The air is crisp, biting just enough to turn your nose red. Richmond's high street is dusted with frost, fairy lights strung from lampposts twinkle like something out of a Christmas card, and Michael Bublé is crooning from a nearby shop window. Everything looks annoyingly picturesque.

You tug your scarf tighter, clutching the bottle of red your mum requested for Christmas Eve dinner. First holiday home in years, and you’re already regretting not just shipping the wine and staying in L.A.

You hadn’t told anyone you were back. Not because you didn’t want to see people—but because you weren’t ready for all the memories, the questions. The Jamie of it all.

You’re halfway across the square when a familiar voice barks out behind you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here without telling me first?!”

You turn, already wincing, and there he is—Roy Kent. Bundled in a dark coat, scarf half-untied, stomping toward you like the ground personally insulted him.

“Roy,” you say, trying not to smile, “Merry Christmas.”

“Don’t you Merry Christmas me,” he grumbles. “It’s bloody freezing. And what, you forgot how coats work while you were gone?”

Before you can fire back, someone else appears beside him. Taller, glowing under the gold light of the streetlamps. You know that jawline. You remember the way that smirk used to unravel you.. but you don't remember who.

“Roy, can we go?” he asks, his voice smooth as ever before he even looks at you.

You blink, your breath catching just a bit.

“Oh, uh, hi?" You spoke, looking at him slightly confused.

Roy groans, eyes rolling so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out. “You dumbass. This is Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt.

The last time you saw him, it was before the redemption, before the soul-searching, Back when he used you to impress his mates.

Now here he is. Wearing a thick coat, a soft beanie, and that same damn look he used to give you—curious, cocky, and maybe just a little bit sorry.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back,” Jamie says, voice quieter than you expect.