Chapter Seven #2
Cat couldn’t remember when she’d last laughed so hard.
Watching Rhys wrangle that tree through the narrow cottage door and then get it upright in the stand was more fun than she imagined.
He wasn’t a small man, but the tree still towered over him, and she wondered what she was thinking, letting Olivia convince her to get such a big tree, but here they were, and it was lovely and fresh and made the cottage smell unbearably good.
While she swept up the pine needles, Rhys said he’d look for a dustpan and he disappeared into the kitchen, but then she heard him on the phone. Cat heard only fragments of his conversation, despite his deep voice carrying.
“Yes,” he said, “not sure where they would be, but Mrs. Booth said there were boxes we could have, or use, for the holidays. If it’s too much trouble, don’t worry about it.”
But then he was off the phone and back with the dustpan. The girls were starving by now, and Cat examined the refrigerator and pantry for something she could whip up for lunch when suddenly Mr. Trimble’s blue truck appeared outside.
The older man stepped out, his cap pulled low against the cold, his cheeks ruddy from years outdoors.
“Well then, Dr. Harmon,” he said cheerfully, reaching across the seat of his old truck to retrieve a big soup pot.
“Mrs. Johnson thought you all might need something warm to eat after your adventure into Bakewell. She had a pot of beef and barley broth on the stove at the big house and sent some for you, along with a loaf of nice bread she picked up at the bakery in town.”
Cat was delighted. “I was just wondering what to make,” she said, taking the soup pot from him while Olivia accepted the loaf of crusty bread. “Tell her she’s an angel. This is exactly what we needed.”
Rhys didn’t seem as impressed. “Is that all you have, Trimble?”
The older man smiled widely as he walked around to the back of his truck and opened his tailgate. “I also understand you’re in need of a bit of Christmas.”
Olivia ran back out to join them. Jillian stood on tiptoe trying to see what was in the back of the truck.
“We are indeed,” Rhys said.
“Then I think you’ll be pleased.” Mr. Trimble began lifting large brown boxes from the back of the truck and began loading Rhys up. “Mrs. Booth said these haven’t been used up at the big house in years. You’ll find enough lights and baubles here to decorate all of Derbyshire, I reckon.”
“Are those for us?” Jillian asked, unable to hide her excitement.
“For you, Miss Jillian, and your sister,” Trimble said with a wink, following Rhys into the house with two big boxes of his own. “Courtesy of Langley Park.”
The girls rushed forward to peek inside as the boxes were set on the floor of the sitting room and the tops were opened. A shimmer of color met their gaze—silver, red, and gold ornaments, old glass birds, wide satin ribbons, strands of beads tangled among the faded tissue paper.
“They’re beautiful,” Jillian breathed.
Trimble nodded, pleased. “Aye,” he said looking at the little girls crouched around the boxes. “Did you know some of these were here when your dad was no older than you, I expect.”
“Really?” Olivia said, looking at her father. “They almost look better than him.”
“Not fair,” Rhys chided, but he was smiling and so were the girls.
Mr. Trimble tipped his cap to Cat and the girls, then headed for the door. “Enjoy yourselves, now, and let me know if you need anything else.”
“Please thank Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Booth,” Cat said. “They’ve helped make today very special for all of us.”
“I will indeed.”
The door shut behind Mr. Trimble and then the girls were eagerly peeling back the tissue to reveal layer upon layer of ornaments.
Some were delicate glass spheres, painted with holly and gold leaf; others were whimsical—bright colored balls, delicate Christmas trees, angels with slightly crooked wings, small copper stars that had tarnished in places.
Cat could almost feel the years in them, whispers of Christmases past. “These are treasures indeed,” she said quietly, more to herself than anything but Rhys heard her, his gaze catching hers and holding for a moment.
“Thank you for thinking of this,” he said slowly. “I should have. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she answered with a smile. “You’re creating those memories you talked about earlier, now.”
*
Cat insisted they take a break for lunch and to eat the soup while it was hot. At first there were protests but lunch helped warm and relax everyone, which was a better way to tackle decorating a very big tree.
While the girls decided which ornaments had to go on the tree first, Rhys untangled a long string of white lights, testing each bulb with quiet patience. “I remember these,” he said. “Mr. Trimble used to hang them on the tree in the billiard room.”
“Did you ever help him?” Cat asked.
“It wasn’t really my house to decorate,” he said, eyes still on the wires. “But I did pitch in one year, when Mr. Trimble fell off the ladder and broke his collarbone.”
“That was kind of you.”
“The earl slipped me a ten pound note later and told me to save it for something special.”
“Did you?”
“No. I used it to buy my parents Christmas presents, but if I recall, there was a pound and some change left over which I did save.”
It wasn’t hard to picture him younger, working with the same discipline and diligence he displayed now.
Olivia and Jillian were now carefully arranging their favorite ornaments on the table, debating colors and placement with the seriousness of diplomats.
Cat caught Rhys watching them, and something in his expression touched her. He looked proud, but also happy, the worry and frustration gone.
“Will those lights still work?” she asked.
“They should.” He plugged in one strand, and then another. “They do. Admittedly, they are a little like me, a few old bulbs, but mostly intact.”
