Chapter Eight #2
“Wet the edge of the case with your finger, then pop the lid on top and give it a gentle press. When you’ve done them all, get the kitchen scissors and snip a hole in the lid, so steam can escape.” He met Jeff’s gaze. “Having fun?” Dave was enjoying himself.
Jeff nodded. “My mum used to make mince pies. They turned out like burnt bricks.”
Chris laughed. “That’s how Papa’s turned out too.”
Dave bit back a smile. “Cooking and baking were not his strong suit.”
“I’m sure he made up for them in other ways,” Jeff said sincerely.
Dave glanced over Jeff’s shoulder at the photos of Matt. “He did. He made me laugh.”
“Dad,” Chris wailed. “My pastry lids have stuck to the table.”
“Did you put flour down first, like I told you to?” One look at Chris’s face gave him his answer.
“Okay, I’ll use a knife to pry them up.” Chris seemed mortified.
Dave poured milk into a ramekin, then removed a pastry brush from the drawer.
“Here. I’ll rescue the lids, you brush each one with milk as I go along, all right? ”
It wasn’t long before three trays had gone into the oven, and the kitchen was tidy once more. He made coffee, and poured Chris a glass of juice, then they sat at the dining table.
“Have you ever played Frustration?” Chris asked Jeff suddenly.
“Not since I was a kid. I used to love playing with my sister.”
“We can play now.” And before Dave could utter a word, Chris was off his chair and running to his bedroom.
Dave’s chest tightened. Chris hadn’t wanted to play that game in so long. Not since Matt went. They’d had such good times, seated around the table, Chris laughing at Matt when he stabbed at the plastic dome covering the dice, yelling, ‘Give me a six, you stupid thing!’
Chris was back, carrying the box that had seen better days. It had belonged to Matt, and Dave was still surprised the dome popped as it used to.
Chris placed the lid on the floor and removed the square plastic game board. “What colour do you want to be?” he demanded. But before Jeff could answer, Chris beamed. “I think you should be red.”
“That’s good, because I like red.” The gleam in Jeff’s eyes told Dave he was having fun too.
Dave was glad about that. Jeff’s request for a lesson on making lasagne had been a delightful surprise. If he hadn’t asked, I’d have come up with something. He wanted to see more of the sexy Santa.
“Listen, next Saturday…” Jeff took a mouthful of coffee before continuing. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat.
Dave’s skin prickled. Jeff’s obvious nervousness was intriguing. “What about it?”
“Well… it’s my birthday. Actually, it’s one of those birthdays. You know, the ones with a zero?”
Dave chuckled. “I’m almost four years off my next one, but they do say life begins at forty, right?”
“And what do they say about reaching thirty?”
Dave chuckled. “Dirty thirty.” Then he clammed up as a pair of large blue eyes focused on him. Dave coughed. “Are you doing anything to celebrate?”
“I wasn’t, until my sister called a week ago to tell me she’s booked a table for Saturday night at a restaurant in London. Her, me, and two guests.” Jeff flushed. “Refusal is not in her vocabulary.” He cleared his throat again. “So… I was wondering… if you’d like to be one of the guests.”
Something in Dave’s stomach fluttered. “Me?”
Jeff nodded. “I know the place, by the way. The food’s great, and it’s right on the river.”
It’s not a date, not if his sister is going. What came as a shock was that Dave wished it could be just the two of them.
Then reality sank in. “It’s a lovely idea, and thank you for thinking of me, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” Chris demanded. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can stay at Ethan’s. Please, Dad?”
Dave didn’t know which was having the greater effect—Chris’s beseeching gaze, or Jeff’s anxious one.
Do it. Say yes.
He took a deep breath. “Okay. Chris, you can call Ethan and tell him you’ll be staying next Saturday. And you can text me the name of the restaurant, and what time we’re eating.” Then he smiled. “It makes sense. You’ve met my sister—now I can meet yours.”
Jeff groaned. “Great. She’ll be doing her best to embarrass me, telling stories about her bratty little brother.”
“Sounds like our sisters are pretty similar.” His heart had decided to have palpitations, judging by the way it raced.
It’s just dinner.
Except it wasn’t. It was so much more than that.
Dave surveyed the table. “I think we did great.” The pastry had come out a golden colour, and the smell was amazing.
“I think I need to try one.” Jeff picked up one of his and took a bite. His eyes widened, and he fanned his mouth, jumping from one foot to the other.
“You need to wait for the mincemeat to cool. It’s always red hot at first.” Dave was doing his best not to laugh.
Jeff swallowed. “Maybe you should have told me that?”
Dave laughed. “I would have, but you didn’t give me time.” He glanced at Chris. “Well? Will those make Lucy Stephens jealous?”
Chris chuckled. “They’re way better than her jam tarts.”
“When they’re cold, I’ll find you a tin, and you can take them to school tomorrow. We’ll have plenty.” He looked at Jeff. “I’ll have a tin for you too.”
“And now it’s time for the tree,” Chris declared in a gleeful voice.
Jeff gave his brow an exaggerated wipe. “I’m exhausted. Making mince pies has worn me out. I think you’d better do it. I’ll supervise.”
“Oh no you don’t.” Dave folded his arms. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. I’m putting you on lights duty. It’s your job to check they all work before they go on the tree, because it’s a pain in the arse to do it once they’re on.”
Jeff grinned and saluted. “Yes, sir.” Chris giggled.
Dave pointed him to the box of lights, all tangled into a large knot. He narrowed his gaze. “That’s what you call putting them away carefully?” he said to Chris.
“I did,” Chris protested. “I put them in their box.”
Dave glanced at Jeff and rolled his eyes. Jeff grabbed the box, brought it over to the couch, and began the task of unravelling. Dave gave a box to Chris, with the instruction to go through and remove any broken ornaments.
Fifteen minutes later, Jeff had a neatly wound string of two hundred and fifty lights, and between him and Dave, they circled the tree, doing their best to ensure there were no gaps.
Once they were lit, he and Jeff hung the ornaments from little green hooks, aided by Chris who passed them each piece, with an instruction of where to place it.
“I love the smell of pine,” Jeff murmured.
“It reminds me of my grandma’s house when I was little.
My mum once asked her why she didn’t buy an artificial one, and she said Christmas wouldn’t be the same without that smell.
” He chuckled. “That Christmas, Mum gave her an extra present—Christmas in a can. It was a spray that was supposed to smell like pine trees. I found it in the rubbish bin on Boxing Day.”
“Good for your grandma,” Dave remarked. He stepped back and surveyed the tree. “I think we’re done, guys.”
Jeff laughed. “Of course we’re done. There’s no more room to hang anything.” He glanced toward the clock on the mantlepiece above the fireplace, and Dave’s heart sank. He’d enjoyed Jeff’s company.
“Do you have to go now?” Chris was doing his puppy dog eyes routine, gazing earnestly at Jeff. “Can you stay for dinner? Dad, can Jeff stay?”
Dave knew when he was licked.
He met Jeff’s gaze. “You know you said refusal is not in your sister’s vocabulary? I’m just discovering that when it comes to Chris, it’s not in mine either.” Dave smiled. “It’s only beef stew from yesterday. I was going to add dumplings. And before you say a word, yes, there’s enough for three.”
“Dad’s beef stew is brill,” Chris added. “And his dumplings are so tasty.”
Jeff laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll stay. If only to see if the stew is as good as the lasagne.”
“If you like it, I can show you how to make that as well.”
Jeff’s eyes focused on his. “I’d like that.”
The temperature in the kitchen rose a little, and Dave was sure it had nothing to do with the oven.