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Mel gets out of the car to hear Hattie crying, “You’re here!”
“I am!” Dylan pulls back and beams at her. “And I am fully ready to participate in all activities.”
“Good, because we’ve got a dessert to make.” Hattie takes Dylan’s hand to tug him into the cottage, while the chauffeur—of course he has a bloody chauffeur—asks, “Will that be all, sir?”
“That’s brilliant,” Dylan calls over his shoulder. “You’re a legend, Dave. Have a lovely Christmas with Maureen!”
Dave tips his hat. “And a happy Christmas to you too, sir.”
Susan is still in the driver’s seat, watching Hattie pull Dylan inside. Mel taps on the window, and Susan opens the door.
“You okay, Susan?” Mel asks.
Susan blinks up at Mel. That misty-eyed look is back—Mel supposes there’s something about Christmas that does that to you.
“Sorry, yes. I’m just an overemotional mother—that’s all. I can’t believe my baby’s all grown up.” She shakes her head as she gets out of the car. “I’m just so glad she met him. I’m so glad you’ve all found your person.”
Mel glances behind her to see Kristen there, too, biting her lip—like she’s caught the end of that and isn’t entirely happy, either. She thinks of how Kristen was a little short with Mark yesterday, ahead of the scavenger hunt. Is there a chance Mel and Finn aren’t the only ones hiding something this holiday?
Inside, Mark is watching TV—a rerun of the Christmas episode of Gavin & Stacey.
“Where’s Finn?” Mel asks—because she thinks she should.
“Hmmm? Oh, not sure. He went off for a walk, I think.” Mel nods and tells herself it’s none of her business what Finn gets up to when she’s not around. Maybe he’ll get lost in the woods and she won’t have to see him until this evening.
“Can we play another game?” Freya asks, tugging at Mel’s sleeve.
“Sure.” Mel is reminded again of Christmases with just her parents and how, after the excitement of present unwrapping, things could be a little boring. Freya’s in for a whole week of that. Mel had made up plenty of games as a kid, and racks her brain now for the best one.
Kristen appears by her side. “You don’t have to,” she whispers.
Mel smiles at Kristen. “It’s okay. I want to.”
They all start at the sound of Hattie’s voice, coming from the kitchen. “No one is allowed in. Our dessert is complicated and epic and will take ages and I don’t want anyone seeing.”
Everyone has the good sense not to argue.
Chapter Eleven
Mel has the oven on and is reading through the beef Wellington recipe for the fifth time when Finn finally returns from his walk—bringing in the smell of crisp pine, his own scent merging with the one that lingers in the air around here.
“Sorry,” he says, shrugging out of his coat and dumping it on the back of one of the dining chairs. “Lost track of time.”
Mel looks up at him. His ears are a little reddened from the cold, and he has that kind of glow that comes from being outside. She wonders what he was thinking about, out in the woods on his own—what exactly caused him to lose track of time.
“Didn’t break your leg falling over a tree trunk, then?”
His lips twitch. “Afraid not.”
“Ah well. Wishful thinking.”
“Next time, I’ll try harder to trap my foot in a rabbit hole.” He crosses to the kitchen counter, glancing down at the ingredients she has laid out—an array of vegetables, onions, and garlic, a few different bottles, a selection of dairy items.
He scratches his head. “Ah…Is it just me, or is this a lot of food for one beef Wellington?” He taps his fingers on the granite, considering. “That’s assuming I definitely know what a beef Wellington is. Not entirely sure I’ve ever eaten one before.”
“We’re making sides to go with it,” she says, taking an elastic off her wrist and going to tie her hair back—before remembering she cut it too short to do that now. She pushes the list she’s made over to him, which details the various sides, all the ingredients under each one, and watches his eyes travel down the page.
Wilted spinach with garlic
