“Congratulations, Maisie,” he whispered in my ear.

  It was all I could do not to melt into a puddle on the floor. “Thank you, Cameron,” I finally managed.

  ***

  Several hours later, I was at home in my PJs, the radio on as I slid a tray of mince pies into the oven. I was cooking up a storm, and my house smelled positively scrumptious. I was just about to settle in and watch The Holiday, which was playing on BBC1, when I looked out the window and saw it was snowing. I couldn’t believe it! It hardly ever snowed on Christmas Eve.

  Unable to resist, I threw on a coat and some boots to go outside. I was grinning like a loon, zipping up my thick parka when there was a ding on the doorbell. Thinking it was probably Doreen from next door coming to wish me Merry Christmas, I hurried to answer it.

  I was grinning from ear to ear when I opened the door, but I didn’t find my neighbour on my step. Cameron wore a long coat, leather gloves, and flecks of snow fell on his dark hair. In his hands, he held a small gift-wrapped box.

  My heart fluttered at the sight of him. “Cameron? What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to give you this,” he said and handed me the box. “Sorry for showing up out of the blue.”

  “It’s fine,” I replied. “Come in.”

  We stepped inside as he glanced at my coat and boots. “Are you going somewhere?”

  I shook my head. “Just outside to see the snow.”

  His expression said he found that cute. I stared at the box in my hand. “What is it?”

  “Open it and find out.”

  I hesitated. “Did you get this because I was left out of the Secret Santa? Because honestly, I’m over that.”

  Cameron gazed at me fondly. “Let’s just say I decided to take a leaf out of your book.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m doing a nice thing for someone without expecting anything in return.”

  I blinked at him. “You are?”

  “I am.”

  His stiff posture amused me. “And how does that make you feel?”

  There was a long pause as he thought about it. “Different.”

  I chuckled, then tore open the wrapping. Inside was a navy velvet box. I opened it to find a delicate silver bracelet with a snowflake charm. It was the same one I’d admired when we went to visit Trinkets & Treasures together.

  Gasping, I glanced at him. “You remembered!”

  He shrugged, seeming a little self-conscious. “You seemed to like it in the store. And I felt like you deserved something nice after Rory was a such a dick to you at work.”

  “Yeah well, like I said, I’m over it. But, um, thanks. This was very thoughtful.”

  Cameron moved closer. “Here, let me put it on for you.”

  I was silent as he took the bracelet and fastened it around my wrist, the brush of his fingertips giving me flutters. “It suits you,” he murmured.

  I glanced up at him from beneath my eyelashes, feeling a little breathless. “Thanks…again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We were quiet a moment, just standing in my hallway, before I asked, “While you were buying this, did you happen to notice the pink sapphires?”

  A hint of a smile graced Cameron’s lips. “I did.”

  “And? What do you think?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I think it’s not our job to be snooping in the business of a local jewellery store owner.”

  I narrowed my gaze, unable to help the grin that shaped my lips. “Somehow I feel like we might do it anyway.”

  He smiled fully now, and it was a sight to behold. “You’re a bad influence, Miss Wilkins.”

  “It seems I am, Mr. Grant.”

  We just stood there, smiling at one another like a pair of oddballs. Outside, the snow fell heavily. It wasn’t the kind of weather anyone should be out driving in, and I definitely wouldn’t mind if he wanted to stay awhile.

  “Would you like something to eat?” I asked, gesturing toward the kitchen.

  He nodded and followed me inside where we took off our coats. I noticed him looking around, taking everything in. “You have a nice place,” he said and I flushed with pride. I put a lot of effort into my home and it was nice to have someone acknowledge that. When Cameron continued to gaze at me, I grew self-conscious. “What?” I asked, tucking some hair behind my ear.

  “It’s nothing. I just…I like seeing you here. You seem different when you’re at home.”

  “Different how?”

  “I don’t know. Vulnerable but somehow more at ease at the same time.”

