What the hell is happening right now?Jake kissed me. Twice! I mean, what am I meant to do with that? He kissed me under the mistletoe last night and then gave me a completely platonic massage—if that’s even a thing. He’s flirting one minute and then drawing boundaries that keep me firmly in thebest friend’s little sisterzone the next. I’m both letting my excitement soar and trying to talk it down from the ledge. Jake Partridge does not have deep feelings for me. He’s obviously swept up in some Christmas fantasy and thinks a bit of holiday fun would make the weekend better. I can’t go down that road or my heart would be shredded like the wrapping paper on all those boxes under Harry’s tree, then thrown out with the rest of the recycling on Boxing Day. To Jake, I may be a fun distraction. But to me, he's always been the one guy no one could ever live up to.
After he kissed me—the second time—we didn’t have time to discuss anything as we both realised we had to hustle to catch the 11:48 back to the Surrey suburb and Pear Street. So, rather than asking him a tonne of questions about what his lips on mine actually meant, we hauled-arse back to the tube. It was positively heaving on this delightful Christmas Eve, then we battled the crowds at Waterloo only to be packed in like sardines on the train. It’s a bit difficult to talk about anything without twenty other people hearing it as we’re crowded in the vestibule. I’m pushed up against the wall by the doors and Jake is plastered to my front, his arms braced either side of my shoulders. In an empty room, it would be a compromising position. In a crowded train carriage, I get the overwhelming sense that Jake is being the buffer between me and the other bodies bumping and stumbling against each other. He’s protecting me, throwing cold glares to anyone who knocks into him and subsequently me.
When we get into his car that he’d parked at the station, I think he’s going to say something but then his phone rings; his mother calling from Australia. He’s on the phone the whole way to Pear Street where the road has been cordoned off. We’re able to park at the hotel and then start on foot to the Christmas Eve fair that’s been set up. Lisa has been working with some kind of committee and the local school to organise the Christmas Eve fair where anyone from the local area can set up a stall. Then tonight—according to the all-important itinerary—we are attending a holiday party at the Old Orchard Village Hall. Mulled wine, Santa, and reindeer included.
The fair is nearly as packed as the city. Families in big puffy coats with bobble hats and fingerless gloves roam amongst makeshift stalls. Some look professional with gazebos overhead while others are just fold out tables with handwritten signs on A4 paper. There are crafts and baked goods and Christmas games and coffee stands. A river of people flows through the narrow street, streams meandering off to the little market stalls and the atmosphere is buzzing. The sounds of happy chatter and laughter mixes with a brass band playing carols somewhere in the distance. Honestly, it’s kind of magical. You know, if you like people. Which I don’t.
We stroll up the middle of the road and I’m surrounded by people. Surrounded. There are so many of them and most of them are taller than me so I can’t see more than a few inches in front of me. I can feel panic rising in the pit of my stomach, the tendons in my shoulders tightening. The sounds, which from a safe distant were cheerful and spirited, are becoming too loud and shrill. I feel my footsteps slowing as my feet feel like lead. Too many people. Not enough room.
Before it has a chance to bubble and manifest into something, everything pauses and calms with the feeling of warm skin on mine. Jake’s hand is wrapped around my fingers. When I look up at him, he’s looking at me with knotted brows.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I croak, trying not to sound pathetic and probably failing miserably. “Just not great with lots of people.”
He doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh; he nods once and goes from holding my hand to wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Keeping me close and directing me to the pavement behind the row of vendors where the flow of people is so much lighter, and breathing becomes easier. Placing me against the low wall separating someone’s front garden to the path, he stands in front of me so people have to swerve around him and avoid me altogether.
“You need a minute?” he asks, looking down at me with those whiskey eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say, a little shakily.
“We’ll take a minute,” he says seriously.
What is happening between us?The question is on the tip of my tongue and if I didn’t have that annoying voice in my head—which often sounds uncannily like my brother—telling me that it would sound needy and pathetic to ask such a thing, I would just blurt it out. The decision is taken away from me by Rhiannon’s voice calling to us.
“Jake! Nel!” She’s walking up the pavement with Freddie on her hip. Luke is just behind her with Margot on his shoulders. They all smile at us, their cheeks rosy from the cold and their eyes bright in the strong sun. Both Jake and I wave at them as they approach.
“Hey guys, having fun?” Jake asks, pinching Freddie’s little cheek.
“Yeah,” Freddie shrieks with much enthusiasm.
“Have you two bumped into Lisa yet?” Rhiannon asks with a look of amusement.
“No, we just got here,” Jake answers for us.
Rhiannon and Luke exchange a look. “Oh, well good luck when you do.”
“Why?” I ask, frowning up at them from my perched position.
“Well, let’s just say that everything seems to have been going wrong for her this morning. She may normally channel her inner Martha Stewart, but when her itinerary is messed with, she’s more Annie Wilkes.”
“Who?” I frown.
“Misery,” Jake says, like that answers that. “Kathy Bates, psycho killer?”
I shake my head. No idea what they’re talking about. “What’s been going wrong?” I ask instead.
“Oh, she’ll tell you all about it,” Luke smirks.
“I don’t like the mischief in your eyes, dude,” Jake grumbles and pulls me up by my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. I don’t miss the look of surprise on Rhiannon’s face, and I flush in embarrassment. I’d be surprised to see Jake Partridge holding hands with someone like me too.
He pulls me along the quieter pathway for a little while, Rhiannon and her family veering off to see the offerings and be amongst the hustle and bustle.
“You feeling up to trying the parade?” Jake asks.
“Sure,” I give a watered-down smile.
“I’ve got you,” he says with a reassuring squeeze of my hand.
