Page 35 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

‘I’ve been told I have a face that gives everything away.’

‘That’s useful to know.’

I blushed, but I didn’t know why.

‘You and your brother get on okay? Nothing we need to tread carefully around?’ I asked.

‘No, he’s my best friend.’

‘That must be nice.’

As I turned to a fresh page on my pad, the previous page detached from the inadequate glue binding, floating to the floor. Ethan reached down and picked it up.

‘Sorry, but what is this piece of shit notepad?’

‘Yeah, it’s crap. It’s from the place I’m staying at.’

Ethan rubbed the paper between his thumb and middle finger, shuddering before he handed it back to me. ‘The low GSM in this paper is making me feel physical pain. But, hey, there’s an epic stationery store a few doors down; wanna check it out and find a better pad? My treat as a thank-you for helping me out. I was planning on going in there today anyway for some new pencils.’

‘Er, now?’

‘Sure! The sooner we go, the sooner you can stop writing on single-ply tissue paper. We can grab this stuff to go?’

‘Go on, then.’

I made quick work of the remaining croissant, then we decanted our drinks into a couple of takeaway cups that featured Ethan’s distinctive coffee characters, gathered up our stuff and ventured outside. Yesterday morning’s blue skies were still nowhere to be seen, with an increasingly thick duvet of undulating grey having taken its place.

‘It’s so much colder today, isn’t it?’ I mused, taking a sip of coffee to warm myself from within as we turned left up the street.

‘Yeah, are you all set for tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Oh, you don’t know? There’s a big snowstorm forecast – looks likely to be some of the heaviest snow the city has seen for at least a couple of years.’

I took a mental note to look it up later and tell Mum and Anneka – they adored snow and would no doubt find us some mass snowball fight to join in with. Who was I kidding – they’d probably be the ones to instigate it.

‘Oh, blimey. Thanks for the heads-up – no, I didn’t know that.’

‘Blimey,’ he repeated, attempting to mimic my accent. I assumed he was going for British but he ended up somewhere closer to Brisbane.

I opened my mouth to tell him as much, but closed it again.

‘You were about to make a comment about my British accent, weren’t you?’

Can this guy see inside my brain or something?

‘Well, it is extremely bad.’

‘Fair. Right, here we are.’

He opened an unassuming doorway next to a window that featured a simple display of pens and envelopes. The words Paper & Goods Co. were embossed in gold on the glass. I knew I’d never dare to enter such a store – either here or in the UK – if I’d been by myself: it looked way too classy.

The entranceway may have been modest, but what awaited me inside was a TARDIS-like fantasy. The cavernous room appeared to be never-ending, with shelves upon shelves of pens, pencils, pads and other paper-based products as far as the eye could see. They’d certainly named their shop appropriately.

‘Cool, huh?’ Ethan said, closing the door behind him with a click.

I could do nothing but nod, open-mouthed, my head turning this way and that as I tried – and failed – to take it all in.