Kit looked a little uncomfortable as she picked up a filled glass, taking a long, deep sip before she continued, her gaze looking down. “I think I regret my parents letting me, if that makes sense. Like, they shouldn’t have let a kid go off to London just because an agent discovered her walking down some high street.”
My brows pushed up. “That happens?”
She laughed. “More than you know. Most of the girls I came up with have left the industry now. It’s all about being younger, skinnier,compliant. At some point, we burn out.”
“Not you though.”
Kit shuddered, a perceivable reaction like my words were closer to a slap than a statement. She took another sip, nerves simmering as her ice-blue gaze met mine. “Why do you think I’m here?” she asked. “I made a scene on set before Christmas, stood up for myself. I’m sick of being taken advantage of. For years, I let it happen. I’m tired of forgetting how to say no.” My heart sank for her, hating how she spoke about her life back in London. It was all starting to make sense. “So, I came here, needing something different. And within an hour of arriving it had all fallen apart.”
“I could be offended.” I attempted a joke, wanting to wipe the sadness from her expression. She didn’t laugh, but her heated gaze met mine.
“Not you, Jonah,” she said. “Everything else was going to shit before you made me get into that car.”
Everything about her told me she was strong, that she was more than capable of looking after herself. And maybe it wasn’t that she couldn’t, but that, for a moment, she would like not to have to.
When the moment grew long and quiet, I joked again, “I wonder if Mary at the shop still thinks I kidnapped you.”
And that pulled a smile across her lips. One I’d sorely missed. “We should definitely check in tomorrow.”
“The surprise on her face when we buy condoms.”
The joy cracked right open, sunshine pouring out. “Might send her straight to an early grave.”
We moved to the table she’d set earlier. Two places, two sets of cutlery, and two Christmas crackers, one gold, one red.
How did I ever consider doing this alone?
“Have you got these in the States?” she asked, picking up the metallic paper construction.
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” I said, turning mine over curiously. “Archie insisted I needed one for aproperBritish Christmas.”
“He’s right.” A smile tugged at her lips, soft and sure.
“What do we do?” I asked, though I didn’t really care. I just wanted her to keep smiling like that.
She held out her end of the cracker, a challenge in her eyes. “You pull.”
I took the opposite, and her grip tightened playfully. Then –pop!– the cracker burst apart, sending a plastic toy and a paper slip skittering across the table. Left in my hand was one small half of the cracker.
“I win.” She grinned before gathering up the items.
“What did you get?”
“Tape measure,” she said, holding it up like a trophy. Then she squinted at a piece of paper. “How much did Santa pay for his sleigh?”
I gave her a look. “Please don’t.”
“Nothing – it was on the house.”
I groaned. “That’s awful.”
“It’s kind of the point,” she said, already handing me the second cracker. We went again. This time, I won. The pop was just as loud, but my grin lingered, refusing to fade. A small red square had fallen out, folded tight.
“Is this a…?”
“A crown,” she said, already placing a blue one on her head at a lopsided angle.
I unfolded mine, the cheap paper crinkling in my fingers, and fit it over my head. “How do I look?” I asked.
