It Won’t be Christmas Without You. Beth Reekles

      But she also loved a good Christmassy coffee.

      “Toffee nut. With cream. Unless you end up at Costa instead, then I’ll have the gingerbread latte. Ooh, and grab me a muffin while you’re there? Something festive-flavoured. I don’t care what. So long as it’s not a mince pie. I might vomit if I have to see another mince pie.”

      People had been bringing boxes of them into the office for about a month now.

      Eloise would have loved it. And Cara had at first – but there were only so many mince pies a person could eat. What was she – Father Christmas?

      “Gotcha.” Jen waggled her fingers as a few others wandered over, already wrapped in coats and ready to go. “We’ll see you in, like, an hour.”

      Cara waved them all off as they passed by her desk and stuck her head back into her computer, sucked into a world of draft posts and stock images and emails, barely looking up until the smell of toffee nut slid under her nose.

      “Love ya.”

      “You’re welcome,” Jen sang back. Cara looked up long enough to roll her neck, reviving the muscles there, and taking a long sip of her still-steaming hot latte. Heaven. This was liquid Christmas. Sod eggnog: this was the real magic, right here.

      Jen was already chattering away, telling her about the latest office gossip that had surfaced, and Cara gave herself ten minutes to indulge in it. (Because damn, was Molly in Finance really hooking up with Patrick from IT? Didn’t she have a boyfriend, or something?)

      Eventually, Jen wandered back to her desk and Cara shifted back into full-on work mode.

      When six o’clock hit and she broke off another bit of muffin to munch on, Dave passed by her desk.

      “Dude,” he said, “go home.”

      He called everyone dude. He even called the cleaning lady dude.

      “I will, in a minute. I’ve just …” Ping. Who the hell was even still working at six o’clock to reply to her emails now? Weren’t office hours over?

      Cara started replying.

      Dave laughed, leaning against the desk next to her. “You don’t have to keep working twelve hours a day, you know. You’re already a shoo-in. You work twice as hard as anyone here. You already do half of my job for me.”

      Cara dragged her face away from the screen, and then her eyes a moment later. She smiled and said, “I swear, I’ll go home as soon as I’ve sorted this. I just want to make sure it’s done before I head off.”

      What she didn’t add was that she did have to keep working like this, to prove herself. That was how she’d always been, though, in fairness, it wasn’t so much to do with the company as it was her. But, even so, there were people who’d been here since Klikit started who would be interested in Dave’s job. She was twenty-two and had been here only eighteen months. It seemed like way too soon to be looking for a promotion. So yes, she did have to work like this.

      If she didn’t get the promotion, nobody could say it was because she didn’t work hard enough. Besides, she loved her job. It didn’t feel so awful working this much when she enjoyed what she was doing.

      Dave shook his head, laughing softly. “Alright, but seriously – get yourself home.” He nodded at the screen. “That’ll still be there in the morning. And hey – make sure you turn your phone off at the Christmas party next week. We can’t have you working all night. This place won’t fall apart if you take a break, you know.”

      She laughed. “Roger that, boss.”

      It was eight o’clock before she walked through the door at home. It was pitch dark outside, but the house was warm (for a change) and smelled like enchiladas.

      With all of her housemates working such different jobs (a bar manager, someone in digital marketing for a chain of clubs, one girl in HR for a high-street fashion brand, and another guy working as a journalist), they didn’t always get to spend a lot of time together. And some people (not that she was naming names, but it was totally Henry) never replaced the toilet roll when they used the last of it.

      But times like this – when they made more than enough food and told her there were leftovers in the fridge – she loved them dearly.

      Cara dumped her backpack near the door and tossed her coat onto the peg in the hallway.

      “There’s food in the fridge!” shouted one of her housemates, Jamilla, from the living room. “Elliot made enchiladas.”

      “Thanks!” Cara called back, heading straight for the kitchen now and digging the leftovers out of the fridge. Ooh, and they’d left some salad too. Absolute angels.

      The idea of living with four total strangers had been terrifying at first, for Cara. A new city and a new job? Sure, that was exciting. But sharing a house with four totally random people?

      A couple of people she knew from uni had done it too, and she’d heard a few horror stories of nightmare housemates or awful landlords, so she had to count her blessings: her housemates were so easy to get on with. And they did things like cook enough food for everyone and keep the house clean, which was a huge step up from some people she’d lived with at university.

      Enchiladas reheated, Cara headed into the living room, where she could hear some of her housemates talking over the TV.

      “Alright, Cara?” Elliot said, glancing up from his own plate of food. Jamilla was there too, stretched across the other sofa flicking through a magazine. While Cara ate, the three of them swapped stories about their days until Cara’s phone buzzed.

      She’d not checked her phone since she’d left work and noticed she had a few notifications. A text from Eloise. A photo from her mum in their family group WhatsApp, of the matching #Elfie T-shirts she and Cara’s dad had bought to take on holiday. A missed call and now a text from George.

      Her face lit up: it must’ve done, because Jamilla promptly said, “Oo-ooh, let me guess. A text from the famous George.”

      “Maybe.”

      “He’s a keeper, C, I swear to God,” Elliot pitched in. “How many guys do you think spend their lunch break coming to your office just to bring you your favourite Starbucks?”

      “That was one time.” But it had been a really nice surprise yesterday: he’d had to cancel their date the night before at short notice and wanted to make up for it, even though she’d understood.

      “Go on, abandon your friends; call lover boy back,” Jamilla told her, grinning. “If you don’t, I will.”

      Cara stuck her tongue out, collecting the empty mugs, cereal bowl and her own plate to take to the kitchen. She called George back, sticking the phone on speaker as she loaded the things into the half-full dishwasher.

      George answered almost straight away. “Hey! How are you? Are you back from work now?”

      “Yeah. Sorry I missed your call; it must’ve been when I was on the Tube. I’ve only just had tea.”

      “I’m visiting a mate about two stops from you – is it alright if I pop in tonight? If you’re not too tired? I’d love to see you.”

      “Oh! Um, sure. Yeah, absolutely!” She cringed, gritting her teeth. Did she sound too keen? Too late now. “Text me when you’re here; I’ll come down and let you in.”

      She’d been looking forward to cuddling up under the duvet with one of the Hallmark Christmas movies on Netflix. Eloise had been messaging her recommendations and out-of-five-stars reviews all week. But she could pass that up to see her (sort-of) boyfriend.

      She hoped he was her boyfriend.

      God, she hated this whole label thing. Talking to each other, seeing each other, dating – why were there so many labels for it now? Why was it so bloody intimidating to just ask him if