  Again, my cheeks heated as I lowered my eyes to the kitchen counter. “Well, that actually makes sense,” I said. “People are at ease when they’re in familiar territory, but when we’re at home we’re also surrounded by the things that we love most, by everything we hold dear, so perhaps that’s where the vulnerability comes in.”

  “Perhaps,” Cameron agreed and I sensed he was still looking at me.

  I poured us each a glass of Baileys, and we sipped in companionable silence. I liked having Cameron in my house. He had a presence that felt both cosy and exciting all at once.

  “So, I suppose we should talk about us,” Cameron said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Nerves scattered all throughout my body. This was a subject I’d wanted to discuss for a while now, but I couldn’t find the courage or the right moment to bring it up.

  I met his gaze. “Yes, I suppose we should.”

  “I like you,” he blurted, seeming to surprise himself. I flushed and lifted my glass to take a long sip. “I don’t often find myself liking people.”

  “I like you, too,” I said quietly, my heart shimmering.

  “But we work together,” he went on, and just like that, I deflated, feeling suitably glum.

  “Yes, we do.”

  “You also want me to train you.”

  I nodded soberly. “You’re the best investigator we have, and I want to be trained by the best.”

  He leaned forward, clasping his hands together, eyes on mine as he weighed his words. “So, what I propose is this. I spend the next couple of months training you and then…”

  “And then?” I questioned, some of that shimmery feeling returning.

  Cameron’s gaze darkened in a very masculine way. “Then we’ll just be two people who happen to work at the same office. Then it won’t be a conflict for us to do whatever we want in the privacy of our own homes.”

  “Or stationery closets.”

  His lips twitched. “Or stationery closets.”

  A silence fell and I got a little lost in his eyes, which seemed to be becoming a habit. Cameron broke the quiet when he lifted his glass to mine. “Merry Christmas, Maisie,” he murmured in his deep, attractive voice.

  I clinked my glass to his and replied, “Merry Christmas, Cameron.”

  Much later, when he finally left to go home, I waved him off from my doorstep. Returning to the kitchen, I gathered the glasses and plates to put in the dishwasher when something caught my eye. There on the counter sat the “lovely” card and my eyes crinkled in delight. I don’t know why, but I enjoyed this little game.

  I was already looking forward to the next time I got the chance to slip the card back to him.

  PART TWO

  Once Upon a New Year…

  Seven

  The Loneliest Number

  January 4th – 7th

  I should’ve gone to the self-service checkout, I thought to myself.

  The cashier shot me a commiserating look as she scanned my items: Chicken Tikka Masala, serves 1. Lamb Tagine, serves 1. Super Green Salad, serves 1. My single-serving ready meals spoke volumes about my current life situation. If this were a movie scene, “One is the Loneliest Number” would be playing.

  Yep, double servings only ever managed to find their way into my shopping basket when I’d decided to treat myself to a Friday night gorge fest.

  I’d mastered the art of cooking for one, which wasn’t really an accomplishment to brag about. It seemed this modern world was designed for those who lived in pairs. Everywhere I looked couples were holding hands, birds were sitting side by side on rooftops, and don’t even get me started on those otters linking arms.

  Sure, there were positives to being alone, like never having to wait to use the bathroom, or knowing nobody was going to steal that last chocolate chip muffin from the cupboard. But still, humans were meant to live together, and sometimes the world decided to shove that fact in my face a little too often.

  I was trying to stay optimistic. One day I’d have someone to share a lasagne for two with, right?

  “Doing anything fun this weekend?” the cashier asked, a hopeful note in her voice. My purchases were obviously bumming her out. She hoped to prove her impression of my pathetic existence wrong.

  “I have all the episodes of Fleabag Season 2 recorded,” I answered. “So a marathon is definitely on the cards. I’ve been hearing great things about the sexy priest.”

  Now she looked like she felt even more sorry for me. Why hadn’t I lied and said I was going to a yacht party or an underground poker match?

  “Oh, that does sound fun.” Unfortunately, her expression gave her away. She did not, in fact, think it sounded fun.

