That Christmas, This Christmas

Chapter One (Continued)

Turning, I strategically move around each table, my shoulders high to hinder anyone seeing my face. Eying the tiny, rickety wooden table that's always been in the back corner, I launch myself towards it and collapse onto the red-cushioned booth.

'Wow,' Charlie exclaims. The two of them approach, two glasses of mulled wine in my sister's hands, Charlie with a pint of beer. 'You certainly chose a table out of the way.'

'It's quieter,' I try to justify. 'At least we can hear each other here.'

'I suppose,' Charlie replies as Erica hands me a glass and they both sit down. 'So, come on then... how's life in the city?'

I take a deep breath and uncross my legs, letting the black-heeled boots tap loudly against the slate floor. 'It's good,' I lie, keeping my expression neutral.

'How come you haven't invited us to stay with you for so long?' Erica pouts.

'You know my apartment is small.'

Erica hums, like she's not fully believing my reasoning. 'I bet the city is good at Christmastime.'

'It's... busy.' The truth is, it's absolutely amazing. One of the only things I truly love about it. The way the market takes over the city centre, the massive Christmas tree that stands in front of city hall, the Christmas tunes pouring from every shop, the late-night shopping on Thursdays. It's magical.

But if my siblings knew that, they'd want to come and visit me.

'That's all you're going to give us?' Charlie asks, brow furrowing.

I shrug, waving them off playfully. 'I'm the oldest. It's only fair that I quiz the two of you first.'

Charlie scoffs. 'It's only one year.'

'That's not fair,' Erica exclaims. 'Mum says you can't use that card!'

'So?' I grin. 'Dad always encouraged it.'

She slouches back, sticking her tongue out as I lean into the numerous questions I have for them. I've won this round.

I'm four wines down before I finally work up the courage to leave the table and I stand up to head to the bathroom. The pub has thinned out, somewhat calming my anxiety. I convince myself that hauling my thick coat back on isn't going to help me blend in, leaving it behind before stepping around the edge of the table. Not that I could tear it from my sister's clutches if I wanted to. She's been curled up in it for the past hour.

I keep my gaze on the far wall of the pub and successfully stride past all the tables, my heels clacking against the ground, heart hammering against my ribcage. I'm desperately worried I'll be stopped by someone.

It's not just the thought of being recognised, or coming back to this village. It's not the fact that I swore I'd never return. It's not even the bad reputation I left behind.

It's just one specific person. One person I don't want to see me.

I have no idea whether he still lives here, but judging by his attitude four years ago, I can't imagine he's moved. His views were set in stone, a stubborn personality that had me frustrated for days on end.

As I reach for the 'Ladies' door, I notice my hand is shaking. Gritting my teeth, I shove it open before falling inside. My breath is coming out hard and fast, and I prop myself up at the metal sink, gripping onto either side to steady myself.

I'm working myself up for no reason. No reason at all.

It's a random Wednesday night, the week before Christmas. There's no way he would be here tonight, even if he does still live here. It's too much of a coincidence.

I'm being silly, ruining a perfectly good evening with my ridiculous ideas.

He never even liked the White Deer Inn. And, once again, he was stubborn. He wouldn't be here.

See? You're being silly...

I should just enjoy my evening. I should be able to raise my head and appreciate the Christmas decorations filling the pub. I can forget about the tiny, minuscule part of this town that I don't want to see.

Lara, pull yourself together!

Turning from the sink, I slide into a cubicle and do my business before washing my hands. There's a silver mirror pinned above the sink, and I look straight into it. False black eyelashes frame my dark blue eyes, and a red, twenty-four-hour lipstick still covers my lips, barely smudged. I drag my hands through the ends of my wavy dark hair before taking a much-needed deep breath.

I'm here to spend the holidays with my family. I should embrace all of it. Every single aspect the village has to offer. It's what Dad would have wanted.

Smacking my hand against the wall beside the mirror, I straighten my spine, the glitter on my black bodysuit glimmering in the light.

Let's do this.

I grab the door handle, head higher than ever, a smile on my face as I step back into the busy pub. Placing my foot down, it falls slightly heavier than I mean it to, my heel louder than usual, every face lifting to look at me.

It's okay, Lara.

You're not hiding anymore.

Not that it stops an uncomfortable heat from spreading over my cheeks.

Shooting a small apologetic smile at everyone, I duck my head and hurry past the crowd, cursing under my breath. So much for looking graceful and making a good impression. I may as well have walked in ringing a damn bell. Erica would have loved that...

'Lara?'

I stop.

Frozen mid-step.

The deep, warm, familiar tone is just how I remember it sounding. There's no way I could ever forget it. The low, slightly rough voice echoes through my body, every inch of it responding the same way it used to. My toes tingle in my freaking boots, my heart thumps so hard I can hear it in my ears, my forehead breaks out in a sweat.

I don't want to look, but I need to. Slowly, I turn on my heel, not lifting my feet as I rotate. I'm not sure I could if I wanted to.

Nothing can prepare me for the sight of him. He's stood up from a table that's filled with men, all of them glancing between us. Neither one of us pay them any attention; his forest green eyes on me as my blue ones are him. His dark blonde hair is swept back, shorter than it ever used to be, yet his stubble is longer. He's bulkier than I remember, but definitely in a good way. The familiar black leather jacket sits over his frame, tighter than before, a sure-fire way to send me flying straight back to four years ago.

Breathing in, I steady myself before gulping down the renewed lump in my throat.

'Jax.'