Chapter Text
One Week Earlier: George
“Tony wants us to do what?” Kipps said, a look of disgust on his face.
“Don’t you remember that little old lady from that horrid Spector job that wouldn’t stop fawning over Lockwood? She’s treating him like some kind of long lost grandchild and has lent us her cottage in the countryside.” George barely bothered to look up from his research at his desk to deliver this explanation.
“We’re all supposed to spend the night there for a holiday celebration. There’s a Christmas market and everything,” Holly chimed in.
The three of them had congregated in the basement office of Portland Row before the evening’s case. Lockwood and Lucy were currently at Mullet’s, and George was fairly certain Lockwood had concocted the errand just to have an excuse to be alone with her.
“Oh, there’s no fucking way I’m going,” Kipps declared, leaning back against Lockwood’s desk. “Think of how miserable it would be with the two of them.”
There was no need to specify the them in question, but that had never stopped Kipps from airing his grievances before. “I’m not watching that tosser moon after Carlyle all weekend when there’s not even a job involved,” he grumbled. “The two of them should just go alone, so they can stare at each other in peace without making me want to be sick.”
George sat up quickly, immediately at attention. “That’s it!”
“What’s it, George?” Holly looked up her inventory of their most recent Satchell’s delivery.
He rubbed his hands together, his mind slotting together the pieces of a plan. “As much as it pains me to say it, Kipps is right.”
“Hey!” he interjected.
George continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard anything. “Lucy and Lockwood should go alone. The three of us can make excuses and send them off together.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Kipps agreed. “Let’s acknowledge the obvious—when Tony was imagining this weekend, he was just excited to have excuses to hold Lucy’s hand. He does not need us to witness his insufferable attempts at romance.”
Holly looked doubtful. “I don’t know… I don’t want to lie or trick them.”
“Come on, Hol. Just let them go off in their domestic bliss, and the three of us can enjoy a weekend without any of their chaos. Who knows? Maybe they’ll actually be forced to talk to each other,” George said.
He knew the odds were slim, but one could hope that some alone time would finally make his two housemates address the ever present elephant in the room.
“Plus, if Tony has the prospect of a weekend away with Lucy on the calendar—even if he thinks the rest of us are coming along—he won’t be tempted to schedule us for some ridiculous job.” Kipps settled back in Lockwood’s chair, looking immensely pleased with his logic.
“Exactly,” George said archly. “You know it’s a good plan, Holly. It’s a win for everyone. You’ll have time to finish all the Christmas shopping you’ve been fussing about and still have a nice weekend off.”
“Well,” Holly said slowly, her face brightening slightly. “I can’t say that sounds like a bad prospect.”
George met Kipps’ eyes, and they nodded at each other, knowing they had won Holly over.
“Exactly. You can do that, I can have the house to myself for quite possibly the first time ever, Kipps can attend the local turtleneck enthusiast convention—”
Kipps sniffed, as he brushed some lint off of his standard black turtleneck. “I think what you mean to say is that I’ll be able to attend the holiday party my flatmates are hosting.”
George tilted his head in curiosity, processing this new information. “You have flatmates?”
“Four of them. Keep up, Karim.”
“How did we not know this?” Holly inquired, equally puzzled.
Kipps tossed them both a disdainful look. “Did any of you ever bother to ask?”
“Seemed unimportant when you practically live here,” George said baldly, cleaning his glasses on his shirt and leaning forward. “Anyway, here’s what we’re going to do.”
Christmas Holiday Weekend: Lucy
“Where the hell is everyone?” Lockwood asked, frowning as he looked up from his watch. “Holly should be here by now. I hope nothing’s happened to her.”
Lucy put her own overnight bag down next to his in the entryway of Portland Row. It was odd that none of their friends were waiting for them. “Want me to check on George?”
Lockwood nodded, and as Lucy padded up the stairs, she heard the phone ring. When she came back downstairs several minutes later, Lockwood was still talking to Holly.
“Well, we’ll miss you, Hol,” he said. “Hope you get it taken care of. See you on Monday.” Lockwood hung up the phone and joined her by the front door, pulling on his coat.
“George isn’t coming. He’s sick. He wouldn’t even come to his bedroom door because of germs and said he would spare me the details,” Lucy said, shuddering at the prospect of being regaled with the gruesome specifics of George’s ailments.
“He doesn’t want us to stay?” Lockwood inquired, his brow furrowing in concern as he looked back up the stairs.
“No, he said he already called his mum so she’s available if he needs anything, but he thinks he just needs to sleep this off.”
“Well, that was Holly on the phone just now,” Lockwood said. “She had to cancel as well. The heating stopped working in her flat, and she needs to wait for the maintenance staff to come by to fix it. It can’t wait until Monday since it’s been so cold.”
“And what about Kipps?” Lucy said slowly. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
“Did I forget to tell you? Quill told me at last night’s case that he isn’t joining us either,” Lockwood said, shaking his head. “It’s his grandmother’s 80th birthday; he forgot there’s a party this afternoon.”
“So…” Lucy said, biting her lip. “I guess that just leaves… us.”
Lucy wondered uneasily if Lockwood would want to cancel their Christmas holiday now that it was only the two of them. She’d even left the Skull behind so she could truly relax; he was currently sitting on the window sill in her bedroom and moaning about the injustice of being excluded since he was the most valuable member of Lockwood & Co. in his estimation.
