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Despite Wolfgang’s best efforts, Strike and Robin were still behaving like a pair of complete idiots.
The words that had so readily been on Cormoran’s lips only a couple of weeks before had since retreated stubbornly back into his mouth, and they did not look as though they would reappear anytime soon. For this, Wolfgang was sulking with him, though Strike made this very difficult by continually bringing over biscuits.
Although his biscuit laden visits were frequent, Cormoran continued to avoid his conversation with Robin. He told himself that it was a good thing she had fallen asleep that day, for it had not been the right time. But it never seemed to be the right time.
Robin too, was avoiding any intimate and therefore potentially dangerous contact between them. She was still embarrassed that Strike had seen her so poorly, and of the feelings his looking after her had induced. She was particularly mortified by a dream she had had whilst he was there - in which he was professing his love for her - and sincerely hoped that she hadn’t talked in her sleep.
And so, it was like this that they continued in their usual infuriating way, whilst their friends, human and canine alike, continued to watch on in exasperation until the holidays arrived.
Max had decided he wanted to throw a little Christmas dinner party a few days before the actual day, and told Robin to invite whoever she liked. This had allowed for the reunion of the world’s best two meddling matchmakers, Wolfgang and Ilsa, who pulled out all the tricks they could think of. They decided it was time to play dirty.
First up was Wolfgang, who looking utterly adorable in his reindeer antlers, convinced an unwitting Strike to share in a game of tug of war over a Christmas cracker. He let go just as his opponent pulled back, causing him to topple straight into a flustered Robin. But alas, to no avail.
Next, was Ilsa, who deliberately spilt her mulled wine down Cormoran’s shirt, insisting that Robin would have to help towel him off. Unfortunately Strike quickly pulled out the new shirt Ilsa herself had just given him for Christmas and went to change in the bathroom. Ilsa was particularly furious at being foiled by her own excellent present giving.
Finally, they joined forces. The last weapon in their arsenal was the classic: mistletoe, and this particular ruse required a tag team effort. Whilst Ilsa called Robin over from the other side of the room, Wolfgang pinched Strike’s wallet from his pocket to lure him into a chase. Their paths intersected perfectly, as planned, and led them to directly walk underneath the mistletoe, at which point Wolfgang skidded to a halt and Ilsa practically screamed that they had to stop and obey Christmas law.
It was with horror that Wolfgang realised he too, was underneath the mistletoe, giving a relieved Robin the perfect out as she scooped him up to give him an affectionate kiss, desperate to avoid giving away her feelings for Strike. Though Wolfgang normally loved such attention, he was looking distinctly unimpressed at this particular moment.
Strike grabbed his wallet back in an effort to cover the look of disappointment on his own face. He conceded to himself on reflection, that it was probably a godsend that they hadn’t kissed, here and now, in front of all of their friends. He was all too aware that when he finally did kiss Robin Ellacott, he was going to have a damn hard time stopping.
Christmas came and went and with it, almost enough leftover turkey to appease Wolfgang’s frustrations. But he still couldn’t understand why Strike and Robin were being so difficult. ‘How do humans manage it?’, he found himself wondering time and time again. When dogs love someone, they tell them and in fact, it’s impossible not to show it at every possible opportunity. Humans he decided, were weird.
On New Year’s Eve, in a fortuitous turn of events in Wolfgang’s eyes at least, Cormoran and Robin found themselves celebrating the occasion alone together at her flat. Max’s social life had done Cormoran a lot of favours lately, and he wondered now, if that wasn’t entirely coincidental.
A few drinks in, Robin had let her guard down enough that the pair were now sat together cosily on the sofa. Wolfgang was settled between them, lying back like a human, his head level with theirs. He provided the perfect excuse for their proximity and for blankets, ‘got to keep Wolfgang warm after all’, they told themselves. Drinks in hand, they watched Jools Holland, or rather, tried to watch it; both were too absorbed in their own thoughts and feelings to actually pay attention. They were both painfully aware of every single shift of movement from the other, every breath, every stolen glance.
As ten minutes til the New Year countdown was announced, Cormoran felt his palms begin to sweat. Even he could not deny that this, now, was the right moment he had been looking for. It was perfect, he had a reason to kiss her and an out if she didn’t respond how he hoped she would. It was a flawless plan. He looked at her anxiously, she looked beautiful, and it was with some effort that he went back to staring at the screen, only paying attention now to the ticking of the clock and the beating of his own heart.
Before he knew it, the countdown had begun. Cormoran’s palms were slippery now. He felt sick. 10, 9, 8...he would just turn around and kiss her...7...6...5...if it all went wrong he could just say it was a New Year’s kiss...4...3...2...he just had to go for it...1...showtime...HAPPY NEW YEAR!
At the exact same time Strike turned his head and leaned towards Robin, she leaned forwards to kiss Wolfgang, just as with the mistletoe. Seeing what was about to happen, Wolfgang dived out of the way just in time. Robin and Cormoran collided together as they had now done so many times before, but this time, perhaps because intentional on one side at least, their lips actually met properly.
Robin pulled back panicking, oblivious to Strike’s plan and convinced it was another accident.
“God sorry! We’ve got to stop doing that”, she stammered nervously.
This time, Strike couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth,
“What if we don’t?” he blurted out.
“Sorry?!”
“What if we don’t...stop?” He gazed intently into her eyes, his mouth was completely dry now, his heart racing.
Robin stared at him thunderstruck, her mouth wide open, her cheeks flushed pink. She looked unsure, as though she thought he may be joking.
“I wasn’t aiming for Wolfgang”, Strike confessed sheepishly, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.
“Oh.” was all she could say.
“Yeah.” He waited, feeling as though he might die.
“That...that was for meant for me?” She was smiling now too, nervously, but genuinely. It was the sign he’d been waiting for.
“Well, not quite that. This was meant for you.”
He brushed her hair back from her cheek, cupping her face gently, and leant down once more to kiss her with all of the intensity of the words still left unspoken between them.
A few minutes later, he pulled back, dizzy, breathless and grinning like an idiot. His forehead resting against hers, he said softly, “Happy New Year Robin.”
Struggling for breath herself, but smiling harder than she ever had before, Robin responded in kind,
“Happy New Year, Strike” and with that, she pulled him back for another kiss, and like him, she knew that now she was finally kissing Cormoran Strike, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
The neighbours assumed it was the fireworks that night that provoked such an excited reaction from the dog next door. Little did they know, it wasn’t the ones outside, that he was barking at.