Cat flashed a cheeky smile. “I wouldn’t say you’re that old.”
He grinned. “I guess that’s something to celebrate.” Rhys rose and began wrapping the first strand of lights around the tree, working from the very top, weaving the lights in and out of the branches taking care to hide the cord. He worked quietly, carefully, each movement thoughtful and precise.
As he finished with the first strand, Cat handed him the next set, feeding him lights when he was ready. Now and then he’d have a hand out waiting for more lights, and each time she’d placed the string in his hand she’d say, Doctor.
And each time, he played along with her and would answer, Thank you, nurse.
And every time the girls would giggle.
Between the girls’ giggling laughter, the abundance of lights wrapping the tree, and the fresh fragrant scent of pine, the sitting room came to life, turning the space into a place of magic.
“It’s so lovely,” Olivia whispered, eyes glowing with the awe and wonder of childhood.
“It is,” Rhys agreed, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “And so are you.” He then caught Jillian’s expression with all the conflicted emotion she carried with her.
He crossed to his oldest, who was still such a child, and kissed her too.
“Thank you for helping,” he said to Jillian. “Thank you for making today fun.”
She looked up into his face, her eyes searching his, and then her lips slowly curved up. “We just have to do more fun things, Dad,” she said. “Together.”
He kissed the top of her head again. “Agreed.”
“And I should think about dinner,” Cat said, rising from the armchair next to the fire where she’d been resting the past few minutes.
“What if we all go out for dinner?” Rhys suggested.
The pub was already humming with voices and music when they stepped inside, warmed by a coal fire glowing in the hearth and the low murmur of villagers tucked into corner tables. After the chill outside, the sudden rush of heat felt deliciously welcoming.
Rhys guided the girls forward, nodding as the hostess smiled.
“Evening, Dr. Harmon,” she said cheerfully. “You’re lucky—I’ve a booth by the fire for you.”
As they followed her through the narrow aisle, Jillian tugged on her father’s sleeve.
“How did she know who you were?” she whispered, curious.
Rhys leaned down, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I went to school with her older brother,” he told her. “Back in the Dark Ages. Must’ve been at least a hundred years ago.”
Both girls let out quiet giggles, and Cat smiled, relieved that Jillian was still in a good mood.
The hostess led them to a wooden booth near the fire, the benches polished by decades of use.
Cat slid in beside Olivia while Rhys took the opposite side with Jillian next to him, all of them pleasantly worn out—cheeks pink from cold, hair still carrying the faint scent of fir.
Menus appeared, though the girls already knew what they wanted. “Chicken tenders,” Olivia said, pushing her menu away. “And chips. And peas.”
“Same,” Jillian murmured, chin resting on her folded arms.
“Your tree is so lovely,” Cat said, after glancing over the menu. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier one.”
Livy nodded. “It’s because all the ornaments are so old. They’re almost all glass.”
“They definitely make the tree shine,” Jillian added.
The waitress appeared and the girls ordered, Cat requested the winter salad with grilled chicken, and Rhys ordered the salmon.
Lemonades arrived for the girls, a pint for Rhys, and a glass of white wine for Cat.
“Cheers,” Rhys said, lifting his glass.
Everyone touched glasses and contently sipped their drinks. Jillian shifted closer to Rhys, exhausted but peaceful, her earlier sharp edges dulled by the long, full day.
“You two have earned your dinner,” he said, brushing a strand of golden hair off her forehead. “Walking to town, tree shopping, decorating … it’s practically a full-time job.”
Olivia giggled, Jillian laughed, and even Cat smiled, enjoying the moment.
When the food came, the girls perked up just enough to eat.
Golden chicken tenders, crisp chips, bright peas in neat little piles.
Cat’s salad arrived piled high with roasted squash, toasted nuts, winter greens, and warm slices of grilled chicken.
“You’re the only one being healthy,” Rhys said.
“I’m starving,” she replied, “just … in a leafy way.”
His laugh always did something to her, making her insides go warm and tingly, and tonight was no exception.
Cat knew she shouldn’t respond to it—she didn’t want to respond to it—but he was handsome and fascinating, and so very alone in his parenting right now.
If she could help him, if she could lend support, she wanted to.
They ate mostly in silence, but it was the comfortable kind of silence, one that followed a full day, and a happy day. Jillian leaned against Rhys as she finished eating. Olivia nudged Cat, wanting her to try a bite of her peas, pleased when Cat praised them.
Rhys watched his daughters with a faint, tired smile. Every so often, his gaze drifted to Cat and every time her heart did a painful little flutter. Clearly, she was overtired herself. She shouldn’t be all fizzy and flustered. It wasn’t a good look for a nanny.
Even a pretend nanny.
“Should we go?” Rhys asked after he paid.
He was met with a chorus of yeses. Cat helped Olivia with her coat and then they were outside, Jillian holding her dad’s hand, and Olivia taking Cat’s.
A lump filled Cat’s throat, and she gave Olivia’s mittened hand a light squeeze. She hadn’t been part of a family in forever, and she knew this wasn’t her family, but it felt good to be with them tonight. It felt good to be part of something bigger than herself for once.