“Yes, I suppose it is just the two of us,” Lockwood said. “We can’t reschedule on this late notice. Everyone else will just miss out on the fun then, won’t they, Luce?”
“Yep.” Lucy’s mood instantly brightened at the idea of an adventure with Lockwood, and she smiled at him.
He gave her a grin in return. “Let’s get going. We don’t want to miss our train.” He held the door open for her before they set off into the crisp morning air.
As they walked down the street side by side, neither of them saw George sneak away from the upstairs window to inform Holly and Kipps that their plan had gone off without a hitch.
After an uneventful train ride, Lucy and Lockwood arrived at their destination for the weekend.
“I can’t wait to see this place, Luce,” Lockwood said, striding confidently down the street, his coat billowing behind him. “Mrs. Highsmith said it was right over here…”
While Lockwood led them to the cottage, Lucy trailed after him, taking in the quaint town. The wide High Street was lined with charming stone buildings bedecked with Christmas trimmings, and there was a square in the distance with a large evergreen tree in the center.
After a short walk down a few side streets, Lockwood stopped in front of a small stone cottage with a thatched roof. “Here it is,” he said brightly. “Number 39.” He located the key from where it was hidden under a rock and unlocked the front door with a flourish.
Lucy stepped gingerly through the entrance, taking in the charming space for the first time. It appeared that Mrs. Highsmith had exaggerated the size slightly, but the cottage was perfectly cozy with a wood burning fireplace, worn sofa, and squashy chairs for reading in every corner. There were wooden beams on the ceiling and flagstone floors covered in worn oriental rugs.
Someone had clearly been here recently, and there was already garland draped over the massive fireplace and across many of the doorways, making it festive for Christmas. There was even a tree sitting in the corner by the sofa.
She turned back to Lockwood. “Is this all for us?”
He shook his head, neatly sliding the key in his coat pocket. “No, Mrs. Highsmith is traveling here with her husband early next week, and they’ll spend Christmas here. She has some sort of caretaker who set this all up. We’re just reaping the benefits. There’s supposed to be a note in the kitchen for us. I’ll look for it, if you want to pick your room first?”
Lucy wandered down the hallway, taking in the walls covered with art and old family photos, before finding a bedroom with a double bed with a white iron frame. Everything in the room was a bit mismatched, and it had been decorated with a combination of faded chintzy fabrics, florals, and chipped wooden furniture.
As she unpacked her pajamas, Lucy heard Lockwood shuffling around and then swearing softly.
“Lockwood?” she said, poking her head out into the hallway and looking around until she found him standing in the doorway of the second bedroom. “What’s wrong? Death glows?”
It wouldn’t be surprising if someone had died here; it was an older cottage, and Mrs. Highsmith wasn’t exactly young herself.
Lockwood glanced back at her, stepping aside so she could see into the room. “Ah, no. Unfortunately, it looks like this bedroom is out of commission.”
Lucy peered around him to see that the room was full of boxes and the bed had been partly disassembled with the mattress leaning against the wall.
There was a strange lurch in her stomach. “Oh.”
Lockwood scratched his nose. “Yes, it appears that they’re doing some remodeling, but Mrs. Highsmith didn’t mention anything in her note…”
“Is there a third bedroom? What about that door?” Lucy pointed down the hall.
Lockwood shook his head, his face impassive. “No, there’s only the two of them. I’ve already checked. There’s just a bathroom and then an office.”
“Oh,” she said again, at a loss for words.
Lockwood squared his shoulders. “Perhaps it’s a good thing it’s just us this weekend after all, Luce. There’s only one thing to be done.”
She swallowed hard, thinking of the double bed in her room. Was he really going to suggest what she thought he was going to propose? Her stomach felt strange again; it must be upset from the questionable sandwich she’d eaten on the train ride.
“Yes…” she said slowly, trying to wrap her mind around sharing a room—sharing a bed—with Lockwood.
“I’ll set up on the sofa,” Lockwood said, turning back down the hall to the living room. “It will be fine for a night.”
“Right,” Lucy said, shaking herself a bit.
A short while later, after a quick stroll around town to orient themselves, the two of them headed to the Christmas market. In deference to the holiday occasion, Lucy had worn a soft red jumper with her normal black skirt, a pair of wool tights, and black boots. Lockwood had even swapped his usual tie for a wool cable knit jumper over his button up shirt. Lucy thought he pulled off the jumper with an air of elegance.
“It’s really a pity that the rest of the group couldn’t make it. They’re really missing out,” Lockwood said, his eyes glittering with excitement.
Lucy gave him a small smile in response, uncertainty creeping back into her mind. Perhaps Lockwood would be having more fun if the rest of the agency had been able to attend this weekend. Well, maybe not Kipps, but certainly George and Holly.
Regardless, she resolved to make the best of having Lockwood's undivided attention, and they spent the afternoon meandering through the market together and exploring the stalls. Even though it was growing progressively colder, the charming setting truly felt like something out of a storybook.
Lucy found herself lingering over a stall filled with handmade Christmas ornaments. There was one in particular that caught her eye: a delicate, sparkly snowflake bauble. While it was lovely, it was also quite expensive for an unnecessary item, so she looked wistfully at it before she put it back on the shelf.
Lockwood was waiting for her at the entrance. “Do you want to get something to drink? Help us warm up a bit?” he said, rubbing his hands together.
She agreed, and once they both had mugs of mulled wine, they found seats at a nearby table. Lockwood sat next to her instead of across from her, so close that their thighs brushed. It was much warmer this way, his body heat slowly radiating through her tight clad legs.
