Chapter Text
They’ve all agreed to meet up the next day for lunch. The 31st. Iris, Amanda, Miles, Graham and the girls, all together in one place for the first time. Iris is nervous about so many things – meeting Amanda, for one! Graham meeting Miles. Her brother possibly relating some embarrassing story from their childhood. The stakes feel so high.
But in the end, it all goes perfectly. Amanda is warm and charming; Graham behaves; and Miles is an immediate hit with her nieces. It makes something in Iris’ chest feel warm and achy, looking around at them all.
The plans for that night’s New Year’s celebrations are confirmed. Graham’s house. Dress code: formal.
“I’ll see you there?” Miles asks, as lunch draws to a close.
“Looking forward to it.”
Iris can tell that her smile is almost embarrassingly radiant.
She fusses with her hair and makeup a while before their party, upstairs in Graham’s house.
“You look gorgeous,” Amanda assures her, picking up on Iris’ nerves. “That dress is a killer.”
And when she comes downstairs, it seems that Miles agrees with that assessment. He’d been holding back the night before, waiting for her to initiate each move forward. But now, as soon as dancing creates an excuse to touch her, he doesn’t seem able to resist. Iris can feel herself practically sparkling, glowing with delight.
Sophie and Olivia have “just the best time”, showered with attention from not one or even two but four exciting grown-ups. They even get their own ‘special New Year’s’ – a countdown long before midnight – so that they can be bundled off to bed at a sensible hour. Amanda and ‘Auntie Iris’ tuck them in.
The adults share a few more glasses of bubbly after that, and talk and laugh. It’s all surprisingly easy. With still an hour to go before midnight, Iris gets to her feet.
“I was thinking I’d take Miles to see the New Year in at the pub. You know, the proper British experience,” she rolls her eyes self-consciously, and they all chuckle. “You two would be welcome to join! Or…”
“I think we’ll sit this one out,” Graham answers, smiling, to his sister’s quiet relief. She’s eager for some time alone with Miles, as very lovely as the night so far has been.
However, one can’t go out bare-legged in heels in December snow. Iris quickly dashes upstairs to put on woollen tights and winter boots under her little black dress. When she and Miles step out into the snow-covered village, the world feels still and peaceful, almost impossibly romantic. He holds her hand.
The pub is much less peaceful, but still a very good time. They nab a seat in the corner, and make a game of guessing which song the cover band is going to play next, and how each song could possibly be relevant to New Year’s Eve. Miles is in his element cracking musical jokes, and before long her stomach muscles actually ache from laughing.
Their conversation moves on to New Year’s traditions next. Iris ends up explaining ‘first footing’ – the Scottish tradition she’d worked into one of her nuptials columns the year before. The couple she’d been writing about had first met when the dark-haired groom had been the traditional ‘first foot’ over the threshold of his eventual bride’s front door.
“It’s only really a thing in Scotland, and some parts of the North of England, not down here. But anyway – that’s why dark-haired men are in high demand on New Year’s Eve. One of the reasons, anyway,” Iris chuckles, looking down at her drink. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“No,” says Miles earnestly, shaking his head. “That was really interesting!” He’s staring at her again, with a slightly dazed smile that makes her feel self-conscious. He can obviously tell as much, because he adds, “Honestly, I’m just trying to figure out how the hell you’re single.”
Iris laughs. “Because knowledge of festive traditions is such a major draw?”
He doesn’t reply, except to raise an eyebrow – as if to say, Well, yeah, it’s working on me. Iris’ stomach flutters, and she meets his flirty glance with one of her own.
“Anyway, I’m not so sure I am single… Am I?”
Miles’ eyes widen a little, then his mouth tilts up at the corner.
“Not if I have anything to do with it.”
When midnight arrives, it’s frankly a relief. She’s been dying to kiss him again, ever since that delicious goodnight kiss the night before. And even in the middle of a rowdy pub, surrounded by strangers practically screaming the numbers of the midnight countdown – ‘THREE! TWO! ONE!’ – it still for a moment feels as if they’re the only people in the room. Until the band strikes up ‘Auld Lang Syne’, and she and Miles join in belatedly, catching up with the rest of the crowd on ‘…and never brought to mind’.
After that tradition has been observed, they step out again into the night. Miles grins cheekily across at her.
“So, are we going first-footing? I’ve got the dark hair for it.”
“Not in Surrey! Like I said, it’s not really a thing here. Anyway, I’m not sure I want to share my good fortune – I’m feeling a bit greedy.” She squeezes his hand, and he looks very pleased with himself.
