Chapter Thirteen #3
‘Sorry, your what?’
Oh. Had he not talked about this yet? ‘Last year, Haf and I met at a party. Kissed under some mistletoe that looked sad.’
Nash sets down his ladle. ‘Looked sad?’
‘It made sense at the time. Anyway, Laurel was there, which I didn’t realise, and she accidentally told everyone I was dating Haf. Well . . . we kind of told her we were dating. So then she joined us for Christmas, and that’s how she and my sister Kit met.’
‘Wait, so your sister fell in love with your fake girlfriend while you were still fake together?’
‘Yeah . . . kind of.’
‘How incestuous.’
‘It is not.’
‘All right then, how weird.’
Well, he can hardly argue with that. ‘It worked out well. We’re all close. I was going to stay with Kit and Haf for Christmas at their place in Yorkshire.’
‘Wild. Where is this wife-swapping home town?’
‘Oxlea. It’s in the Cotswolds. Though, as far as I know, the latter isn’t that common an occurrence.’
Nash snickers. ‘That’s not a real place.’
‘It is.’
‘Is it posh?’ he says, adopting a British accent.
Christopher squirms. ‘I mean. Yes? Haf described Laurel as “terrifyingly posh” when they first met—’
‘A bizarre thing to say when you are pretty posh yourself,’ he says, now in a bad impression of Hugh Grant, stuttering speech and all.
‘I really hope you don’t have British accents on your CV or whatever actors have, because really you are not very good at them,’ Christopher says with a smile.
‘To your ears. You wouldn’t believe what we can get away with over there.’
‘Oh, I can. I’ve seen enough attempts.’
‘And yet none of my movies, apparently? How interesting,’ Nash lightly muses. ‘Hang on a moment. Your sister’s name is Kit?’
‘Yes?’
‘But isn’t that short for Christopher?’
‘No, her name is Katharine.’
Nash rolls his eyes. ‘I figured your parents didn’t name you both Christopher, even if they did basically call you the same name but gender flipped.’
‘It’s not the same name,’ Christopher says, feeling a little defensive. ‘It’s similar. We’re just matching.’
‘And who is the oldest one? Kit, right? So you’re named after her? Maybe I should start calling you Kit.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Oh, I always dare a little, Calloway,’ Nash says with a smirk. But still, he does drop it, which is a relief because talking about Kit made Christopher miss her desperately.
They go back to companionable cooking, and Christopher feels strangely light for sharing a little of himself with Nash. It’s odd – they aren’t friends, they aren’t strangers. They just are.
Christopher’s a little surprised that he can find that place with Nash in here.
Usually, he’s so nervous when people who aren’t also professionally trained are around when he’s cooking, even though he’s not a chef himself.
They always have questions or opinions, and that’s totally fine, but it’s just a different mode of cooking. It’s not switching off.
If he’s honest with himself, it’s why he hasn’t hired another baker yet to help him in the bakery.
Tegan just helps on the tills and with the customers – and is great in this role – but he doesn’t trust her to do the actual baking yet.
He doesn’t want to have to train anyone else on how to make his recipes, or how his kitchen operates.
And she does take some of the pressure off him.
Just none of the ‘waking up in the early hours to get things started’ reality of it all.
Plus, there’s the precarious financial gamble of hiring someone else. As he cooks, he tries not to think about the energy costs of being here over Christmas that he hadn’t factored in, the loss of all that flour, and all the many other things he wants to worry about.
For now, there’s just cooking and acoustic Christmas music.
It takes most of the late afternoon to cook, cool and pack all the food up for everyone. All the containers are labelled with what food it is, cooking times and temperatures, and what date to use by if kept in the fridge.
All that’s left is to get in the van to make the deliveries. Christopher texts Priti and Myffy to let them know that they’re on their way as Nash loads up the truck with food. Shaz is just round the corner from the bakery, so they nip to hers first.
As they pull up at Shaz’s door to drop off her shopping and some meals, Christopher realises that he’s never actually been here before, though he knows where it is, obviously. After all, Shaz always comes to the bakery.
It’s not Shaz who opens the door though, but Kathy.
‘Hello there!’ Christopher says cheerily. ‘Merry Christmas.’
There’s a pause before she returns the greeting.
‘I’m just dropping off some shopping Shaz asked us to get. And there were a few meal things she wanted that were out of stock, so I just made them.’
‘You made them?’ she asks in a tone that suggests this is the worst possible option he could have taken.
‘Yes? I made them.’
‘You.’
‘Yes?’
‘Right. Are you waiting to be paid or something?’
Before the conversation can get even more awkward, the three piranhas thankfully appear, crowding around Kathy’s feet.
‘Did you bring us treats?’ one of them yells, but Christopher isn’t sure which because they circle and cross each other like a pile of puppies, constantly moving.
‘Yes, did you?’ cries another.
The pile of children starts chanting the word treat over and over in a way that is decidedly horror-movie adjacent, and Christopher decides that it’s time to get out of there.
‘No payment needed, it’s fine,’ he says, backing away slowly. ‘Bye!’ He jumps into the truck where Nash is waiting and slams the door behind him.
‘You all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?’ Nash says.
‘No, not a ghost,’ says Christopher, starting up the truck. ‘Just a glimpse into Shaz’s life. I’m going to bake her so many reindeer.’
They pick up Priti from her house on the next street over.
Nash gets into the back of the van and straps himself into one of the fold-down seats, giving Priti the passenger seat.
It doesn’t take them too long to drive now that Christopher knows the way to Myffy’s, where she greets them at the door as rosy-cheeked and sparkly-eyed as before. ‘My helper elves! Come in, come in.’
While Priti and Myffy discuss her care needs in the living room, Christopher and Nash busy themselves with washing and drying the crockery that’s piled up in the kitchen sink from earlier.
There’s a calm in this, too, Christopher realises.
The domesticity. Helping people. Being part of a community.
He’s tired, sure, but he feels at peace, too. It’s new for him, but he likes it.
‘I’m going to stay over tonight,’ says Priti, coming into the kitchen to relieve them of their duty. ‘Myffy needs a little extra help, especially as she’s been without her carers all day. She’s got a spare bed so I’m set.’
‘Just text us if you want us to come get you tomorrow,’ Nash says.
Not wanting to overstay their welcome, they say goodbye to Myffy, who blows them both big air kisses in return, and head back to the van.
‘That’s all our deliveries done,’ sighs Christopher contentedly as he gets back behind the wheel.
‘All two of them,’ laughs Nash.
‘Thank you. For all your help today.’
‘It was nice.’ His voice is quiet, gone are the barbed edges. He must be tired, Christopher thinks.
They lock eyes briefly, and there’s a moment where Nash rearranges his face and body, as though making himself look more like his normal self. It’s strange.
‘Let’s get home. Onwards, driver,’ Nash says, before Christopher can question it any longer.