“There’s great people watching here,” Lockwood said, leaning forward and looking relaxed. He pointed out a group of teens about their age who were all wearing nondescript navy uniforms with rapiers at their hips. “I wonder what the local agent scene is like,” he said thoughtfully.
Lucy evaluated them critically. “Their supervisor reminds me of Barnes.”
“He looks nothing like the man, Lucy.”
“But don’t you see how he’s reprimanding them—”
Their conversation devolved from there to making up increasingly elaborate and ridiculous backstories for everyone around them, ranging from the internal politics of the local agency to a family who had recently received an inheritance from a long lost relative.
“What’s their deal?” Lockwood asked, nodding towards a boy and girl about their age who were passing by. The boy was enthusiastically telling her a story, and she couldn’t seem to stop laughing.
“Siblings? Old friends?” Lucy ventured.
“They’re clearly together,” Lockwood insisted. “Don’t you see the way he looks at her?”
She sent him a sidelong glance. “What do you mean the way he looks at her?”
“If you don’t see it, I’m not sure I can tell you.”
Lucy snorted. “With an explanation like that, I’m definitely not going to understand.”
“Well, what do you think these other people would say about us if they’re also playing this game?” Lockwood said, knocking her shoulder lightly with his.
“That we’re the best agents in London, of course,” she answered without skipping a beat.
“Just London, Luce? Sounds like you’re selling us a bit short.”
“All of England then?”
Lockwood’s face broke out in a megawatt grin, and he gave her a wink. “That seems more accurate. We are the best after all.”
“We are,” she nodded seriously, her lips turning up in a matching smile. “The best team.”
Lockwood’s face shifted, his gaze turning more serious as he turned to face her. “Yes,” he said, his hand finding hers. He squeezed her palm before interlacing their fingers. “We are a good pair, aren’t we?”
All Lucy could do was nod at him dumbly. That infernal feeling in her stomach was back again. Perhaps she was hungry after all. She seized on the first topic of conversation that occurred to her. “Do you want a snack?”
Lockwood cast an appraising glance at the various food vendors. “Yes, I could eat. How about some of those spiced nuts? If you save our spot here, I’ll get some for you.”
“Sounds great,” Lucy said, giving him a flimsy smile.
By the time Lockwood returned, it was time to head over to the Christmas tree lighting ceremony, so they shared the snack on their brief walk. It appeared that everyone in town had the same idea, and the small square was packed full of people. While Lockwood’s tall frame gave him a clear view, Lucy’s own line of sight was blocked by the crowd. She made a face in exasperation, and Lockwood chuckled in response.
“Try standing in front of me, Luce,” he said, his gloved hands finding her hips to maneuver her into place. “Here you go.”
Lockwood was right; she could see better here. Even once she was in position, his hands stayed resting lightly against her hips, almost like he’d forgotten to remove them.
“Can you see now?” he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear. The sensation of his breath did weird things to her insides, making her feel both warm and shivery at the same time.
“Yeah, it’s a great view,” Lucy managed to say, feeling her face flush when she realized her voice was a little shaky. At least Lockwood couldn’t see her rapidly reddening cheeks, and if he did notice, they could be excused by the cold.
Lucy let herself lean back ever so slightly against Lockwood’s chest. She wondered if he’d finally pull away, but if anything, his grip on her tightened slightly in return. She felt very warm standing so close together, his body heat slowly negating some of the still falling temperatures.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
“What?” she said, still feeling discombobulated.
“The tree, Lucy.”
“Ah, yes, it’s nice.”
The countdown to the lighting ceremony began a moment later, and Lucy felt her own heartbeat pick up in conjunction with it, as the anticipation continued to grow.
“Ten, nine, eight…” It was almost like they were counting down to more than just a tangle of lights being illuminated.
It was childish, but Lucy couldn’t hold back her gasp when the lights all sprang on, joining the crowd with their oohs and ahhs as they admired the tree. It was so beautiful, and as she looked around, the setting felt magical in a way that her usual life rarely did.
Lockwood hadn't said anything for a long time, and Lucy turned her head to find that he was already looking down at her. His eyes were bright, and there was a soft expression on his face that she’d rarely seen before. The words she’d planned to say died on her lips, and she swallowed hard.
“Luce,” Lockwood said, ducking his head, bringing their faces even closer together. “I was wondering if—”
“Yes?”
He let out an exhale and paused for a beat. “Are you ready to go to the pub? We should try and beat the crowd, so we can eat before curfew sets in.”
“Good idea,” she managed to choke out.
They quickly made their way to the historic pub near the Christmas market that Mrs. Highsmith had insisted they visit. The entire interior was already adorned for the holidays, bedecked with garland, tinsel, and strings of lights.
“This is great, isn’t it, Luce?” Lockwood said, his dark eyes sparkling, as they settled into a booth tucked in next to a wood burning fireplace.
“Very cozy,” she agreed.
A fifty something blonde waitress who introduced herself as Alice took their orders. Lockwood made small talk with her, explaining that they were agents visiting from London for their Christmas holiday. He even produced a business card in case Alice encountered any restaurant patrons looking for an agency, making Lucy roll her eyes.
The rest of their meal passed pleasantly. Lockwood was relaxed and happy, and he laughed easily and somehow seemed lighter than normal. Being on holiday, brief as it was, seemed to suit him, and Lucy found herself sinking further into the camaraderie of the moment.