Iris is acutely aware that this is the point of the evening where it’ll be decided where and how the night will end. And she knows what she wants. Still, she makes a show of presenting Miles with options.
“Your accommodation’s back that way, of course.”
Miles noticeably makes zero effort to move in that direction. He shrugs gallantly instead.
“Surely a gentleman walks a lady home...”
Iris’ stomach swoops, and she beams.
“So long as you’ll accept a cup of hot chocolate on arrival. It’s the least I can do.”
They’re about halfway down the lane towards her cottage when snow starts to fall. It’s just the lightest flurry, but Miles looks around as though it’s actual magic.
“Oh man…I could write the perfect score for this! Except that it’s already kinda perfect, even without music. Which is something I never thought I’d say.”
His sense of wonder at something so familiar to Iris tugs at her heart.
“I suppose this is kind of our version of the Santa Ana’s,” Iris muses, watching her breath freeze on the air. She can see Miles’ breath, too. It’s making her extra conscious of the delicious warmth of him, and how much she wants to feel the heat of his mouth…everywhere, actually.
“You mean, when it snows, anything can happen?”
“Yeah.”
“It sure feels that way.” His expression is completely earnest. “C’mere.”
Miles pulls her up against him, kisses her slow and sweet. At least, it starts slow, but then it builds and deepens – until, despite the frozen air, Iris’ cheeks are burning. For some reason though, when they part, Miles looks slightly sheepish.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you out in the cold too long. I just…wanted to do that.”
You wanted to kiss me in the snow? And you’re apologising?! Do you have any idea…
“I’m not cold,” she assures him, and hopes he knows what she means.
A few minutes later, Miles is telling her how inspired he’s feeling lately. How he knows he’ll be writing a lot of music after this trip. He’s mid-sentence when they reach Rosehill Cottage – and then he stops short.
“Wait… This is your house?”
“Yep. Well, my cottage.”
His mouth hangs open.
“Do woodland creatures do your household chores?”
“Ha! I wish… No, the closest thing is my lovely little dog. Who actually creates chores, rather than cleaning for me. Good thing he’s adorable!”
Miles clearly agrees, bending to greet Charlie the moment they get inside.
“Oh, hey buddy! I see you and I favor the same hairstyle.”
Divested of their coats, they’re now back to their formal outfits from the party earlier. Miles casually loosens his tie, looking with interest at her bookshelf, and Iris starts to feel a jittery sort of excitement.
She knows what she wants…but it’s been so long since that happened for her. And when it did, she was never the one to make the move. She’ll have to be, this time, though. She can tell. Miles is a gentleman. He isn’t going to assume anything.
Perhaps she can take inspiration from all those leading ladies Arthur introduced her to. Those confident, powerful, sexy women who go for what they want. Of course, she’s no Barbara Stanwyck…but still…
Iris sidles up to him at the bookshelf, but before she can think of what to say, Miles has turned to face her. And taken both her hands.
“Hey, uh… So, this is probably, like, extremely obvious, but I wanna say it anyhow. I really like you, Iris. A lot.”
She glows. “I really like you. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“And, um, now you’re here…” she continues, looking down at their hands. “Well, you’ll never get a cab to pick you up on New Year’s Eve. Or, New Year’s Day, technically,” Iris corrects herself, checking her watch. She can feel herself blushing. “So…perhaps you should just…stay, tonight.”
It’s not exactly sparkling dialogue worthy of the Writers’ Guild…but between her words and her tone it communicates what she’s getting at.
She’s finally brave enough to look up again, and finds Miles staring at her. For a moment Iris thinks he may actually have stopped breathing.
“Yeah?” he asks. His voice comes out low and gravelly.
“Yeah,” Iris nods on a breath, and pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket.
It’s the sort of kiss that ignites almost immediately. Hands in each other’s hair, hands trying to be everywhere all at once. As if that’s not enough, Miles smells good, too. Is he wearing cologne? Her head spinning, Iris tears her mouth away for one moment.
“I hope this doesn’t seem too fast,” she breathes. “It’s just, I’m aware that time is precious, and–”
His mouth is back on hers before she can say anything further.
“This dress has been driving me crazy, I’m not gonna lie,” Miles murmurs huskily a minute later, kissing a tantalising path down the side of her neck. Iris shivers, tilting her head to give him better access. Her eyes have fallen closed.
“That may have been the idea… I bought it to wear for you.”
He groans. “Am I dreaming? Is this a really, really good dream?”
After another minute or two, she leads him upstairs.
It is a very happy New Year.