If Only (GxG)

Chapter 30 Christmas

A/N
I've spent so long trying to trim these next two chapters down, but honestly? I give up. Please enjoy these ridiculously long, slightly self-indulgent chapters packed with more cute, silly romance than strictly necessary. You're welcome.
—Lucky x

『 °*• ❀ •*°』
Alison's POV

December 23rd

I stood by the window, peering down at the street below as I rolled my suitcase back and forth with the toe of my socked foot, the wheels clicking softly against the floorboards. The flat behind me was unusually quiet—Olivia had finally left for her own holiday plans after an hour of hovering, pretending not to fuss while absolutely fussing.

"You are coming back, right?" she'd said, hands on her hips, giving me that narrowed stare that usually meant trouble. "Because I swear to God, if you get swept away into the Cotswolds forever by your very posh, very brooding girlfriend—"

"I'll be back before New Year's," I'd promised, laughing as she hugged me like she wasn't entirely convinced.

But the truth was... if Blake did ask me to stay longer, I probably wouldn't think twice about saying yes.

Because for the first time in years—maybe since my dad died—I was actually looking forward to Christmas.

Not just tolerating it. Not just pretending it didn't ache.

Really, truly looking forward to it.

There would be no stiff living room filled with strained silence and alcohol-soaked promises. No heavy weight pressing behind my ribs the way it used to when I watched other families laugh while mine quietly crumbled.

This year, it would be Blake. Just Blake.

Someone calm. Someone solid. Someone who made space for me to exist.

I was going to spend Christmas with someone I loved, in a place that felt safe, with a person who had become the soft, quiet center of my entire world—and maybe that sounded dramatic, but for once, I didn't care.

The thought made something warm bloom in my chest, soft and fragile and a little breathless.

And then—there she was.

Sleek, black, and far too elegant to belong to anyone trying to blend in, her car glided to the curb like it belonged in a film. Even from the window, I could see her—one hand on the wheel, sunglasses perched on her nose, a black coat sculpted perfectly to her figure, like she'd walked out of a dream or a magazine or both.

My heart skipped, like it always did.

Like it always would.

I huffed, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips as I grabbed my bag and turned for the door.

This Christmas, for the first time in a long time, felt like something worth holding on to.

And I couldn't wait to begin.

By the time I made it downstairs, she was already out of the car—leaning casually against the hood like she'd stepped off a film set. The long lines of her coat caught the pale winter light, her dark hair tousled just enough to look effortless. She slid her sunglasses down just enough to look at me over the rim, grey eyes sweeping over me slowly.