As they were nearing the end of their meal, Lockwood reached into one of his coat pockets and passed her a small paper package. “I was going to save this for later,” he said. “But I thought you might want to have it to enjoy before Christmas.”
Lucy looked at him curiously. “You bought me a gift?” She carefully unfolded the crinkly brown paper to reveal the delicate snowflake ornament she’d admired at the Christmas market.
“I saw you looking at it earlier,” he said casually. “Do you like it?”
“I do.” She turned it over in her hands, watching it glisten in the candlelight. “It’s beautiful, Lockwood.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good. Perhaps you can put it on the tree when we get back to London?”
Lucy pictured it next to Lockwood’s family Christmas decorations they had pulled out of storage earlier in the week. “Yes, that would be lovely.” She bit her lip, worrying it with her teeth. “I don’t have anything for you though.”
“Just being here with you is enough for me, Luce,” Lockwood said softly.
Lucy looked up at him from under her eyelashes, feeling warmth spread over her at the show of closeness from him.
“Plus,” Lockwood added quickly. “I thought it would be nice for you to have something to remember our Lockwood & Co. Christmas holiday by.”
Suddenly the figurine didn’t seem to glisten quite so much, but Lucy was soon distracted by the arrival of an order of sticky toffee pudding.
She raised an eyebrow at Lockwood who shrugged in response, giving Alice a quizzical look. “We didn’t ask for this.”
“It’s Christmas,” Alice said cheerfully. “Here’s our special sticky toffee pudding on the house for the two agents.”
Lockwood grinned. “Can’t argue with that, can we, Luce?”
The two of them dug in, sharing the delicious dessert. As Lockwood paid for their meal, Lucy found herself thinking that this had already been the loveliest Christmas she’d ever had.
Lockwood thanked the waitresses again as he paid for their dinner. “You two are such a sweet couple,” Alice commented, as she passed Lockwood the change. “Hope you had a lovely Christmas date!”
Lucy’s cheeks flushed at the words couple and date. The heat from the fireplace suddenly seemed oppressive, and the pub was entirely too loud.
Lockwood’s eyes flicked to hers, and he opened his mouth as if he was going to say something.
“We should go, shouldn’t we?” Lucy said, getting to her feet and grabbing her coat before he could laugh at the idea of them being on a date or make a dismissive remark. She just needed some fresh air or preferably a bucket of ice water to dunk her head in if she could manage it.
In her haste to find the exit, however, Lucy stumbled over an uneven floorboard and she felt herself careening forward. She only narrowly avoided falling on her face by Lockwood reaching for her, perfectly in sync like the teammates they were.
“Ooof,” she groaned, cringing with embarrassment. If she hadn’t been so flustered, she would have noticed the floorboard across the restaurant.
“Slow down, Luce.” Lockwood chided, as his arm came around her waist to steady her.
Alice strolled back over at them and grinned. “Well, would you look at that,” she said, gesturing above them.
“Uh, Lucy,” Lockwood said, his ears turning pink.
Time slowed to a glacial pace as Lucy looked up. There it was: a small green bunch of mistletoe, hanging directly above them.
She was standing under the mistletoe.
With Lockwood.
Shit.
“Come on now, it’s a tradition,” Alice said, raising an eyebrow. “You two can’t tell me that you don’t want to. You’ve been making eyes at each other all night,” she said, giving a little laugh that made Lucy want to stab something.
It was a pity she’d left her rapier back at the cottage; perhaps she could borrow Lockwood’s, but first he would have to quit touching her so she could actually concentrate. At the moment, his arm was still wrapped around her middle, making it impossible for her to focus on anything else.
Lucy was dimly aware that other patrons at the pub had turned to look at them in the midst of the commotion, but her world had narrowed in on Lockwood. There was a strange glint in his eye that she recognized but didn’t trust.
He looked like he was about to do something stupid.
“We don’t have to—” she began, looking down at her boots.
Before she knew what was happening, Lockwood ducked his head and swooped in, cutting her off with a gentle press of his lips against hers. The kiss was quick and chaste—a peck really—and it was over almost before she’d realized it was happening.
Lucy blinked up at Lockwood, unable to string together a coherent thought. Had she hit her head when she tripped? Did she have a concussion that was causing her to hallucinate? Was this a dream?
She could feel Lockwood’s breath still ghosting across her lips, his fingertips a gentle pressure against her side. Not a dream then. This was real.
“Luce,” he said softly, his expression uncertain in a way that she had rarely seen before. “I hope that was okay. I know it’s a silly tradition, but it’s Christmas and—”
“Yeah, okay,” she said dumbly, clearing her throat. “Christmas. Tradition. Very normal.” Her blush had transitioned from a delicate flush to a third degree burn. Soon she would probably be able to scramble an egg on her cheeks. “Let’s just go?”
Lockwood finally released his hold on her, and Lucy briskly turned away to leave, carefully watching for any rogue floorboards this time.
Lockwood kept up a constant stream of chatter during their twilight walk back to the cottage, remaining perfectly calm and composed as always. Clearly the mistletoe-fueled kiss hadn’t impacted him at all. However, Lucy couldn’t have recounted a single word he had uttered if her life depended on it, mostly responding to his continued jabbering with nods and occasional grunts of acknowledgement.
When they arrived at the cottage, she immediately offered to make hot chocolate so she could have some time to collect herself while Lockwood built a fire. Safely ensconced in the kitchen, she paced back and forth as the hot chocolate came to a simmer on the stove.
