“What exactly do you have in mind,” he said, quieter than I’d heard him before.

Just when I thought I was getting to understand him, he reminded me all over again I only knew one small bit of him. One tiny Chocolate Orange segment. But I needed the full fruit! And today I was going to get it.

“First up, there’s this festive lights walk down to the river. And then at South Bank, there’s a Christmas market where we can get drinks in a little igloo pod. And as we know, you are now London’s leading expert on all heated drinks.” Ru smiled nervously. Maybe he hated Christmas more than I realized? “And, this might be weird, but there’s outside curling you can do…”

“Curling?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know what it is either. But it involves ice, and sliding things and brushes, and it could be fun. Could. No promises. And we could swing by…” But I stopped. It sounded so cheesy now he was sitting next to me, looking all cool. “Well, you might hate it … but a candlelight carol concert thing.” I said it as quickly as I could, deeply regretting it already. I changed the subject before I could get a reaction. “And I have an idea for later. A big finish. Which involves being at Leicester Square for 6:30 p.m.” This was the thing I was most nervous about. I took my phone out to show him what I had planned.

“Does it have to be Leicester Square?” Ru looked deeply unimpressed. “Just with work and all…”

“No no…” I flicked my screen off, trying not to think about how expensive the tickets had been – the Christmas wind rapidly going out of my sails. “We could just see how it goes?”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s the best idea,” Ru said, with all the enthusiasm of me when Dad suggests a family trip to the DIY store. Eurgh. I hadn’t even told him that although we’d arranged hanging out all evening, I was going to have to dash at 8.45 p.m. I’d understand, wouldn’t I? If he left our meet-maybe-date to go have “an intimate meal” with Maeve Murphy… Really funny, really clever, stylish, beautiful Maeve.

OK. Maybe it wasn’t best to think about that.

And I still had no clue who had nominated me to go.

There was no way my family or Grace could have made a bid that high. It was seriously weird, and I was hoping Elijah could fill me in.

But at the reception desk, a family was checking in. And a little boy, about Billy’s age, was waving. At me! Oh no. This was NOT in my sixty-two-step plan! The plan was to keep the whole Elf Girl thing under wraps until I had a chance to tell Ru later. When we got to Leicester Square. If we got to Leicester Square.

I waved, muttered something about kids being weird and ran outside. And by the time Ru caught me up I had Google Maps open. We needed to get going.

“Let’s head here. The start of the Christmas trail in … Covent Garden, which isn’t far. We could walk down the Strand,” the huge main road, with zillions of tourists. Zillions of people who might shout Elf Girl at any moment! “Or … no. Let’s go THIS WAY.” I traced a route through back streets.

“Y’know what?” Finally, he smiled. “That sounds like a plan. It just took a sec. Adjusting to new non-Grinch me.” He nudged me with his elbow. “How about we get some hot drinks for the walk? I don’t know if I mentioned, but I might know a little spot…”

And he really did know the cutest place, in this tiny hidden courtyard, where we got two mint hot chocolates, and a marshmallow polar bear to share. We strolled the back streets, chatting about what he’d been up to in London, and the status of the neighbour’s outside reindeers (he was delighted to discover they’d made it to the front door and I still wasn’t ready to admit I meant our front door) until we sat down on a big empty step.

“You never said, by the way. Did you hear back about the band?”

I dunked the polar bear head in my drink. It got too soggy and flopped off. I knew how it felt.

“Sort of… It was a yes.” Ru drummed on his leg, his face lit up like he was preparing for good news. “But now it’s a…” A what? A “they seem to be ghosting me since they discovered I’m an elf”? “It’s a … it’s a, I’m not so sure.”

“How come?” Ru looked confused. But I couldn’t explain, not just yet.

“Who knows, but that doesn’t matter. Because I wanted to say in person. THANK YOU! For that mahoosive box of stuff for the fundraiser!”

He grinned; his secret was out.

“Ahhhhh.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you finally came around to the idea of a date?”

OK. HE JUST SAID THIS WAS A DATE!

Brain. Words. Find.

“Hahaha, very funny. Funny. No.” But he laughed. His soft laugh that I think I liked even more than the marshmallow polar bear.

“Sorry.” He stopped. “I mean friend meet. Jingle Ladies don’t do dates, right?”

Ah. Here it came. Instalment one of truth bombs. The perfect time to tell him my new non-Jingly status, however awkward it would be.

“I’m not actually one any more.” There. I’d said it. “Grace wanted to, er, Jingle solo.” I tried to hide any trace of emotion.

I snuck a look at him. He’d raised an eyebrow. And was grinning.

“Interesting.”

Was it?! And was he blushing?

I was definitely blushing. But some literal Christmas angels came to my rescue. A group of women, dressed as angels, turned into our street, cackling and throwing glitter. Ru pulled down his cap like we were under attack. I cheered when they threw some in our direction, but they did a double take at the grinch next to me. Yup, definitely still had work to do on the whole “Christmas spirit” thing.

“The first rule of Ru and Dash do Christmas.” I flicked white glitter out of my hair. “Is you say yes to all things festive.” I tried to look stern. “Must. Try. Harder.”

Ru laughed. And out of nowhere I felt a weird fizz of happiness.

Like I was the main character in one of Grace’s loved-up Christmas films.

Which was brilliant. And amazing. And absolutely, totally terrifying.

“So, we should be off.” I stood up. “It’s getting dark.”

“It’s been dark since we met?”

True, but I didn’t know what to say, so instead waffled on about why no one got emotional about torches, and if festive yurts were a thing, and wandered down through Trafalgar Square. London looked even more amazing than in the films. From the bridge we had the perfect view of the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, the London Eye…

“C’mon then.” Ru got his phone out but it was so cold it immediately died. He grabbed the other and checked no one was around. “Would it be too cheesy to ask for a selfie?”

Face please serve: ew, how un-imaginative. Because my brain was full: I ALREADY KNOW I’M PRINTING THIS OFF AND STICKING IT TO MY WALL.

“Just for me. Promise I’m not the sharing type.”

“Sure.” My voice wobbled like when Mum gives me a way-too-tight hug. Had he just put his arm around me?

AFFIRMATIVE! RU’S ARM WAS AROUND ME!!!

And that’s the moment he took the photo. And that’s what got immortalized. Him smiling, head tilted at the perfect angle, cap in his hand, light bouncing off him like a supermodel and me. Standing pole straight like I’d been stuffed more than a Christmas turkey, my mouth hanging open.

“And that’s why I say no to photos.” He sent it to me anyway, and we headed over the bridge into the market. After checking out some of the quieter stalls, Ru leant over the railings by the river.

“Verdict so far? I’m not hating Christmas.” He turned and smiled at me. “Not hating it at all… But.” He bit his lip. “You’ve done all the hard work. Do you want me to take over the sleigh reins, little elf?” I did a double take. Was that just an elfing-bad coincidence? I did need to tell him. People had definitely been giving me funny looks. “Or do you have a plan for what’s next?”

I knew what I needed to say, “Yes, I do, but first I need to tell you something that might change everything, and also do you mind me ducking out of our date later to go eat an “intimate meal” with a movie star? Potentially on that posh-looking yacht thing over there?”

Instead, I said, “Curling.” But we had a fifteen-minute wait before my booking, so we grabbed a Christmas waffle, headed away from the crowds and sat on a bench opposite a pub with steamed-up windows.