‘Take four-second breaths,’ I say, thinking of a meditation technique I once learnt. ‘Four seconds in through your nose, hold for four seconds, then exhale through your mouth for four seconds. It’s relaxing.’ I do it too, encouraging him to join in, my little finger tapping his right knee in four-second bursts.
I don’t stop reaching up to tuck his dark hair back, and his hand is still on my wrist and I’m not sure if his fingertips are rubbing minutely or if it’s the tremors, but it doesn’t seem like he wants me to stop, so I don’t, and after a few long minutes, our breathing is in sync, and he’s not panting quite so severely.
‘James, seriously,’ I say gently. ‘What’s broken?’
‘Arm, two ribs, cartilage damage, and an impressive amount of bruising.’
‘What happened?’
‘I told you, I got knocked over. It was my own fault. On a business call, yelling at someone who didn’t deserve yelling at, stepped out without looking where I was going, collided with an oncoming car.’
Things start slotting into place in my brain. ‘So when you said you got knocked over … it was by a car?’
He nods almost imperceptibly.
‘You were hit by a car! Oh my God, I’m so happy!’ I push myself up onto my knees and pull his head down towards my chest, so overjoyed by the realisation that I can’t stop myself hugging him right this instant, even though I’m being careful not to hurt him or jostle him in any way, and I end up half-smothering him somewhere between my boobs and my shoulder.
When I release him, his head drops back against the wall like it’s too heavy for him to hold up, but he’s blinking at me slowly, half a smile playing on his lips. ‘And there was me thinking you didn’t like me. I’ve never known anyone to be so pleased about a road traffic accident before.’
‘I thought …’ I think better of admitting I still had half a mind on the idea that he might be the wooden nutcracker come to life. ‘Never mind. I could see you were in too much pain for just a broken arm. I’m glad I was right.’
‘I’m glad my pain makes you so happy.’
I give him another scathing look but I still can’t stop myself smiling. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I’ve been worried about you.’
‘Hah.’ He does a sarcastic laugh but abandons it halfway through because it obviously hurts. ‘You’ve been worried about me? We only met yesterday and you don’t like people who don’t like Christmas.’
‘I don’t dislike them that much.’ In hugging him, I’ve re-smooshed his hair up, so when I sit back onto my knees, I reach up and tuck it back again, and his good hand drifts up to my wrist again, the backs of his fingers sort of rubbing against the skin of my inner wrist. He focuses on the point where we touch until his eyes start to close.
‘When did this happen?’ I ask because his fingers are doing such a good job of distracting me that I’d need a “phone a friend” lifeline if someone asked me my own name at the moment.
‘Do you really care or are you just trying to keep my mind off it?’
‘The first one,’ I say with a grin. ‘The second one’s an added bonus.’
It seems to take him a moment to decide whether he trusts me or not. ‘Last week. It’s why I was so late starting here. I should’ve been setting up the shop but I wasn’t functional for a couple of days after the accident.’
He doesn’t look particularly functional at the moment. ‘Did they get the driver?’
He rolls his head from side to side. ‘They didn’t stop.’
‘It was a hit and run?’ I feel my eyes getting wider with every word he says.
‘It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t their fault – it genuinely was mine. I was frustrated and annoyed with work and I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t think they even realised they’d hit me. I bounced off the car, hit the pavement, and got straight back up and shook my fist at them and yelled a string of choice swearwords about their driving ability, picked up my phone and finished the conversation. I think it was the shock and adrenaline at first and it was only when I stopped for a minute and started processing it that I realised I was actually hurt and took myself to A&E.’
My hand on his knee must tighten because he says, ‘Even without opening my eyes, you don’t have to look so worried. I’m fine as long as I keep my upper body straight. I twisted it trying to grab that nutcracker off you. Serves me right for being such a Grinch, right?’ He opens his eyes and looks at me. His fingers move on my wrist and my hand slips from brushing his hair back and slides down his face until my thumb brushes his jaw, and we hold each other’s gaze for a moment, until I realise I’m stroking the jaw of a complete stranger.
I pull back so abruptly that it makes him jump and he winces again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘You sure you don’t need an ambulance?’
He still hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s leaning against the wall, but he moves it slowly from side to side. ‘I’ll be fine. There’s nothing they can do for broken ribs. I’ve just got to keep active, not lift anything heavy, and do
