the locks. Why would she?
“I don’t want to intrude.” He glanced at the stairs and she gave a half laugh as she realized he was respecting her privacy.
“You think there’s a Christmas elf hiding under my bed? Santa? Some muscular young guy?”
Another serious relationship wasn’t on her wish list. As for anything more superficial, well, the thought of an affair was ludicrous.
“It’s cold in here.” Nick touched the radiator closest to him. “Broken again?”
“It waits for the first hint of frost to malfunction.” As usual she was wearing two sweaters, which made her look heavier than she was.
“Do you want me to call someone?” He didn’t offer to look at it himself. Nick could hold a lecture hall spellbound, but he couldn’t fix a dripping tap and was bemused by flat pack furniture.
“I’ve already done it. They’re coming next Monday.”
“You look tired.”
“That generally happens when someone calls you at three in the morning.” She knew Nick probably would have gone straight back to sleep. His ability to sleep, no matter what the crisis, had been a source of envy and frustration over the years. She would have given anything to be able to switch off and let someone else take responsibility for five minutes. Maybe it was because he knew she couldn’t that he’d been able to switch off himself, soothed by the knowledge that she was in charge.
“Rosie shouldn’t have called you in the middle of the night.”
“She was excited. She wanted to share her news. And I’m pleased. She might be living miles away, but I still want to be part of her life.”
“But middle of the night calls always scare you. I’m sure you answered in a panic, assuming she was having an attack. Not easy to go back to sleep after that.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Sit down. I’ll make coffee and then we’ll book flights.”
“Oh.” Her stomach gave a lurch. “What’s the rush?”
“The wedding is happening in a little over three weeks. We’ll be lucky to get seats as it is.” Nick ground beans and made two cups. The machine had been their indulgence, a mutual gift that kept delivering when stress piled upon stress. Coffee had become a shared habit during those early, sleep-deprived years and it had stuck. They both drank it black, mostly because they’d been too tired to reach for the milk. “Then there’s the fact that if I give you time to think about it, you’ll find a reason not to do it.”
She took the coffee gratefully, knowing he was right.
“I have to do it. I’m not going to miss Rosie’s wedding.”
“In that case, we need to book.” He put the cup on the table and unwound his scarf.
The scarf had traveled the world with him. It had protected him from sandstorms and dust storms and he refused to be parted from it or have it replaced. It fascinated her that someone so clever could think a scarf could bring luck. She couldn’t understand how someone with his brain could think there was something magical about a wool/cotton mix.
“I can’t believe Rosie is getting married. She’s so young.” She was desperate to talk to someone about it. Nick might not have been her first choice, but as he was the only candidate for her confidences, he won.
“Twenty-two.” He spooned sugar into his coffee. “If this were ancient Egypt, she would have been married a decade ago.”
Comments like that, Maggie thought, were why a woman needed girlfriends.
Sometimes she wanted to lift up the nearest frying pan and clock his clever, but somehow still clueless, brain.
“This isn’t ancient Egypt.” Sometimes his head was so deep in his studies, she was convinced he’d forgotten that. “And we haven’t even met him.”
“Well, we’re not the ones marrying him. As long as she likes him, that’s all that matters.”
“Likes him?” Sometimes she despaired. “They’ve barely spent any time together. And it’s all been heady, romantic good times. That’s not real. That’s not what marriage is.” Marriage was holding tightly to each other as you stumbled over rough ground. Marriage was never letting go.
She and Nick had let go.
He stirred his coffee slowly. “Maybe it should be. Maybe there should be more of those romantic good times.”
What was that supposed to mean? Was it a dig at her? “Life happens, Nick. Someone has to handle it.”
“Woah—” He sent her a startled look. “What did I say?”
“You were implying that I was so busy looking after the practical side, I forgot to be romantic.”
“I wasn’t