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Too much. He knew what she was hinting at, though he liked to think she was wrong, that the women he’d dated had known who he was, what he was capable of when it came to relationships. The image of his mum crying though, alone with nobody to comfort her . . . that would haunt him to his grave.

Acid burned a trail up his esophagus and he turned towards the door with a jerky incline of his head. “Shall we go in?” He needed the distraction so badly, he was prepared to eat every damn cake they had.

She drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “Yes.” He pushed open the door and waited for her to go in first. “For future reference,” she said as she walked past him. “The best way to deal with a woman when she’s crying, if you don’t know her well, is to offer a tissue. Let her have some privacy. Give her a smile of sympathy. Listen.”

“And if I know her well?”

“Hug her, you dimwit.”

He huffed out a laugh as he followed her inside.

At the counter, she pointed to something that looked like a sugar-coated heart attack. “One Chantilly cream bombolone, please.” She indicated a chocolate covered heart attack. “And one Boston cream bombolone.”

After adding a latte and an English Breakfast tea to the order—she pulled a face at his choice—she snapped a photo of their tray. Then led the way upstairs because apparently the seats were comfier.

“Have you got your book?” She asked as she slid into the booth.

He sat down opposite her and produced the Bear Grylls autobiography from his coat pocket. One of several books he’d bought when he’d realized he didn’t want to intrude on Anna and Colin as they watched TV together on the sofa, Anna’s head on Colin’s shoulder, a fleece throw over their bodies. He wasn’t sure who had been comforting who, only that his presence would have got in the way.

Anna slid a paperback out of her handbag and let out a soft laugh. “We’re such a cliche.” He glanced at the cover, a boy and girl dressed in red woolly jumpers, kissing in front of a Christmas tree. “I know what you’re thinking.”

He looked into her smiling eyes “Oh?”

“You’re thinking you wish we could swap books.”

A laugh burst out of him and he shook his head, about to reply with something like in no universe ever, but she mimed zipping her mouth shut. Belatedly he remembered they were to read in silence. Colin teasing his sister even after his death.

The minutes ticked away. Luke ate his doughnut creation—he’d opted for the vanilla—and tried to get into his book. But every now and again he glanced over at Anna. The more he realized she was engrossed, totally unaware of him, the more his gaze lingered. Auburn. That was the color of her hair. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he’d Googled it one night. It clashed, he supposed, with her red Christmas jumper. Did she have one for every day in the lead up to the twenty-fifth? Add her freckles, her magnificent blue eyes, her warm smile, and it all worked, somehow. She looked like the sort of woman you could take on a hike and cuddle up with in front of a fire. A woman you could laugh with while having sex.

Totally unlike any woman he’d ever dated.

She glanced up and their eyes met. Beneath his ribs he felt a sort of . . . flutter.

She opened her mouth, must have realized she wasn’t supposed to talk, then sighed and closed it again.

“He meant it as a joke.” Blue eyes rested on his, waited for him to elaborate. “Colin wouldn’t really have wanted you to be silent, Anna.” His friend had often mentioned his chatterbox of a sister. Each time he’d done it with a fond smile.

“Maybe he said it for you,” she whispered, as if Colin could actually hear them. “Maybe he’d have realized that by day four you’d have had enough of hearing me talk.”

“I like listening to you,” he blurted, surprising them both. “I like listening to your memories of Colin,” he qualified quickly, though he suspected he also liked listening to the sound of her light New Jersey accent. “It’s a side to him I didn’t know.”

Her eyes searched his for so long, he worried what she saw. “Maybe I’d like the same,” she said eventually. “Maybe I’d like to listen to you talk about Colin, about the times you shared with him.”

Maybe I’m not as brave as you, he wanted to reply. Maybe if I dive too much into my memories, I’ll break. But how could he admit how fragile he felt in front of this woman who was so unafraid to draw on her own memories? “I’ll bear that in mind,” he murmured instead. And dropped his gaze to his book so she wouldn’t see his fear.

“As it looks like we’re talking.” He looked up again to find her giving him a playful smile. “What did you think of your Italian doughnut?”

“I think it had more calories than I burnt off in my run.”

She snorted. “Nobody thinks about calories when they eat a bombolone.” She waved a hand towards his empty plate. “You ate it all. You can’t have hated it.”

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t hate it.”

He didn’t hate any of their afternoon together.

December 5th

Anna’s heart pounded as she stared up at the looming indoor climbing wall. The advent window for day five had read simply Go Climbing.