Page 35

“Yes, well, it’s excellent garnish.”

“We need to get the sides on,” Mel says to Finn as everyone finishes up the starters, putting their knives and forks together. He gets up, following her to the kitchen.

“Whatever it is already smells amazing!” Susan calls behind them. Mel has the Wellington and dauphinoise in the oven, and is starting to feel anxious about the whole thing coming together on time—she hates to admit it, but Finn was possibly right about this being a little ambitious.

She is too aware of how close she and Finn are as they move around the kitchen. The memory of touching him haunts her, making it seem like the space has shrunk since this afternoon. She feels her bare arms prickle every time Finn brushes past her and has to actively force herself not to jump away. Even though everyone is chatting among themselves, she feels as if she is being watched, as if one wrong move will give them away.

Finn checks on the glazed carrots while Mel starts to wilt the spinach. He moves up next to her at the stove, his arm grazing hers. Even though they are separated by the fabric of his jacket, goosebumps still rise up on her skin. She makes herself stay where she is, even as his gaze drops to hers. His lips curve into a knowing smile. Well, at least it’s not just affecting her—it’s like their bodies remember each other’s touch, remember the chemistry between them.

Well, her body is just going to have to get over it, isn’t it?

When she looks down at the pan, the spinach is not so much wilted as a slimy, almost congealed mess. She lets out a cry of dismay and moves the pan off the heat—but it’s too late.

Finn looks into the pan, and she catches the grimace before he smooths out his expression. “It’s fine,” he tells her quickly.

“It is not fine,” she hisses. “I can’t serve this.”

“It’s only a side.”

“It’s not only a side. The sides are what makes it.”

“We’ve got loads more, just throw it out and don’t tell anyone.”

But Mel stares down at it and for some irrational reason, she feels a lump coming to her throat. The whole thing is ruined.

“Mel?” She feels his hand, running down her spine. “Mel, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she whispers, feeling her vision blur. “It’s not okay.” It’s ruined. She’s ruined it all.

“It’s only spinach,” he says, his voice soothing. He strokes a hand down her back again. “No one is going to care—it’s not like we’re a table full of Popeyes.”

Right, she tells herself. It’s only spinach, Melanie.

She takes a deep breath. It is not ruined. The plan just has to change, that’s all. She can live without spinach in her life. She can.

She moves to the bin, tips the contents of the pan into it. Tells herself to get a bloody grip.

“What’s going on over there?” Hattie calls over. “We’re all politely trying not to listen.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job!” Finn calls back. “And it’s fine, all definitely going one hundred percent according to plan.”

Mel is quiet as they get together the rest of the meal, and although Finn keeps trying to catch her gaze, she ignores him. They serve the dishes on heatproof mats so that everyone can help themselves, and Mel tops up her wine as she sits down.

“This is brilliant,” Hattie says through a mouthful of Wellington. “Also a nine out of ten. The only thing that would have made it better is a side of spinach.” Her green eyes slide to Mel’s, sparkling. And to Mel’s relief, she bursts out laughing, making Hattie grin. Ridiculous. She was being totally ridiculous.

Finn’s gaze meets hers and she remembers the way he looked at her earlier.

I’ve missed that. The sound of your laugh.

She feels heat in her cheeks, and covers it by sipping more wine.

“You’ve really gone all out,” Susan says, smiling at Finn and Mel. “You two are a marvel.”

“As are you, Mum,” Finn says, raising his glass.

“Hear, hear,” says Mark, and everyone raises their glasses in a spontaneous toast to Susan.

“So I’m thinking beef for the wedding,” Hattie says. “As well as a seafood and vegetarian option. I tell you, it’s bloody exhausting looking at menu options.”