This is fine, Lucy told herself. It hadn’t even been a real kiss. Lockwood had only done it in deference to the mistletoe and the pressure from their waitress. She just had to make it through the next few hours, and then she could escape to her bedroom for the evening to have a proper breakdown. Tomorrow they would return to Portland Row where things were normal, and they would just pretend that everything about today had never happened.
She was tough. For God’s sake, she was the best agent in England. She could do this.
“Luce?”
Lucy startled at the sound of Lockwood’s voice, jolting and banging her knee on a cabinet, as he stuck his head through the doorway.
“God, Lockwood—”
He raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head, barely suppressing a smirk. “Did I… scare you? Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m just peachy,” she said, gesturing towards the hot chocolate that she hadn’t realized was in danger of boiling over. “Just looking for some mugs.”
Lockwood nodded slowly, looking amused. “There’s some right there on the windowsill.”
“Yep. Those are the ones I was going to use.” She reached for them, narrowly avoiding knocking one on the floor with her elbow.
“I’ll leave you to it then. The fire’s ready whenever you are?”
“Great. Be there soon,” she said, attempting to lean casually against the counter and almost falling over for the second time that night.
When he was gone, Lucy buried her face in her hands. Who was she kidding? Her chances of ever being able to act normal around Lockwood again were as slim as the likelihood of the Skull becoming a member of polite society.
Before she joined him in the living room, Lucy put herself through some breathing exercises that she usually used during cases to regain a small measure of composure.
“Want to play for a bit?” Lockwood asked, gesturing towards a chess set he’d set up next to the fire. Since their return from the Other Side, he had slowly been teaching her how to play chess over the nights they both spent awake after nightmares.
“Sure,” she agreed with relief as she handed over his mug of hot chocolate. Chess would at least be a distraction, and it would give them something to talk about.
That is, something other than the two seconds their lips had touched.
They settled in across from each other. Unfortunately, Lucy quickly realized that her favorite part of playing with Lockwood—watching his intense expressions as he puzzled through his next move—was even more diverting than normal.
While he continued to make efforts at conversation, her own capacity for coherent thought was practically nonexistent as they moved through rounds of the game. She impulsively moved her rook forward after barely thinking through the implications, fixating instead on the scar above Lockwood’s lip.
“That’s actually a good move,” Lockwood admitted, temporarily flummoxed. He stared at the board, his eyes flicking back and forth, before retaliating by sliding his bishop entirely too close to her king for comfort.
“I feel threatened,” she muttered, eying the bishop like it was a Limbless.
“You should,” Lockwood said, giving her a wolfish smile and distracting her again. He was clearly still ten steps ahead of her. Lucy resisted the urge to flip the entire board over on his head—a desire she knew from experience was common in these situations.
“Fuck,” she groaned, slumping back on the sofa, sensing that disaster awaited her, but unable to determine how to manuever out of it.
“Just shut up and move, Lucy,” Lockwood said, throwing back his head and laughing.
“Don’t rush me,” she scolded, eventually pushing a pawn forward.
As she predicted, a few quick turns later, Lockwood had her in checkmate. Lucy couldn’t even be properly annoyed when she knew she’d played terribly.
Lockwood at least had the good sense not to gloat. He stretched his arms above his head as he got to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower to warm up a bit, unless you’d like to use the bathroom first?”
“No, you go ahead,” Lucy said, secretly grateful to have some time to herself.
After Lockwood reappeared in matching flannel pajamas with wet hair, Lucy excused herself to take a shower of her own. It was perhaps the longest shower of her life, as she was desperate to take up as much of the evening as possible.
When she finally emerged from the steamy bathroom, now dressed in her own pajamas and with a freshly scrubbed pink face, she grabbed her sketchbook before returning to the living room. Maybe she could draw so she at least wouldn’t have to look at him.
After years of slouching around Portland Row in cast off from her sisters, she’d recently purchased some decent pajamas and had saved the navy set with white piping to wear for this trip. Not that anyone would notice.
“New pajamas, Luce?” Lockwood asked, immediately proving her wrong as he smiled at her.
“Yes,” she said. Heat began to creep up the back of her neck and across her cheeks again. “They’re very warm.” They were not, in fact, warm at all, but they were more attractive than her usual pajamas, and that had seemed important when she’d packed back in London.
Lockwood rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “They’re nice,” he offered.
“Thanks,” she said shyly, perching next to him.
Lockwood stretched his arm out on the back of the sofa behind her, shifting slightly closer to her in the process. Slowly, it sunk in how very alone the two of them were here in the cottage, in a way that they almost never were at Portland Row. It had been ages since she’d felt this nervous around Lockwood, and her stomach was twisted in knots.
“It’s quite nice here, isn’t it?” Lockwood said, looking around fondly at the living room.
“Yeah,” she said, giving him a weak smile while wondering if it was too early to run for her bedroom. “We’ve had a good holiday celebration.”
“Perhaps we could come back here again someday since we’ve enjoyed it so much,” he suggested.
“Do you mean with the rest of the team since they missed today?”
“Ah, we could,” Lockwood said, scratching his nose. “I’m sure Holly would enjoy it in particular. But this has been nice just the two of us, hasn’t it, Luce?”
She shrugged, still feeling distracted. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Actually, Lucy,” he said, moving his hand to rest lightly on her arm. “Can we—”
“We should both go to bed,” she blurted out.
