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Eleanor spluttered while Gavin patted her on the back. “I most certainly do not.”

“Well, I know that—but, here, let’s all have a photo.” Mel held the phone out at arm’s length, made them all lean in together for a selfie. She checked the photo and for a moment, smiling down at it, Finn thought she looked perfectly happy. “There,” she said, handing the phone back to her mum. “You can post that, then follow who you like.”

“Lovely.” Eleanor started swiping down her phone. “And look! Are these your earrings?” She didn’t turn the phone for any of them to see, but Finn assumed she’d found the viral post. “Oh, Mel, they’re really there! Gosh, I remember you making these when you were, what, you must have been around sixteen.”

“Ah…I didn’t make those exact ones when I was sixteen…”

“Well, no, but something similar, I’m sure of it. You’ve always had the talent. I just knew you’d go far. Didn’t I always say she’d go far, Gavin? My daughter! The superstar!” She raised a glass and Finn joined in to toast Mel, while Mel herself went a bit red, and looked very deliberately away, out to the mountains.

“We’re so proud of you, Melly,” Gavin said gruffly, and though Mel pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes to hide it, Finn could see she was a little emotional.

He took her hand, linked his fingers with hers—and was rewarded with the smile he loved. Another thing he loved—liked about her. How her smile made everything bigger and brighter. One smile from her and it was like being high on magic mushrooms. Not that he was totally sure her parents would appreciate that sentiment.

“Now, Finn,” Eleanor said, “I want to know more about you. You’re into houses—is that right?”

“He does them up himself,” Mel said, clearly relieved that she was no longer the center of attention.

“Well, that’s awfully clever. You know, we’ve been thinking of redoing our kitchen…”

“Not that sort of thing, Mum.”

Finn shrugged. “I can probably help a bit—but I’m not an expert. I just give old houses a bit of love—that’s all.” He remembered Priya’s words. Don’t put yourself down.

But Mark constantly told him that flipping houses wasn’t a “proper” job—that there was no stability, no future. And though his mum tried to be supportive he knew she worried about those same things too.

“It’s not all,” Mel said. “He’s amazing. Always makes a profit, and gives old houses a second chance.” Finn squeezed her hand in thanks.

She got out her phone and started swiping through photos—ones he had sent her, before and after shots of a house up near Manchester. “Here.” She held the phone out to her parents, who made appreciative noises, and the conversation turned to the logistics of doing up houses, and whether Finn thought it would be feasible for Eleanor to get an Aga installed in their kitchen.

Later, as they walked back to the chalet, Finn took Mel’s hand. He was at that stage where he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. Her parents were a few steps behind, Eleanor giggling at something Gavin was saying, the moment made impossibly perfect by the stars that were winking out above them. And when Mel looked up at him, smiled, his heart backflipped.

She cocked her head, clearly seeing something on his face. “What?”

He nearly said it then. But it would take another few months for him to work up the courage. “I’m just happy you invited me—that’s all.” He swung an arm over her shoulder and she leaned into him.

“Me too.”

Chapter Fourteen

Three days to Christmas

Mel is both tired and restless as they drive into Ballater—she and Finn in the backseat of Susan’s car, who insisted on driving. She hasn’t slept well at all, too aware of the heat of Finn’s body, even behind that stupid pillow barrier. The concealer under her eyes hasn’t seemed to do the trick and she’s aware that she’s been grouchy all morning. She tried to get some work done and couldn’t concentrate, made worse by the fact that Jodie, the designer she’d assigned to the Lillian Hart project, didn’t get the designs quite right—but Mel couldn’t figure out a way to fix them without starting from scratch and, given the time frame, that wasn’t an option. She also couldn’t put her finger on why, exactly, the designs weren’t working—just that they didn’t have the right feel about them. When she asked Amanda for her opinion, Amanda couldn’t see what Mel meant, and thought they looked just as good as Jodie’s other designs—so maybe Mel is slowly going mad on this holiday.

Breakfast was a somewhat subdued affair—Hattie and Dylan looked tired, too, and Mel tried hard not to wonder what had kept them up so late after they’d gone upstairs. Mark and Kristen had stayed over at their cottage to let Freya sleep in, and it seemed like the late night had caught up with Susan too. She perks up, however, when they park the car near the village green, beaming at both Finn and Mel.

Mark and Kristen pull up next to them, with Dylan and Hattie in the back next to Freya. Mel has a moment to marvel that Dylan, who has starred in a film that actually showed in cinemas, is squished into the backseat next to a child seat.

“Is it another scavenger hunt?” Hattie asks as she gets out, shoving her hands deep inside her coat pockets.

Susan just smiles, gesturing for them all to follow her—she refused to tell them what was on the agenda earlier, wanting it to be a surprise. Mel pulls her scarf tighter to her as she walks. The village is just as pretty as it was a couple of days ago—and, though the sky is a heavy, snow-laden gray, the Christmas lights in shop windows make the place feel bright. They walk to the village square, where a towering Christmas tree stands, forming the centerpiece. They pass a bakery, full of mince pie and—of course—shortbread, which Freya edges toward hopefully. The snow-dusted peaks of the Cairngorms surround them, and Mel feels again that she should be in some kind of storybook. Their breath steams out in clouds as they walk past twinkling lights strung along the riverbank, and the feel of snow lingers in the air.

Mel is vaguely hoping they might be heading to the shop where she saw the gorgeous landscape painting, just so she can stare at it some more—and maybe even look at the price tag—when Susan comes to a stop, beaming at them all and gesturing to the shop behind her. It’s painted lilac, with the name Pot On Me engraved in gold. A wreath of holly and ivy hangs on the door, and all sorts of pottery make up the window display.

“Christmas decorations!” Susan exclaims delightedly. “We get to paint and glaze our own baubles, then they fire them in the kiln and we can pick them up just in time for Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, that’s such a nice idea,” Kristen says, squeezing Freya’s hand.

They head inside, and are shown downstairs to a sort of underground pottery-making den, which has its own Christmas tree in the corner and fairy lights hung above. They are given mulled wine—and hot Ribena for Freya—and are shown to their own long table, with two benches each side. They’re allowed to pick which decoration to paint and unanimously go for a bauble each, in varying sizes.