Page 61

“Mel, if I moved to London, if I got a job there…Would you…?” He’d blurted it without thinking—a need to distract her combined with a need to ask her now—rather than after he’d gotten a job as he’d planned. Only now he couldn’t figure out how to get the words out.

She turned to face him with that very direct look he knew and loved. “Finn. Are you asking me if I want to move in with you?”

He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Well, sort of. I don’t have anywhere to live so you can’t really move in with me, but—”

“Yes.” She grinned, then leaned up to kiss him. He tasted the vanilla of her ice cream, then the taste that was only her. The taste that always left him wanting more. She pulled back, her eyes matching the color of the ocean. “Of course I want that, Finn.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Christmas Eve

Mel is quiet in the car as Finn weaves through the Cairngorms, following Mark in his impressive Land Rover. Snow dusts the tops of the pine trees, and frost lingers in places under the pale winter sunlight, even though it’s late morning. After the call with Lillian yesterday, everyone had come home from the Christmas market, and Mel had helped Susan and Freya to make homemade mince pies, while Kristen and Dylan had attempted to cook dinner in what remained of the kitchen. After Freya went to bed, Hattie insisted they all watch Love Actually—which Mark and Finn had bailed on. Finn had been asleep by the time Mel got upstairs, and the upshot was that they haven’t spoken about what happened—or almost did—at the cottage yesterday.

She glances at him. He notices, offers her half a smile, but doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t feel awkward, exactly, but Mel’s insides jump a little as she looks back out of the window. She should be thinking about Lillian. She thinks the call went well—but how can she be sure? Lillian seemed to like the designs, but she could have just been saying that. The agent clearly had wanted to wrap things up sooner rather than later—but was that because it was Christmas, and she wanted to go home, or because she didn’t think Mel was worth Lillian’s time?

Mel wants Lillian to come on board. At least, she thinks she does. Having a celebrity partner would be an amazing coup, even if it did mean a lot more work. She’d have to hire an extra designer, that’s for sure—and the additional business it’d drum up would mean longer hours, and even less time to worry about the actual jewelry-making side of things. But it would be worth it, wouldn’t it?

So, yes, she should be thinking about all that. But, instead, her mind keeps going back to Finn. Her body keeps remembering the feel of his hands on her sides, and every time she closes her eyes it’s like she’s right back on top of him, on that couch.

We shouldn’t do this.

She doesn’t know why that, above everything, should sting. He’s right. They shouldn’t go there. Probably. Not when she’s supposed to be breaking up with him—fake breaking up with him—in two days’ time.

But also…

Not because I stopped loving you.

Maybe, Mel, I just can’t fucking help myself when I’m around you.

“Think this is it,” Finn says, and the sound of his voice makes her jump.

She blinks, taking in their surroundings. They are parked next to Mark’s car. They’re somewhere up high, surrounded by trees and overlooking a loch. And there, on their right, is the activity Susan must be leading them to: an ice rink, out in the open air, with a beautiful view of the loch.

Mel gets out of the car in time to hear Hattie say, “Brilliant! I’m pretty sure I’m fantastic at ice-skating.”

Dylan gives her a side-eyed look. “You’re pretty sure?”

“Well, I’ve only been once. We went when we were little, didn’t we, Mum?”

“Yes, your dad took you,” Susan says, and, though Susan’s voice is bright, Mel swears the temperature drops a little as Hattie looks, very determinedly, away from her mum and toward the ice rink.

“What do you reckon?” Finn asks, coming around from the driver’s side to stand next to her. “You going to be a natural at ice-skating, just like skiing?” He shoves his hands into his pockets as he speaks and okay, yes, it is bloody cold—but is it her, or is he also being extra careful not to touch her?

Not because I stopped loving you.

“As long as I’m better than you, that’s all I care about.” She tries for a light, jokey tone, but her voice sounds rusty. What is that about? He grins anyway, maybe remembering, like her, how she’d been annoyed that he was good at skiing while she, apparently, was not.

“We won’t just be skating,” Susan says, beaming. “We’re going to have a curling lesson!”

Mark frowns as Freya pulls on his hand, bouncing up and down to try to get him to do something. “Curling?”

Dylan scratches his head. “Isn’t that the thing where they sweep the ice?”

“Mummmm,” Freya says, moving on to swing on Kristen’s hand. “I’m cold.”

“I know, love. So am I.”

“We’ll warm up quickly,” Susan promises Freya. “Curling is hard work. It’ll get us all nice and toasty. And it’s a medieval Scottish tradition,” she adds proudly.