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“You’d let me use the step ladder?” Lucy mock gasped. “You’re feeling daring this evening.”

“Not appreciating the sarcasm,” Dylan said, with a little smile. “I could lift you up to it?”

“No!” Lucy squeaked, her body instantly reacting to the thought of being that close to him. “You do it,” she managed to say in a more normal voice. She sat down on the sofa and pulled a blanket over herself.

Dylan shrugged and stood on tiptoe to place the star on top of the tree, before standing back to admire his work. “That is a very beautiful tree.”

“It’s certainly big,” said Lucy. “It takes up a quarter of the room!”

Dylan sat down next to Lucy on the sofa. Had this sofa always been this small? Why did she buy such a ridiculously tiny sofa? What had she been thinking? He moved closer and pulled the end of her blanket over himself. She froze. “What?” Dylan said. “It’s cold.”

“Get your own blanket.”

“This is the good one,” Dylan said. “Don’t be mean.”

“Fine,” Lucy replied, pushing more blanket over to him.

They sat in silence, listening to carols and looking at the tree. It really was lovely and the delicious smell filled the room.

“Thank you,” Dylan said quietly. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s my absolute pleasure,” Lucy replied, reaching over and squeezing his hand. His gentle pulse returned her intentions, and she could swear she felt it in her heart.

When Lucy went to bed that night she had the feeling that she’d been privy to a part of Dylan that not many people saw. She was so glad she had, and that he had his first Christmas tree. She found she felt oddly protective towards Dylan now, and the fact that Michael had been such a good friend to Dylan just made her all the happier that such a decent man was married to her best friend.

Dylan had been through so much. It was kind of no wonder that he struggled to let people in. When she thought about all the little things he did for people, it made her heart ache. He went out of his way so much for others, not just because he cared so deeply but because he was trying to make them like him. If only he would realise that being himself was enough.

Chapter 20

Lucy’s nausea seemed to have, in the main, been supplanted by starvation. Now she was always ravenous for anything — as long as it had been cooked by Dylan. If she thought about making a sandwich for herself, she was largely indifferent, but if he was making it, suddenly that was what her body craved.

Which linked to the other pregnancy symptom she was experiencing . . . all she could think about right now was kissing Dylan. And not only because his cooking was absolutely amazing. His smell every time he was anywhere near her sent her spiralling . . . it was like she was feral. It was all she could do not to launch herself at him. It was very disconcerting and becoming harder and harder to ignore and it was very confusing. She didn’t know what to think and felt vulnerable having all these feelings for someone she’d long since labelled ‘Dangerous. Do Not Touch’. But the more she allowed herself to get to know him, the more she wanted to throw that idea out of the window. Which would be a terrible idea and would only lead to her getting hurt and their still fragile ceasefire being destroyed. This baby had an awful lot to answer for.

On Sunday morning Dylan came out of his bedroom in plaid pyjama bottoms and a white T-shirt. He was barefoot and his hair was tousled from the night. His arms really were huge . . . He looked absolutely delicious, and smelt it, too, as he walked behind Lucy to reach into the cupboard next to her.

“Good morning,” he said, cheerfully. “Can I make you some porridge? I fancied some.”

She swallowed when his T-shirt rode up exposing his toned stomach as he took out a package of porridge oats. Those were some abs . . . did everyone have that many? A memory of what they felt like threatened and she quickly quashed it down.

“Luce?”

“Sorry, yes?” Lucy said, her cheeks feeling warm. She forced her eyes up to meet Dylan’s. Something about the grin on his face told her he suspected what she’d been thinking about and didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Porridge? Would you like some?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. Porridge would be great. There’s coffee for you in the pot.”

“Thank you.” He took out a mug and poured, inhaling the coffee’s aroma with a heady groan which made Lucy’s stomach flip. “This smells amazing,” he murmured. “I’ve been meaning to ask . . . Have you got any plans for Christmas?”

“Not really,” said Lucy. “Though Carrie and Michael have invited me to theirs on Christmas Day. I’ve been putting off deciding because I don’t want to intrude on their family day. I was planning on keeping the coffee shop open as much as possible. I usually go to stay with my parents, but they’re visiting my aunt and uncle in Spain. What do you usually do on Christmas Day?”

“I’ve spent it with Michael for years now. It’s good. You won’t be intruding at all, far from it. We all pitch in with the cooking and then after Christmas dinner we go down to the beach with Monty before playing games and eating our body weight in chocolate.”

“That sounds great.”

“It is.”

“OK, then I’ll come. It’ll be lovely to have a day off and to spend it with everyone.”