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“Tell me about the place you’re doing up now.”

So he did—a small Victorian terrace house on the outskirts of Bristol, which so far had needed an entire new roof and the kitchen completely stripped out, to be put in a different room. She titled her head and he could see she was trying to imagine it.

“So who are you imagining living there when it’s done?”

“Maybe a couple? Like a couple just starting out—their first house. And there’s a big garden, so they could have a cat.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Or how about it’s a middle-aged woman who has left her husband and doesn’t have any children and has bought her first house and feels like she’s independent for the first time ever? And she loves the stone floors in the kitchen and—” She frowned. “Are there stone floors?”

“There are indeed.”

“Okay. So she loves those, and she especially likes walking around barefoot on the floor drinking wine while she cooks and she gets to cook the type of meals she wants for once, and she can look out into the garden and see her dog, Gnomio, and her cat…”

“Juliet?”

She laughed. “Right. Her cat, Juliet, playing together because who doesn’t want both a dog and a cat, and both of them are rescues and get along with each other like something out of those Instagram reels. And, in fact, she films Gnomio and Juliet together in the garden and it goes viral and she makes loads of money and is super happy, but she doesn’t ever buy a new house because that’s where it all started.”

“That,” he said, lifting a glass to toast her, “is both brilliant and scarily detailed.”

At some point, the plates had been cleared—he hadn’t even noticed. The candle had burned low, struggling for life. She brought out her phone, biting her lip as she checked the time. He knew he was staring at her mouth, the teeth grazing there. Couldn’t seem to stop.

“Shit, I have to go,” she said.

He didn’t argue but moved round to help her back into her coat, his fingers brushing against the smooth skin of her bare arm. He saw the way goosebumps rose there.

She sucked in an audible breath as they headed outside, waving goodbye to the waiter. “It is freezing,” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around herself. He moved closer, rubbing her arms up and down—a move he’d played so many times before. She stilled, looking up at him out on the street. He leaned in, heard her soft exhale as his mouth met hers.

He could taste the wine and mint again. She ran her hands along his forearms, stroking fire along his skin. His fingers dug in at her waist and it took every ounce of self-control to keep it light, not to drag her against him.

She was looking at him in that very direct way of hers when they broke away. “I want to come back with you,” she said. She was so certain, so sure of herself. His fingers tightened their hold on her waist as need coiled in his belly. “But I can’t,” she continued. “I promised Priya.” There were never any games with Mel—he always knew exactly where he stood. It had made him not want to play games with her, either.

He released his grip on her waist. “Next time.” He could hear the promise in his own voice—utterly sure that there would be a next time. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like that before—he’d always been more of an “enjoy the moment” kind of guy.

She nodded. “Next time.” And that was it. From then on, there was only ever Mel.

Chapter Ten

Four days to Christmas

Mel sits cross-legged on the bed, having told Finn to get out and go get dressed somewhere else. She holds her phone out in front of her as her parents’ faces fill the screen.

“Hello, darling!” Her mum’s brow puckers. “Where are you?”

She should have known her mum would notice she wasn’t at home—her mum knows the exact shade of each room in Mel’s flat.

“Priya and I staying in an Airbnb for a couple of days, you know, to catch up properly.” Does it make her a bad person that she can lie to her parents this easily?

“How lovely. Whereabouts is that?”

She says the first place that comes to mind. “Er, Oxford.”

Because, obviously, she can’t tell them what she’s actually doing. Her mum had liked Finn, but when Mel had told her about the breakup she’d come down hard—no one treated her only daughter like that, she deserved better than that, she had half a mind to march on around there and tell him what’s what. That kind of thing.

Her dad, more sunburned than when she’d last seen him, leans into the camera. “I hope this means you’re taking some time off, Melly?”

Her mum waves him away. “Stop that. We’ve got a business-minded daughter and she likes to work. She’s putting the time in now to secure her future, aren’t you, Mel? And we’re proud of you for it,” she continues, without letting Mel answer. “You’ve already accomplished so much more than I ever did. I knew you were destined for big things—didn’t I always say that?”

“You did,” Mel agrees. Had, in fact, reiterated it multiple times when Mel had been working at the clothes shop in London. “And you’ve accomplished plenty, Mum.”