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“What if someone brings something up?” he asks.

“Then we smile and nod, and move the conversation on,” she says smoothly.

“Okay. Fine. That it?”

“I don’t know why you’re acting so pissed off. You were the one who asked me to do this, remember?”

He lets out a slow breath. She remembers that. It’s the noise he makes when he’s praying for patience—as if he’s the one who needs patience in this scenario. “You’re right.”

“What?”

“You’re right,” he says again, his voice even. “And I accept your terms.”

She nods, rubbing her palms against her jeans. When she realizes what she’s doing, she stops. “Okay, then.” She reaches for the door handle. But it’s his turn to reach out, stop her. She looks down at his hand on her arm, above her coat, which she didn’t take off for the whole car journey. He doesn’t take it away and she finds herself remembering, imagining the touch on her bare skin.

Stop it, Melanie.

“Thank you for doing this, Mel.” His voice is soft, quiet.

Her gaze flickers up to his. She hates the way her insides jump at the intensity of his eyes on hers, how her heart reacts to the sound of her name on his lips. But it’s just her body, refusing to catch up with what her mind already knows—that he can’t be trusted, that she is over him.

“I’m only doing it to set the record straight.” She pulls her arm from his grip. “And no touching in private, remember?”

Chapter Four

After unloading their luggage—Finn, of course, has a backpack more suited to traveling the continent rather than a week’s stay in a cozy cottage—he leads them to the nearest cottage and pushes the door open, apparently confident it will be unlocked. They have a silent argument when he gestures for her to go in front, holding the door open, and she refuses. Her eyes narrow; his nostrils flare. Eventually, he gives in and steps inside first, and she considers that a win.

They are greeted by warmth and laughter, with music—thankfully not more Christmas songs—playing in the background. A child squeals and giggles—Freya is here, then.

Finn shuts the door behind them, and for a moment they both stand in the hallway—actors with no stage directions.

“Who’s that?” Mel recognizes Hattie’s voice, coming from a room down the corridor to their left. “Mark?”

“No, it’s me!” Finn heads toward the voice and Mel follows, both of them sticking their heads around the open doorway and peering into what turns out to be the living room. “Or us, I should say.”

Hattie is in the corner of the living room, reaching up to put baubles on the top half of the Christmas tree, while Freya—Finn’s red-haired niece—puts an abundance of tinsel around the bottom half. Hattie glances over at the sound of Finn’s voice, and something passes over her heart-shaped face as she takes in Finn—then Mel.

“Mel!” She abandons the bauble and strides over, enveloping Mel in a hug. Hattie might be short—but she gives good hugs. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She pulls back, and Mel thinks she catches a slightly quizzical expression in her eyes—a brighter green than Finn’s—before she gives Finn a hug too. Probably wondering why Mel forgave Finn so easily for what he did to her. Or wondering, maybe, why Mel hasn’t been in touch for the last two months of apparent dating bliss.

He pulls back to give her a friendly squeeze on the arm. “In decoration mode, are we?”

“Oh, this is the second time we’ve done the tree—it was done already when we got here, but Freya wanted to do it again and I volunteered to help.”

“Dylan here?” Finn asks, referring to Hattie’s fiancé.

“Not yet—he’s on set. He’ll be here in a few days.”

She glances at Mel again—and, like Finn, her smile seems too bright. “How are you, Mel?”

Oh God—is it awkward? It feels awkward. She hadn’t even apologized to Hattie for the scene at her engagement party, what with being too busy at having her heart broken, and she’d been too embarrassed to get in touch afterward.

“Auntie Hattie!” Freya calls out in a surprisingly commanding voice for a four-year-old. Her focus is entirely on Hattie—she doesn’t seem inclined to acknowledge Mel at all, even as Mel tries to smile at her. But then she’s only met Freya a handful of times. Maybe she’s already forgotten her? The thought makes her sad—like she really was only a fleeting part of this family’s life, despite how much she’d loved them all.

Hattie rolls her eyes playfully. “Duty calls. Mum’s in the kitchen, though.” She nods toward the back of the house.

“Mark and Kristen?” Finn asks.

“In the cottage next door—they dropped Freya round, but are just sorting a few bits, then they’ll be over.” Hattie rubs a hand over Mel’s arm. “Catch up later, yeah?”