Wrapped Up in You - Talia Hibbert
One
@DoURe1dMe:
@AbbieGrl: Welcome home.
“I come bearing biscuits!”
Abigail Farrell stopped typing numbers into her spreadsheet du jour, removed her cat-eye spectacles, and massaged the bridge of her nose. Hard. “Chitra,” she said. “Remember our little chat, the other day? About how you are too pregnant to trek across campus every time you fancy a tea break, and you should stay in the biology block and call me instead?”
Chitra, who was round and glowing and far too pleased with herself, gave a derisive snort. “I can’t say I remember that, no—”
“How convenient,” Abbie murmured darkly.
“But I do remember telling you that I need to stretch my legs more. So shut up.” Chitra plopped takeout cups from the school’s canteen onto Abbie’s desk, shoving administrative paperwork out of the way in a flash of mauve nails and gold bangles. Then she sank into one of Abbie’s office chairs and propped her ankle-booted feet up on the other. “How goes the world of office management, my darling?”
“Swimmingly,” Abbie said, because everything she organised went swimmingly. Except for Chitra, who unfortunately refused to be controlled. “How goes the world of corralling whiny brats?”
Chitra arched a dark eyebrow. “You’re convincing no one with that ‘I hate kids’ routine. I know you keep a tub of sweets under your desk for any lost twelve-year-olds.”
Oh dear. If that information were widely known, it would completely undo the Fuck off and leave me alone aura Abbie had cultivated with her colleagues. Next thing you knew, people would be popping by her office for chats at all hours.
She made a mental note to hide the box of Celebrations better and wear more aggressive eyeliner. “I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”
“You’re ridiculous. Drink your tea and have a biscuit, you dizzy cow.”
Grudgingly, Abbie obeyed. The tea was rather nice. The canteen staff had added cinnamon in deference to the festive season, which was about as much Christmas spirit as she could stand.
“I have news, by the way,” Chitra said, biting into a gingerbread shaped like Santa’s head.
“Mm. Do tell.”
“According to my Instagram feed, Will Reid has been spotted at LAX. His fangirls reckon he’s coming home for Christmas. Isn’t that nice?”
Abbie wasn’t surprised by this information; she’d already known, courtesy of the three Union Jack emojis Will himself had sent her an hour ago.
But she was conscious of the fact that Chitra didn’t really care about Will Reid. Chitra cared about Abbie’s Reactions to Will Reid, and occasionally she mentioned him in leading tones while studying Abigail carefully, as if waiting for some sort of meaningful response. Which was ridiculous, and pointless, since there was no meaning of any kind to be found in Abbie’s responses to Will.
In order to prove as much, she sipped her tea and murmured dryly, “Ah. I thought you meant interesting news.”
Chitra’s unsubtle examination dissolved as she laughed around a mouthful of biscuit. “Don’t let anyone else hear you dismiss our city’s greatest success. They might excommunicate you.”
She did not exaggerate. It wasn’t often a small city like Nottingham produced America’s third-favourite British heartthrob (as voted by the readers of E! Online).
Lowering her voice, Chitra went on, “I take it you’ll see him at Christmas?”
Abbie opened her mouth to dispense an appropriately sarcastic reply. Unfortunately, instead of offering words, her brain helpfully produced a series of images instead.
Will Reid’s familiar, million-dollar face smiling just for her.
His literal superhero body sitting on the floor beside her grandma’s Christmas tree.
His hands—the same hands that had entire social media accounts dedicated to them—reaching for the clay ornaments they’d made together when they were twelve.
“Yes,” she said finally, the word a little hoarse. “Yes, I’ll see him at Christmas.”
Always would.
* * *
@DoURe1dMe: Is that a CHRISTMAS PARTY I see in your story?
@DoURe1dMe: I didn’t know you went to those.
@AbbieGrl: Har de har. It’s a work thing. Chitra forced me.
@DoURe1dMe: That woman is a very good influence on you.
The trouble with Will, Abbie reflected three days later, was that he lived in two realities at once.
Hollywood Will only existed on-screen. He lived in blockbuster American movies as Captain X, kicking aliens in the nuts without tearing his spandex. He lived in viral YouTube videos where he answered rapid-fire questions about his twelve-year acting career while a truckload of puppies scrambled into his lap. He lived in her phone, on social media, despite the fact that she’d muted all iterations of his name. Someone would tweet Jesus Christ I’d pay him to spit on me, and lo and behold, there’d be a