Page 122 of The Revenge Game

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“A Santa Claws.” Drew groans. “Okay, you weren’t kidding about the jokes.”

“At least yours was seasonally appropriate. Mine’s about why the cookie went to the doctor.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Because it was feeling crumbly?”

“I feel you should be denied Christmas dinner for knowing that.”

His laugh echoes through my apartment, and a warm feeling unfurls in my chest.

Despite our mocking and skepticism, our traditional British Christmas lunch tastes amazing. Maybe the Christmas meal is the British yearly culinary apology for Marmite.

After we’ve stuffed ourselves to the gills, it’s time to exchange presents. My nerves are in my throat as I hand Drew his present. Is it too much? Too sentimental?

Oh well, it’s too late for regrets now because Drew has unwrapped my present to reveal the photo book inside.

He opens the first page and blinks.

The photo is the selfie we took outside St Paul’s Cathedral. Drew’s glasses are askew, and I’m squinting into the sun, but we’re both grinning like we’ve discovered some amazing secret.

My gaze stays fixed on his face, trying to interpret what he’s thinking.

I wanted him to have a physical record of our adventures together. But I’ve been worried that putting together this album crosses some invisible line Drew’s drawn between casual and something more.

But as he flips through the pages—there’s us pulling faces at the Tower Bridge, the series of increasingly ridiculous poses we struck with the Trafalgar Square lions, the time we got caught in that downpour at Greenwich Observatory and ended up looking like we’d tried to time travel through a car wash—his smile grows wider.

“I can’t believe you put this together,” he says.

“Well, someone needed to preserve evidence of your gargoyle obsession for posterity.”

He laughs, but there’s something soft in his eyes as he reaches the last page, the selfie I took of us at the WinterWonderland, cuddled into each other, the Christmas light show behind us.

“Thank you,” he says, carefully shutting the book and placing it by his side.

“You’re welcome.”

Then, he reaches down to retrieve his present for me.

“Uh…it’s not much,” he says, handing me the wrapped gift.

The present is small, roughly the size of a jam jar, padded carefully with tissue paper that crinkles as he hands it to me.

I peel back the tissue paper layer by layer, each crinkle building anticipation until the final reveal steals my breath completely.

It’s a snow globe.

But it’s not just any snow globe. It’s a snow globe containing a tacky flamingo wearing sunglasses with ridiculous pink glitter swirling in the water.

“How did you…?” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “How did you find this?”

Drew pushes his glasses up his nose. “I might have spent some time on vintage collectibles websites. Turns out there’s quite an active community of snow globe enthusiasts.”

I shake the globe gently, watching the glitter dance around the flamingo. My vision blurs as I remember that little boy I used to be, making wishes using the snow globe.

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out.

“I thought you deserved something that can provide you with magical wishes,” he says quietly.