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“What do you get if you eat Christmas decorations?” Finn asks.

“Ah, Christmas food poisoning?” Mark asks, and earns an eye roll from Hattie.

“Tinselitis!” Finn says.

“Why don’t penguins fly?” asks Susan.

“Oh, I know this one,” Dylan says. “Because they’re snow good at it.”

“Can’t penguins fly?” asks Freya.

Mel is stuffed at the end of the meal and only manages a small sip of the port that Dylan produces out of nowhere. Finn is next to her, his hand resting lightly on her knee. She wonders if he feels a ticking clock, like she does. After tomorrow, they won’t have an excuse to touch each other anymore, will they? Only, for her, the ticking clock is less about that, and more about what the new year will bring.

They open the last of the presents after dinner, sitting with hot drinks around the Christmas tree.

“Cinnamon!” Susan beams as she opens the scented candle from Mel. “Thanks so much, Mel love.” And Mel feels horribly guilty, that all she managed for Susan was a bloody candle—even if Finn had indeed added her name to the present he’d already gotten for his mum—a gorgeous hand-knitted jumper in a bold red, soft to the touch and expensive-looking.

“Oh, this is just wonderful!” Susan says. “I’ll wear it every day for the rest of winter.”

“Please don’t,” says Hattie. “You’ll end up smelling terrible.”

Mel opens a bracelet from Hattie, and a bottle of wine from Kristen and Mark. When she gets to a large flat square present, she frowns, having no idea what it could be. “Who’s this from?”

“That would be me,” Finn says—and he runs a hand across the back of his neck, almost as if he’s nervous.

And because he’s nervous she’s nervous as she opens—though something else takes over when she sees what it is, and she catches her breath. The painting she’d seen in the shop at the end of their scavenger hunt. The landscape of a forest overlooking a loch—majestic and awe-inspiring. And maybe not quite as lonely as she’d thought it looked the first time.

“I can’t believe you noticed,” Mel murmurs. He tries to shrug it off, but she gets to her feet, crosses to him, and bends down to give him a light kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I love it.”

The evening ends with a game of charades. It takes the full minute for anyone to figure out that Dylan is acting out The Jungle Book, which makes Mel laugh.

“Aren’t you supposed to be an actor?” she asks.

“Apparently a terrible one,” he says, hanging his head in mock shame.

“Don’t worry,” Hattie says breezily. “You can be a kept husband, no problem.”

When Freya’s head is drooping on Kristen’s shoulder and everyone else is yawning, they decide to call it a night. Mel’s steps feel heavy as she and Finn climb the stairs—the day feels as if it’s gone far too fast. She wonders if that’s how Susan feels. She’d wanted this—a last, perfect Christmas, and now it’s over, far too soon. She feels tears stinging her eyes and blinks furiously. She can’t cry, not yet. She’ll have to save that for when she’s alone.

She doesn’t speak to Finn as she shuts the bedroom door, but she does cross to him, running her hands over his shoulders, down his back. He reaches out, traces the outline of her face, and she closes her eyes, willing herself not to give into it, not to cry.

“I know,” he whispers. But he doesn’t know, does he? He thinks she’s sad about the end of the holiday, about the fact that their time is supposed to be up. And because she can’t contradict him she doesn’t say anything as they peel each other’s clothes off, taking their time, tracing skin with fingers and mouths. Finn moves her to the bed gently, kisses along the inside of her thigh, slowly, tenderly—as if she is something to be cherished.

He moves higher, tongue pressing over her center. There are tears in her eyes as she comes, though she closes her eyes so he can’t see, reaching for him and burying her face into his neck as he slips inside her.

Not because I stopped loving you.

I never stopped loving you, either. I’ll always love you. That’s what she wants to say, what she knows is true. But the words won’t come, trapped by her secrets and by the uncertainty of what this all means.

Afterward, as they lie curled together, sweat cooling on their skin, she closes her eyes with Finn’s arms around her. She feels her breathing slowing to match his, and tells herself to enjoy this, for maybe the last time. She tries, very hard, not to think of how their last breakup played out. Tries not to think of what tomorrow will bring.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Six months ago—at Hattie’s engagement party

Finn let out a low whistle as he and Mel stepped into the lobby at the Ham Yard Hotel. He didn’t usually hang out in posh hotels, but he could immediately see why Hattie had picked it for the engagement party. It was like a living art gallery, both elegant and quirky—a bit like Hattie. The artwork was bold, eclectic and so colorful he wasn’t sure where exactly to look. Mismatched sofas and armchairs took up most of the space, where a couple of people were lounging, staring down at their phones as they did so. He wasn’t one to worry about interior design—when he’d been flipping houses he never thought that far ahead, leaving things as neutral as he could so that people could see the potential and could put their own stamp on the place. But he had to admit this was pretty cool.

He glanced at the oversize clock in one corner, which showed that they were five minutes late and grimaced a little. He didn’t usually care whether he was late or not, but his little sister’s engagement party seemed like the sort of thing for which he ought to be on time. Especially when he’d been asked to do a speech, though why for the life of him she wanted him and not Mark to do that was beyond him. He patted his suit jacket, reassuring himself that his notes were definitely there, and fought to fight away the annoying curdle of anxiety that had lodged itself in his gut last night and refused to leave.