Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(8)

She looks up, hopeful.

“I’m heading to London myself. I’m happy to give you a lift.”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” she says, leaping to her feet, for once not second-guessing herself. “Give me five minutes to get my things.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Just like that? No need for introductions? No worries I’m a serial killer?”

He has a point, but . . . “You haven’t met my mother. Death at your hands will be infinitely preferable,” she says. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

She sprints to her room, calculating the best possible time they can make. If they leave right now, they can avoid the worst of the holiday jam-ups and arrive late enough that her mother will be distracted greeting guests, but not late enough that she’ll be angry. Luckily Holly packed most of her stuff the night before. Because she’s not entirely crazy, she considers phoning from her room to tell her mother who she’s traveling with, only to realize there’s no point; she doesn’t know the stranger’s name, or what he does on campus, or even what kind of vehicle he drives.

He’s in the parking lot scraping off the windshield of a sleek red car when she gets back. She stows her bag in the back, next to a small suitcase and a hanging garment bag. She hesitates, says a silent prayer to whatever saint has domain over bad decisions, and hops in. The car is already heating up, which she appreciates. She hadn’t thought to wear gloves or a hat.

“You do travel light, don’t you?” he says, glancing at the back seat as he slides in.

“I don’t need much. Mostly my textbooks.”

“I appreciate that in a woman,” he says. “I’m Robert, by the way.”

“I’m Holly. Holly Darling. Have we met?”

He gives a rueful laugh, and for an instant their eyes meet. There’s a heat behind them so intense she has to look away.

Robert doesn’t seem to notice, instead busying himself with his seat belt. “We were in the same practical ethics class—Ethics for the Modern World. You usually sat in front of me.”

“Ah. Right.” She glances at his face again, and again their eyes meet in a way that brings her suddenly and completely awake. “I was late for most of those classes. It was after my bio lab.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he says. She can’t tell if he’s kidding or not.

The snow is falling more thickly, floating lazily down from the black sky to coat the landscape like a fleece blanket. In the darkness, it radiates light, swirling and eddying. Watching it makes Holly dizzy. She leans back and closes her eyes.

The auto is some type of sports car, luxurious and snug. The leather seats are soft, and she relaxes into hers, grateful for the coddling. She breathes deeply, catches the slightest hint of Robert’s scent. It’s warm and comfortable, a blend of spice and vanilla, a sharp contrast to the formaldehyde and bleach she’s used to.

“You all right?”

She stretches, opens her eyes. “Yes. This is lovely. Thank you so much for the ride.”

“Thank you, for the company. I really was going anyhow.”

Before she can respond, he snaps on the radio. “Is music okay?” The station is playing a holiday medley at a volume loud enough to make conversation difficult.

But after a few minutes, he reaches to turn it down. His elbow brushes hers, and her heart goes careening against her ribs. How is it possible for someone she barely knows to affect her like this? She glances sideways at him, but his face is inscrutable and she can’t tell if he feels the same connection. His next words make her doubt it.

“One more version of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ and my head may explode. You?” he says. His arm is still touching hers.

“Charming the first three thousand times. But after listening to the a cappella version, the acoustic version, and the big band version, what’s left?” The heat from his skin goes right through the fabric of her sleeve.

“Bagpipes?” He shifts, and his arm falls away.

“That would be worse,” she agrees, ignoring the sudden cold where his arm once was.

“Now that we’ve got that sorted, there’s a thermos of tea and some biscuits in the bag by your feet. There should be two cups, if you don’t mind pouring.”

She reaches down and opens the bag, then shoots him a sideways glance. The biscuits are chocolate-coated gingerbread, her favorite kind. Who is this man?

They munch for a bit in companionable silence. Normally at this point in the ride Holly’s gnawing on whatever stale crackers she or Joanie have uncovered at the bottom of their bags, swigging cold tea from a petrol station, and running over their lab results. But now the knots in her neck and back are loosening. Warm and fed, a buzz of electricity just beneath her collarbone, she feels as if the night is magical, as if anything could happen.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Robert says, breaking the silence and nodding at the sky. “Like being in our own private snow globe.”

“Lovely,” she agrees. She has so many questions—who Robert is, how he appeared at the exact right moment—but the one at the top of her head comes spilling out before she can think. “How is it I’ve never seen you before?”

He laughs. “An excellent question. One I’ve asked myself regularly. But why don’t you tell me what you do see? What’s so compelling to make you brave the wrath of Lady Darling by being late?”