Lockwood arched an eyebrow at her in a question.
“Separately,” she clarified, wondering if she could dig a hole in the ground and hide in it for the next week. “Since the fire’s almost burned down. Before it gets too cold.”
“It’s still quite early, isn’t it? Not even nine yet, is it?” Lockwood looked mildly disappointed. Maybe he wanted to play another round of chess, but the longer she sat next to him, the greater the odds became that she would do something truly idiotic like grab his face and kiss him.
“Yeah, but I’m tired,” Lucy said, faking a yawn.
Her act must have succeeded because Lockwood just gave her a little pat on the arm. “Sure, Lucy. I’ll let you get some rest then. Goodnight.”
“Night,” she said, jumping to her feet and slinking off to the bedroom. As soon as the door was closed behind her, she leaned against it and put her head in her hands again.
While the cottage was charming, it wasn’t exactly warm. Insulation clearly hadn’t been a priority for the builders. Lucy shivered between the perfectly worn sheets, as raindrops pattered against the roof and window panes. But it wasn’t like she was going to sleep—not when Lockwood had kissed her.
He might be able to sleep, but now that she was alone, Lucy resigned herself to spending the next 6-10 hours analyzing every aspect of the all too brief kiss. She remembered the way Lockwood’s arm had felt around her, holding her far closer than strictly necessary. His lips were soft, she decided, softer than she’d imagined.
Not that she’d imagined them before.
Eventually, Lucy took a break from this most important analysis to accept that she needed more blankets if she was going to avoid frostbite in her thin pajamas. As she tiptoed down the hall to the linen closet, quilt in hand, she noticed a splash of light coming from the living room.
“Hey,” she said, stopping in the doorway. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
Lockwood was sitting on the sofa in the glow of the lamplight, flipping through an old Agatha Christie novel she knew he had read multiple times. He looked tired, ever present dark circles under his eyes. “I could say the same for you.”
“I was looking for another blanket. It’s chilly.”
“Ah,” he said, still not meeting her gaze. He had put his jumper back on over his pajamas, and his mussed hair flopped over his brow.
“Well,” she said, once again feeling out of sorts and already regretting initiating this conversation. “Guess I’ll go back to bed.”
“Are you angry with me, Lucy?” Lockwood said abruptly. He still wasn’t looking at her, and his face was very pale.
“Why would I be angry?”
His eyes flicked over to hers before he returned to staring at the novel. “For earlier. At the pub. I want to formally apologize. I didn’t mean to overstep, and you would be well within your rights to be upset with me—”
Lucy tried to keep herself from cringing. How many ways could he tell her he regretted the kiss? “Lockwood,” she said, cutting him off. “I get it. We’re okay. I know it was just because of the mistletoe.”
“Right.” Lockwood still wasn’t looking at her.
“Are you cold?” she asked, as a tentative peace offering. At the very least, perhaps she could give him the extra blanket she’d found.
“I’m fine,” he dismissed, giving her a small, tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not sure if I’m going to sleep much anyway.”
“Me either.” They exchanged a loaded look, both wondering about the nightmares that had plagued them over the recent months.
“Look, it’s at least a bit warmer in the bedroom than out here,” Lucy said suddenly. “And if we both aren’t going to sleep, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t share.”
Immediately, she wondered what bout of insanity had overtaken her to make that offer. Was it because the thought of sharing the bed with Lockwood had been at the back of her mind all day like creeping malaise? Or was it because she still wanted to be close to him even if she was terrified of what would happen? Both options?
Lockwood turned to look at her head on, his face studiously blank. “What?”
She looked down at her bright pink wool socks, instantly regretting not packing something less childish. “It’s a big bed, but I won’t force you or anything. We’d just be warmer together. We could always… play cards or something if we can’t sleep.”
Lockwood opened his mouth and then closed it, as if he wanted to say something but had thought better of it. “If you’re comfortable with it,” he said slowly, intentionally, “I’m comfortable with it.”
Lucy gave him a sharp nod, shocked that he’d agreed so easily. Lockwood trailed her back into the bedroom, waiting for her to get into the bed before he carefully climbed in on the other side. She left the lamp on her side on the lowest setting, figuring neither of them would be sleeping any time soon.
Instantly, Lucy determined that the bed was smaller and narrower than she realized. Lockwood’s much taller frame took up almost the full length of it, bringing them closer together than she’d anticipated as they both laid on their backs.
“You’re sure this is okay?” he asked, his figure shadowed in the dim light.
“Yeah. You can get closer,” she ventured, biting her lip. “Not much of a point in sharing if we aren’t close enough for body heat.”
They both shuffled in towards the middle, close enough that their limbs occasionally brushed. Lockwood adjusted the blankets over them so they were both covered up to their shoulders. This close, Lucy could smell the fresh, clean scent of the soap he had used in the shower.
Once they were both settled in the bed, the quiet between them grew thick and oppressive. Lucy had that same heavy feeling of anticipation from the tree lighting countdown—it felt like something was about to happen.
Stop it, she scolded herself. The only thing that was going to happen was that she’d probably snore, drool, or find a multitude of other ways to embarrass herself in front of Lockwood.
He was the one to finally break the silence, as he turned on his side to face her. “Listen, Luce. About earlier—with the mistletoe—”
The prospect of hearing Lockwood say for the third time that the kiss had merely been a matter of tradition made Lucy snap.
