“Okay… Sorry. Give me a sec.” He opened his messages and began typing super quick. I had no idea what was going on, but I did know I’d never seen him this on edge. Those guys needed to talk—and soon.

But seeing as Elle was so busy today, maybe it was my turn to help him out for a change? I waited until he’d pressed send and looked a little less stressed.

“Look, how about you choose what we do next?” Yes, I was effectively handing over my ultimate Christmas day to the Grinch. “Got to make it Christmassy though…”

So, with the dark hitting, we headed out. Outside was so cold, I couldn’t speak without my voice wobbling, and the freezing wind blowing off the river brought serious danger of snotsicles. I buried my face in my scarf and tried to suck air in and out of it to provide my own central heating. But we both liked being outside and, as we chatted and strolled, we managed to put whatever weirdness just happened behind us.

Nick’s first stop was a museum dedicated to noodles in cups. So basically a Pot Noodle museum. And I was here for it. He smugly found a Christmas-dinner-flavored one, which meant he achieved being festive after all. Then we walked up Bedford Avenue, which had the coolest shops I’d seen in my life, all vintage sunglasses and candles that cost fifty dollars. But it wasn’t that Christmassy, so I told Nick he needed to step it up. And less than two minutes later, he stopped by two big guys in suits, standing outside a warehouse door. As someone pushed the door open, a burst of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” popped out. Well, a weird guitar-hipster version of it, but I’d take it.

“Shall we?” Nick asked.

“What—sing or stop?” He knew my rule about never leaving Mariah hanging.

“Stop…” Nick looked at the guys on the door. “We okay to go in?”

Neither of them moved. Not even their eyes. The one on the right said, “Guest list only, sir.”

But Nick just smiled. “Oh, I know. We’re with Au Revoir Hairs?” He looked down at the iPad the guy was holding. “Nick Miller… And Holly Wattle.” I knew he’d only discovered that word when I was showing him which bit of my turkey slippers lit up. Nick lowered his voice as if asking me a private question. “Hol, what time did you say your flight was tonight? The lounge for London is WELL worth getting there in time for.”

I tried not to show fear. Or anything that resembled not a British celebrity. “Not till nine.” I used the poshest voice I could.

“Are you sure you want to stop?” Nick put his hand on my arm. “The restaurant’s only another block?”