine and rainbows.'?"

He shook his head and she thought she heard the tiniest snort of laughter. "You did not say that."

"No, OK, I didn't, but I think it was implied by the incredulous look on my face."

He turned as they reached the top of the stairs. "Feeling extra sassy today, are we?"

She wrinkled her nose. "No one has ever described me as sassy. I'm easygoing." There was a pause in which he gave her a look, and she sighed. "Just not with you, apparently."

"Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult."

"Whatever your evil villain heart desires."

OK, that was definitely a laugh. A small one, one he tried to hide—but still a laugh. It made her smile a little in response.

Then he cocked his head, and the way he looked at her made her remember all too clearly the way he'd looked in that hallway in France, just before they'd kissed. Don't go there, Lexie.

"Isn't the villain dependent on whose point of view the story is told from?"

Lexie lifted her gaze to meet his. "So I'm the villain, not you?"

"I guess that remains to be seen." He no longer seemed distracted. Instead he was a little too focused as he looked at her.

She cleared her throat, looking around for something else to say. "So. What's in Ireland, then?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, there are a lot of green fields, some beautiful cliffs by the coast, and some excellent pubs, if you know where to look."

She just about stopped herself from rolling her eyes this time. "You know what I mean. How come Ange thought you'd be in a bad mood?"

He considered her for a moment, and she thought he'd tell her to drop it, that it was too personal. Which might have been fair enough, given how well they knew each other. Instead he said, "How about we make a trade?"

"A trade?"

"I'll tell you what's in Ireland, if you tell me one of your wishes."

Lexie frowned. "What?"

"You know, the ones you put in your jar thing. At Christmas."

Lexie's frown grew deeper. "Why do you want to know?"

"It's an evil villain thing," he said, very seriously. "We have to know what people's wishes are, so that we can stop them coming true."

It got a surprised snort of laughter from her, and she swore his eyes lightened at the sound of it. And because he'd made her laugh, because he seemed pleased to have made her laugh, she caved. "When I was thirteen, I wished my hair would grow purple naturally."

It was an easy wish to offer him. She'd wanted so badly to dye it, but her mum had refused. By that time, Lexie had stopped taking the wishes so seriously—both because she was older, and because her belief in the tradition had been marred. But there had been a part of her that still secretly hoped the wish might come true—because her mum wouldn't have been able to do anything if her hair had just grown like that.

"Why are your lips twitching?" she demanded.

"It's called a smile, Lex."

"Maybe you ought to look in a mirror before making that claim," she tossed back. But he only smiled more widely.

Then he blew out a breath, his expression shuttering in that way he had. "My parents are in Ireland." He turned to open the door, gestured into the flat before she could ask any more. "Shall we?"