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“Oh, I love giving presents,” Laurel said quickly. “Don’t worry about me. I should check on our dinner, though.” She lurched up from the sofa, catching Archie’s concerned frown out of the corner of her eye, before she hurried to the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she called, sounding, she feared, a bit manic. “I’ll get it all on the table. Archie, why don’t you set the crackers out?”
The next few minutes were a flurry of activity as they all worked together to get all the food—Laurel had made way too much—to the table, and then assembled there. Laurel hadn’t looked anyone in the face once, yet she had to as they all sat down, and Laurel asked Archie to say grace.
He cleared his throat and began, “Be present at our table, Lord, be here and everywhere adored, and grant that we might feast in Paradise with Thee.” He gave them both a self-conscious smile. “My dad’s grace.”
“I love it,” Laurel said sincerely. “How is your dad?”
Archie shrugged. “Today wasn’t one of his better days, unfortunately. He didn’t really know what was going on, but he enjoyed his Christmas pudding.”
Which meant, Laurel surmised, that he hadn’t recognised his own son. Her heart ached once more for Archie, for all of it. All the losses and secret sorrows and missed opportunities. Could they move past them? Could she?
“Well, dig in, everybody,” she said, and passed the platter of fluffy Yorkshire puddings.
Dinner was, thankfully, both delicious and enjoyable. Laurel had been afraid that with this new, emotional hyper-awareness of Archie, she might make a fool of herself, but she thought she acted fairly normally, and she’d made herself meet his eye several times over the course of the meal.
After they’d eaten, they got the whistles from their Christmas crackers, and with the help from the music sheet that came with the box of crackers, they whistled their way through several carols, dissolving into helpless laughter several times at the cacophony they were making.
“This is actually worse than the bagpipe carols,” Laurel said, and Archie looked surprised.
“Bagpipe carols? I have that CD.”
Laurel met Zac’s gaze and they both burst out laughing again. Laurel didn’t want any of it to end; she couldn’t remember feeling so happy, so truly content, even in the midst of her own tangled emotions, that buzzing awareness. Why had she never noticed how truly fit Archie was? His physique was both sinewy and strong, and Laurel didn’t think she’d seen anything sexier than Archie with his shirtsleeves rolled up over his strong, tanned forearms. She kept staring at them, at him.
Of course the evening had to end; Zac helped clear the table before sloping off to play a game on his phone—he’d been device-free all day so Laurel could hardly blame him.
But it meant that she and Archie were alone, with an almighty pile of dirty dishes, and she didn’t know if she was brave enough to say something about how she felt.
“You wash, I dry?” he asked lightly, which was their usual. Laurel nodded, and they set to it, standing side by side, the only sound the clink of cutlery and the clank of plates.
“This has been a lovely Christmas,” Archie said after a moment. “Far better than my usual.”
“Far better than mine, as well,” Laurel answered. So, so much better.
“Really? I thought you had a passel of friends back in York you celebrated with.”
“Hardly a passel, however many that means.” She handed a wet, rinsed plate to Archie, their fingers brushing, sending a twang of awareness through her. “And not every Christmas. People usually have plans. Family, boyfriends or girlfriends, exotic holidays.”
“I suppose you could count this as an exotic holiday,” Archie said with a laugh.
“Yes…” Suddenly Laurel felt breathless. She couldn’t bear another second of this chitchat, easy as Archie made it seem. She just couldn’t. She had to be brave enough now. She had to.
She turned to him so fast her head spun, and her heart was already pounding. “Archie…”
He was standing close to her, close enough for her to see the tiny flecks of gold amidst the blue in his eyes, to see where he’d nicked his jaw shaving, and where a twist of greying hair stuck up behind his ear. He frowned, eyebrows lowering.
“Laurel…”
Laurel took a deep breath. She clenched her fists still wrist-deep in the soapy water, and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Archie’s. They were cool and soft, just as they’d been before, and they were very still beneath hers. Too still.
Archie put one hand on her shoulder, and not in a good way. He didn’t take that awful step back the way she had, but the message was just as clear. Not this.
Laurel drew back a little, afraid to look him in the face, but she made herself do it. He was smiling at her sadly, his eyes crinkled in concern. Not the passionate, tender look she’d been hoping for.
“I’m sorry, Laurel.”
Oh, no. Heat flooded her face and mortification her soul. And worse, far worse, hurt. Hopeless, heart-breaking hurt. She tried for a smile but her lips just trembled. “So you really did just get carried away at the ceilidh, huh?” she managed in a voice that sounded both croaky and shrill.
Archie was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful as he gazed at her full in the face. “No,” he said at last. “I didn’t get carried away, not like that.”