“Just stop,” she huffed. The words poured out of her like a tap she couldn’t turn off. “I know, Lockwood. You didn’t want to kiss me. You only did it because we were in front of all of those people, and you didn’t want to explain that we’re colleagues. You’ve made that clear. But please, just stop saying it didn’t mean anything because maybe it meant something to me. You don’t have to keep rubbing it in that you don’t feel the same way.”
Lucy turned on her side to face the wall, so she didn’t have to look at Lockwood. She blinked quickly to stop tears from falling. Now she’d made an already awkward situation even worse with her embarrassing little spiel, and he probably thought she was some silly, dramatic girl.
Lucy couldn’t stand the weight of his pity, not after she had as good as admitted that she wished their relationship was different. To add insult to injury, now she couldn’t even enjoy the memory of the kiss knowing how uncomfortable it had been for him. How had their lovely day been so ruined?
“You know what, this was all a stupid idea. You can stay here, and I’ll go sleep on the sofa—” She started to gather herself to leave when Lockwood’s hand shot out to stop her.
“Lucy,” he said quietly, his long fingers winding around her forearm. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. Just hear me out.”
That piqued her interest enough to pause. “Oh.” She settled back in the bed, still facing away from him, and fidgeted with the hem of the blanket. “Well, get on with it if it’s so important.”
For something that Lockwood felt so strongly about saying, he paused for a long time.
“Yes, I—” He cleared his throat. “Well, what I was trying to say is that I think you have the wrong idea about all of this. I’m enjoying this weekend. We don’t often get this much time just the two of us, and it’s… nice.”
Lucy felt herself thaw a bit, comforted by the genuine nature of Lockwood’s words. “It is nice,” she admitted.
“I’m glad you agree.” Lockwood took a deep breath. “Of course I want to be here with you, Luce. And while I kissed you earlier because of the mistletoe… That wasn’t the only reason why. I—well, I didn’t mind doing it.”
Lucy tensed. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying… could he? “What?”
“Again, I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to set the record straight since you seemed to have the wrong impression about how I felt.”
She didn’t respond, her mind still buzzing with the potential implications.
“Are we okay, Luce?” Lockwood asked again, unfamiliar uncertainty seeping into his tone.
She turned around to face him, not missing the way that his hand shifted to rest on her side. How the hell was she supposed to think rationally when he kept touching her?
“You didn’t mind,” she repeated slowly, going back to his earlier statement.
Now it was Lockwood’s turn to huff a breath. “God, Lucy, are you going to make me spell this out for you?”
“Spell what out? I’m not even sure what you’re saying, Lockwood,” she said, starting to get heated. How could he expect her to just know what he was thinking?
“Hell, Lucy,” he said roughly. “I swear sometimes that you’re deliberately being obtuse just to torture me.”
His fingers curled tighter against her waist in an almost possessive way, but she pushed that aside to ponder at a later time.
“For once, could you just bloody say what you mean so I don’t have to constantly try to read between the lines and—”
“Luce,” Lockwood interrupted. “How’s this for what I mean?”
He leaned in, bringing his other hand up to cup her cheek, as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and careful—an I’m still not quite sure if this is allowed kiss. However, unlike at the pub, he lingered for just a moment before pulling away.
Lockwood let his forehead rest against hers, as they both breathed deeply. Lucy’s heart was pounding again, and everything felt fuzzy and out of focus, except the solid weight of Lockwood next to her. She gripped the front of his jumper to anchor herself.
While the first kiss had been shocking, she’d at least had the warning because of the mistletoe. This, in the hushed cottage, without anyone else around to see it, was a completely different experience. Lucy wondered how many types of kisses there were, and she desperately wanted to find out.
“Now do you understand?” Lockwood whispered, his long fingers sliding back to thread through her hair.
It took every bit of composure Lucy had to string together the words to respond. “Yeah. I think that was pretty clear,” she finally managed to reply.
“So,” Lockwood said, his breath still mingling with hers, his mouth mere inches away. “Are we alright?”
“I might need more clarification.”
“Luce, what more could I possibly clarify—”
Lucy surged forward, finding his lips again. For a split second, Lockwood didn’t respond, a small noise of surprise escaping from the back of his throat. She panicked and started to pull away, but then his hands curled into her hair at the base of her skull, angling her mouth up towards his, as he deepened the kiss.
When they finally broke for air, Lockwood used his hand on her waist to draw her flush against him. His voice was a little unsteady as he asked, “Do you still want more information?”
“Huh?” She felt dazed from being so close to Lockwood, her mind heady with the knowledge of how his body felt pressed against hers, how his mouth felt pressed to hers. He was so warm, and he tasted like hot chocolate, and she wanted to memorize everything about this moment.
“How about this?” Lockwood still sounded breathless. “I kissed you earlier because I wanted to, Lucy. Because I’d been thinking about kissing you all day, so when I was presented with an opportunity, I couldn’t hold back any longer.”
Lucy knew she was smiling like an idiot, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I’m glad you did,” she admitted, her heart still thundering in her chest.
He pressed his lips to her cheek, and she felt them curl into a smile against her skin at her admission.
“If I told you that I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time, what would you say?” he said softly, his long eyelashes almost brushing her cheeks.
Lucy tentatively let her own hands run up Lockwood’s chest so she could swipe her thumbs across his cheekbones. She summoned her own bravery and screwed up her face. Thankfully, they were still in the shadows, so she could get the words out. “I would ask what took you so long.”
