**Happiness Under the Bench**
Emily had just popped into the shop after work. With only four days left until New Year’s Eve, her fridge was still empty, and she hadn’t even put up the Christmas decorations yet. She was running out of time.
An icy wind whipped through the streets. After a brief thaw, the slush on the pavements had frozen into treacherous, slippery patches. Of all days, she’d chosen to wear heeled boots, and now she was shuffling along, trying not to slip. The streetlights flickered unevenly—typical—and the early winter dusk made it hard to see. Her heavy shopping bags dug into her palms, and her legs ached from the effort. *Why did I buy so much? I could’ve just done half tomorrow*, she scolded herself.
She finally reached the bus stop and dropped her bags onto the narrow bench, rubbing her numb fingers together. Sinking down beside them, she shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, but the wind still found her.
Cars zoomed past, their warm interiors glowing invitingly. She’d always dreamed of having her own car but hadn’t wanted to take on the debt. Right now, she regretted that decision.
A bus hissed to a stop, its doors sliding open. People hurried off, disappearing into the night without so much as a glance in Emily’s direction.
She was about to stand when she heard a groan. Glancing around, she saw no one—until another sound came, this time from right beside her. Jumping up, she spotted something dark huddled behind the bench, illuminated by passing headlights.
Her first instinct was to walk away—fast. But what if no one found him by morning? In this cold, he’d freeze, especially if he was drunk.
Pulling out her phone, she switched on the torch. A sleek black coat and polished designer shoes caught the light—definitely not a rough sleeper. When she shone it at his face, his lashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed shut. Young, well-groomed, and sharply dressed. Leaning closer, she caught no whiff of alcohol.
“Hey, are you okay? You’ll freeze out here,” she said, nudging his shoulder. No response.
Without hesitation, she dialled 999. “Someone’s unconscious at the bus stop,” she explained.
“Wait with him,” the tired voice on the other end replied.
Shoving her phone away, Emily huddled into her coat like a sparrow. She was freezing—how much worse for him? Part of her wanted to leave, but what if he got robbed before the ambulance arrived?
By the time the paramedics pulled up, her teeth were chattering. A man and woman in blue uniforms stepped out.
“Over there, behind the bench,” she pointed.
Another bus arrived, discharging curious onlookers who peppered Emily with questions.
“Step back, give us space,” the paramedic snapped before turning to her. “Looks like a heart attack. You got to him just in time.” He pulled out a notepad. “Leave your number—just in case.”
“Am I done here? I’m freezing,” she said, scribbling it down.
As the ambulance drove off, Emily grabbed her shopping and trudged home, her legs stiff with cold.
Under scalding water, she thawed her hands, then unpacked the groceries. All evening, her mind kept drifting back to the man at the bus stop. What had happened? Why was he there? She wished she’d asked which hospital they’d taken him to—she could’ve called to check on him.
Two days later, an unknown number flashed on her phone. Snow cascaded outside, softening the world. She hesitated, then answered.
“Emily?” A warm male voice.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“You saved me. Called the ambulance when I collapsed at the bus stop…”
“You’re alive?” Relief flooded her. “How are you?”
“Fine. I wanted to thank you. You left your number.”
“What happened?” she asked, suddenly guilty she hadn’t followed up.
“Too long for a call. I could drop by—if you’re comfortable?”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” she stammered.
Silence. Then a polite goodbye. Only after hanging up did she realise she hadn’t even asked his name.
Four years with her ex, two living together—no proposal. It had taken a year to move on. Now, the thought of new heartbreak terrified her.
Her friends weren’t faring better. Rachel was divorced, and Sophie’s boyfriend had died overseas. They’d drink, watch Christmas telly, and cry into each other’s shoulders—misery loves company.
On New Year’s Eve, Emily lingered in bed until lunch. While chopping vegetables, the doorbell rang. Too early for the girls.
She opened the door to a handsome man holding flowers and a carrier bag.
“Emily?” He flashed a brilliant smile. “I came to thank you properly.”
“You—?”
“Yep. Convinced the docs to discharge me.”
“How’d you get my address?” she blurted, forgetting to invite him in.
“Phone number. Easy enough. May I?”
“Oh! Yes, come in.” Flustered, she took the bouquet.
He handed her the bag, where pineapple leaves and a champagne neck poked out. He was unfairly good-looking—like someone who belonged on telly.
“If not for you, I might not be here,” he said, holding her gaze.
“Take your coat off, come through,” she mumbled into the roses.
He slipped off his designer coat and followed her to the kitchen, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
“Expecting guests?” He nodded at the chopped veggies.
“My friends are coming.”
“What’s on the menu?”
She shrugged. “The usual: prawn cocktail, beef Wellington…”
“Let me help. I’m James. Work at The Savoy. Know my way around a kitchen. Got an apron?”
Bemused, she handed him her floral one.
With swift precision, James transformed the ingredients into elegant dishes. They laid the table together, slipping into first-name terms.
“How’d you end up at the bus stop?” she ventured.
He explained: a Christmas party at his restaurant. His girlfriend—caught kissing someone else.
“I lost it. Got told to leave. Drove off in a rage, nearly crashed. Then my chest tightened—never felt that before. Parked at the bus stop, blacked out. Woke up in hospital. They gave me your number.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Didn’t visit. Doesn’t matter now.” Something in his tone pleased her.
“This looks restaurant-grade,” she said, admiring the spread. “Oh—should we start the beef?”
“Plenty of time. When are your friends coming?”
“An hour. I need to change.” She paused. “Will you… stay for midnight?”
“If you’d like. That’s why I’m here.”
Upstairs, she agonised over outfits. *What idiot would let him go?*
Returning, she found James rising from the sofa, his gaze soft. The moment hung—until the doorbell shattered it.
Rachel and Sophie tumbled in, laden with bags.
“Blimey!” Rachel gaped at the table. “Since when do you cook like this?”
“I didn’t.” Emily flushed.
James emerged, and Rachel’s jaw dropped. “You kept this from us?”
“Found him at the bus stop,” Emily joked.
“Pull the other one!”
James poured wine. “Passed out. She saved me.”
“Right, I’m checking every bench now,” Rachel declared.
“You’ll find a drunk, more like,” Sophie muttered.
Laughter bubbled as James danced with each of them, deftly dodging Rachel’s tipsy advances. Emily’s stomach clenched—soon, he’d leave.
At 4 AM, Sophie dragged a giggly Rachel home. James offered to drive them.
Alone, Emily cleaned up, heart heavy.
Then—a knock.
She knew before opening. Her pulse roared as she turned the handle…