  I bagged up my purchases and headed out. On the drive home, I listened to a few minutes of the murder mystery podcast I was currently obsessed with. I often thought my job would make for an interesting podcast, but sadly, it went against my employment contract to reveal details of cases. Perhaps when I was retired, I could make one. That would be a fun project for a sixty-something-year-old Maisie.

  Speaking of my job, on Monday, we were interviewing researchers to replace me, since I was starting my training as an investigator soon. I had a bunch of resumes to look through tonight, as Georgia, Cameron, and I made up the interview panel.

  Cameron.

  Sigh.

  It was almost two weeks since Christmas Eve, when Cameron and I had shared a drink right here in my house and agreed to put our romantic relationship on hold until I’d completed my training to become an investigator. It was a hard decision to make for both of us.

  And sure, this could all be an excuse for him to get me out of his hair, like a more sophisticated, real-life version of ghosting.

  Nah.

  Nope.

  That wasn’t it.

  Sometimes my paranoia liked to play tricks on me. It planted seeds of doubt in my head, like what if Cameron bumped into some perfect super model woman while picking up groceries and fell head over heels. Or what if an old flame came back into his life and they rekindled their love. I mean, I didn’t even know his relationship history.

  Given these thoughts, it was hard to live up to my old childhood nickname, Happy-Go-Lucky. Negative things kept worming their way into my head, but I tried to stay the course. My and Cameron’s time would come.

  It would.

  Right now, we were doing the mature, adult thing and putting our possible relationship aside for the sake of advancing my career.

  I changed into some leggings, popped my lamb tagine in the microwave, poured a glass of wine, and sat down to read some resumes. There were four top candidates that Georgia had selected: Maura Kennedy, Damien Holt, Rosa Avila, and Wade Hamilton.

  I read through all of their credentials, but I didn’t let myself be swayed in any one direction yet. People could seem different on paper than they did in real life.

  The microwave pinged to signal my dinner was ready at the same time my phone vibrated with a text.

  Cameron: Have you looked at the resumes yet?

  I swallowed down a lump of saliva, my heart pattering away. We’d spoken very little over the last two weeks, so yes, I was at optimum Cameron Grant thirst. And all he’d done was ask a work-related question. I forced myself to wait a few minutes before responding (so as not to alert him to said thirst.)

  Me: Yes. So far it’s a toss-up between Damien and Maura.

  Cameron: I disagree. Rosa is by far the superior candidate.

  Me: Well…I’m sure the interviews on Monday will separate the wheat from the chaff.

  Cameron: I’m sure they will, and Rosa will emerge the victor.

  Me: Why did you even text me if you’d already made your mind up?

  Cameron: I thought you might agree with me for once. Alas, your judgement has failed.

  Was he being cheeky, trying to tease me? His lack of emojis made it difficult to tell, and I tended only to use them if the other person did too. Maybe I should test the waters, throw a smiley face into the mix…

  Me: My judgement hasn’t failed. Besides, the final decision is Georgia’s :-P

  I sent the message before I’d properly thought through the cheeky-tongue emoji. I regretted it more and more with every second that passed.

  Several minutes went by. I busied myself finishing my dinner and obsessively glancing at my phone. Finally, it buzzed.

  Cameron: What are you up to tonight?

  I exhaled a heavy breath. Maybe my risk had paid off. After all, this was not a work-related question. My initial instinct was to answer honestly, but look where that had gotten me with the cashier back at the supermarket.

  Me: I’m attending an underground poker match.

  Cameron: I meant what are you actually up to, not what you’re fictionally up to.

  Dammit. I’d aimed too high. I should’ve gone with something more believable, like a friend’s birthday party, or nightclubbing with Lilah, even though clubs somehow made me feel both invisible and judged. Not that we ever really went clubbing. I could count the number of times on one hand, and all of those included being nagged into going by Lilah. My friend loved to dance and let loose. I loved to snuggle under cashmere blankets and read the latest historical romance novel that everyone was raving about.