Lockwood choked out a laugh. “Touché, Luce. Maybe if you hadn’t kept running away from me all day I’d have gotten around to it sooner.”
“I wasn’t running away,” she protested, immediately indignant.
“Not when you tripped in the pub?” he teased. “Or when you fled from the living room tonight to go to bed hours earlier than normal?”
“Well, I thought you were going to kiss me at the tree lighting, and then you didn’t!” she said, exasperated.
“I was going to,” Lockwood admitted between laughs. “But I still wasn’t sure if you wanted me too.”
“How were you not sure?” Lucy squawked. “How much more obvious did I have to be?”
“Do you know how hard you are to read, Luce? It wasn’t until your little outburst just now that I knew for sure.”
“Fine. Maybe I was a little nervous,” she admitted. “I just—well, I was afraid you’d say I was imagining it all or laugh at me, and I couldn’t bear that idea. It felt easier to not know for sure. Especially when…” She gave Lockwood a guilty look.
“When what, Lucy?” Lockwood said curiously.
“When there’s been so many other times when I thought you were going to kiss me and you never did,” she admitted.
“You could have kissed me first, Luce.”
“No, I couldn’t have,” she said, aghast at the very idea. “You’re technically my employer.”
“Well, you’re my employee.”
“Do you think I care about that?” she scoffed.
“Well, you seem to think I care,” he pointed out.
“Fine,” she said, starting to laugh. All of her worries did seem rather silly now.
“Trust me, I wanted to, Lucy,” Lockwood said, brushing his lips across her forehead before nudging his nose against hers. “I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to or how to do it. Even today, I spent all day wondering if I’d said too much.”
“You were worried?”
He propped his head up on an elbow next to her. “Of course I was. Why do you think I ended up using the mistletoe as an excuse?”
“You didn’t say too much earlier,” she said, suddenly feeling shy as she gave him a nervous look.
“In that case—” Lockwood hesitated. “Lucy, you must know—you know how I feel about you, don’t you?”
Her heart soared at his words, what they implied, what they meant. But she wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “Lockwood,” she said, leaning forward so her lips were only a breath away from his. “I want to hear you say it. Please.”
“Lucy,” Lockwood said, looping his arms around her, his hand sliding under her pajama top. “That sounds like you already know.” His lips grazed her ear, making her shiver.
“I want you to say it,” she insisted again, refusing for once in her life to be distracted by his proximity.
Lockwood let out a chuckle against her skin, his breath ruffling her hair. “Fine,” he said, sighing in a way that she knew was mostly put on. “Luce, I care about you so much. You’re smart and funny and brave. Even when you’re infuriating and stubborn as hell, there’s no one else I’d rather be frustrated by than you. For that matter, there’s no one I’d rather spend time with than you. ”
“Lockwood,” she said, her heart full almost to the bursting. “Me too. To everything.”
He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You agree that you’re infuriating and stubborn then?” he said, his eyes bright and mischievous.
She swatted his hand away, without any heat in it. “You know what I meant. And that just proves my point that you are also infuriating.”
“I do know. What a pair we make,” Lockwood whispered.
He kissed her again then, languid and slow, their mouths slowly learning the shape of each other, his hands trailing lightly along the curve of her spine. When they broke away, he buried his face in her neck, dropping light kisses from her jaw down the side of her throat, before nudging the neckline of her pajamas to the side so he could press his lips against her collarbone. “These pajamas don’t seem warm at all, Lucy,” he said, fingering the hem of the thin top critically.
“They aren’t really,” she admitted. “I was terribly cold before you came in here.”
“Then why did you bring them?”
“Thought maybe if I got better pajamas it would help inspire you into action,” she said, flinching at the honesty as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“Jesus Christ, Lucy,” he said, laughing again. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Something tells me I don't think you mind,” she hummed.
“Not one bit.”
Their lips slotted together again, and their bodies somehow came even closer to each other, hands roaming and their legs tangling together. Lucy couldn’t have attempted to guess at how much time passed that way. Lockwood eventually muttered something about being warm and tugged his jumper off, but even then she couldn’t stop kissing him and touching him, her hands mapping his torso. Lockwood seemed to feel the same way
“Lucy,” he murmured. His breath was warm against her throat as his teeth grazed her pulse point. “I think I love you.”
“I know I love you,” she returned, the words bursting out of her impulsively as her hands carded through his hair.
But it was difficult to feel embarrassed when Lockwood lifted his head to smile at her, his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed. “Always have to show me up, don’t you?” he retorted, flashing her another grin.
“It’s Christmas,” she said, giving him a wobbly smile. “If we can’t say it now, when can we?”
“It is,” he agreed. “Well, since we’ve gotten all that sorted, I suppose we have some lost time to make up for, don’t we?”
His hand came back up to tenderly caress her face, and Lucy leaned into his touch. Her breath caught in her throat, still unable to process that this was real.
“We are alone after all,” she said sheepishly, her eyes darting around the room, as if to confirm that the other members of Lockwood & Co. wouldn’t appear at any moment.
“I’m well aware,” Lockwood murmured, his eyes warm and mischievous.
“Yes, well—” she began, nervously.
He laughed. “You said it, Luce. I’m just teasing.”
Lucy hid her face in his chest, letting her hand slip under the hem of his pajama top to trail along the muscles of his lower back. “Can you just kiss me again, and we’ll figure the rest out later?” she muttered.
“Happily,” he said promptly.
“Finally, something we can both agree on,” she said, tilting her mouth back up to his.