Christmas Eve in New York

It was a bitterly cold evening, snow threatening in the air and the wind wild and brutal. Aubrey's hair was whipped up and twirled around her head before the strands landed like icicles on her pink cheeks. Her hands were nestled in gloves but her fingers may as well have been immersed in ice and her coat, though buttoned up to her throat, was redundant against the elements.

Aubrey closed her eyes and although she could hear the sounds of last minute shoppers grabbing gifts at the Union Square market, she felt as though she were in her own little world, fenced off in the little garden as she sat on the damp bench, delaying her return to her cold, empty apartment. It was Christmas Eve but Aubrey was devoid of the festive spirit she was supposed to feel. Her heart wasn't in the season - her heart wasn't in anything at the moment. Her chest was as cold and empty as her apartment, which was also devoid of Christmas cheer. She hadn't hung her stocking by the chimney with care and she didn't even have a tree. How could you feel the glow of Christmas without the twinkle of fairy lights and the smell of pine? Aubrey couldn't help thinking of home, her real home in Chicago with her mum and dad, her brother and sisters and their extended family, gingerbread baking in the oven, kids playing in the snow, decorating the tree, her dad cursing as he slung fairy lights along the roof and threaded them through the fence at the front of the house. That was Christmas to Aubrey but instead she was sitting on a lonely bench, freezing her arse off as New Yorkers bustled around her. She'd seen New York in the Christmas films and knew she should feel magical but Aubrey couldn't muster any good feelings at all.

She opened her eyes and swiped a gloved finger across a rogue tear. And that's when she saw him, sitting on the adjacent bench, fascinated by a couple of squirrels as they raced up and down the tree in front of them. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was sure.

Aubrey turned her head away quickly, focusing on the squirrels herself. A third squirrel had joined in the fun, running back and forth along a low branch. Aubrey stole another look at the man and her eyes widened in alarm. He was looking straight back at her. Her heart kicked up a pace and she thought about scurrying away to the dreaded apartment until she realised she recognised him. She didn't really know him and she'd never actually spoken to him but she did spot him on the subway most days as she travelled to and from work. He usually had his nose in a book, doing his best to ignore the cacophony of nutters around him. She'd never before noticed the intensity of his eyes, icy blue ringed by navy. He smiled at Aubrey and her heart began to gallop once again.

'Funny little things, aren't they?'

A giggle bubbled up Aubrey's throat and she covered her mouth with her glove before it escaped. "You're British." Not that there was anything particularly funny about being British - she just hadn't expected the accent.

'I am.' He shuffled to the end of his bench and extended his hand. 'I'm Stephen.'

'Aubrey.' She moved to the end of her own bench and leaned across to shake his hand. 'Where in Britain are you from?'

'Manchester.'

Aubrey smiled in recognition. Her ex-boyfriend had been a huge fan of soccer. 'Like Manchester United.'

'Actually, I'm a City fan.'

Aubrey didn't have a clue which city he was referring to but she nodded along anyway. 'What brings you to New York?' She knew he wasn't a tourist as she'd first spotted him three months ago, noticing the battered book in his hands. She couldn't see the title but her eyes had been drawn to his fingers as they turned the pages of the obviously well-loved and thoroughly read novel. She spotted him the following morning, lost in his book again and she found herself looking out for him each day, experiencing a buzz in the pit of her stomach when he arrived with a new book. What had he thought of the last book? Fantastic or boring? Superb or trash?