  Me: I forgot you don’t know how to take a joke. I’m actually going nightclubbing with Lilah.

  Cameron: Aren’t you a little old for nightclubbing?

  Ouch. That one stung. Cameron rarely censored himself, which could be a positive, but also a negative, since offence could be taken.

  Me: It’s not about age, it’s about state of mind.

  Cameron: Your state of mind enjoys wine tastings and book clubs.

  Me: It also enjoys dark clubs and techno music, for your information.

  Cameron: I guess I’ve just learned something new about you.

  Me: Yes, you have.

  Another few minutes passed before he replied.

  Cameron: Enjoy your night with Lilah. x

  That tiny little x sent my heart aflutter. I couldn’t recall him ever sending kisses before, or well, a singular kiss. What did it mean? Did it mean anything? Was it a friendly, casual peck-on-the-cheek kiss, or a full-on, sensual passionate-lover’s kiss? Worrying my lip, I frowned at my phone and wondered if maybe I should’ve told the truth. If I said I was spending the night at home watching TV, would he have invited himself over?

  Ugh.

  This whole situation was way rougher than I’d expected it to be. Still, I forced myself to quit obsessing and headed into the living room. Navigating to my collection of recorded episodes, I settled in for a cosy night alone.

  ***

  On Monday I arrived at work bright and early. Cameron was there before everyone else as per usual. He was talking on the phone as I passed by his office. We made momentary eye contact that set off a flurry of unnecessary excitement inside me.

  I sat down at my desk, readying myself for the day ahead, when Lilah appeared with two cups of coffee. We usually took turns, one day she got our coffees, the next I did.

  “Morning,” she said with a bright smile as she handed me the cup. “How was your weekend?”

  “Blissfully uneventful,” I replied, smiling back.

  “Oh!” she said like she just remembered something important and pulled out her phone. “There’s this new ASMR video that I need to send you the link to.”

  “Cool!” I exclaimed. “I recently found a sound bite for my ASMR top ten. There’s this bit at the start of “Daydream Believer” when Davy Jones says, ‘It’s because I’m short, I know,’ and oh my God it gives me such tingles. He could so get it.”

  Lilah laughed. “Isn’t Davy Jones dead?”

  “Whatever. If he were alive, he could get it.”

  “Who could get what?” came an all-too-familiar voice.

  Cameron stood just shy of my desk, expression unreadable.

  “Maisie has a crush on one of the Monkees,” Lilah answered, waggling her eyebrows. Now that she knew about my and Cameron’s night together, I felt unnervingly exposed and observed.

  His attention came to me, curious now. “Oh?”

  “I don’t have a crush on anyone. It’s an ASMR thing. Davy Jones’ voice triggers me.”

  “Triggers you?”

  “ASMR stands for autonomous sensory meridian response,” Lilah explained. “Maisie and I are really into it, but it doesn’t happen for everybody. Some people, like us, feel a tingling sensation on our skin or down our spines when we listen to certain noises, or people speaking in a certain way. Personally, Hugo Weaving as Agent Smith in The Matrix does it for me every time.”

  Cameron was silent a moment, his face inscrutable as his focus moved from Lilah and then back to me. He appeared slightly uncomfortable before he cleared his throat. “That sounds interesting. Maisie, Georgia wants us in her office for this morning’s interviews.”

  With that, he turned and left.

  Lilah went to her desk and I gathered what I needed for the interviews.

  Georgia stood by the window, talking on her phone when I walked into her office. I glanced at Cameron, who gave me one of his usual brooding looks then went back to perusing some information on a sheet of paper. I took the seat next to him and placed my tablet, notepad, and pen down on the desk.

  A few moments passed, with Georgia talking in the background, when Cameron asked in a measured voice, “How did the nightclubbing go?”

  I swallowed, wondering why I’d stupidly felt the need to lie about my weekend plans. I guess now I had to roll with it. “It went swimmingly.”