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?”
Mel nods. Her smile is too fixed, she knows it. Already her jaw muscles are aching from keeping it in place. Can you get lockjaw from doing this? What actually is lockjaw? And she feels too hot. There’s a woodburning stove at one end of the living room, giving off full heat. That must be it.
Finn glances down at Mel as Hattie heads back to the Christmas tree, then he jerks his head for her to follow him.
Thinking she might as well get all the greetings out of the way, she follows.
They are stilted as they walk, neither of them saying anything.
Someone is going to know. There is no way they are going to pull this off, is there?
Finn leads them to the back of the house, where wooden floorboards give way to stone tiles, and the smell of cinnamon fills the air.
He pauses just before he steps into the kitchen, then reaches down, laces his fingers with hers.
Every muscle in her body seems to tense in protest. Protest is definitely what it is.
He tightens his grip as she tries to pull away, and the look he gives her says it all. Touching in public is allowed, is it not?
She curls her lip up at him in what she is pretty sure is a full-blown snarl. His eyes light up and for a moment she thinks he’s going to laugh. Then, without letting go of her hand, he gives her a little shrug—and she can read the next words just as easily. Your rules not mine.
He all but drags her into the stone-floored kitchen.
He keeps his fingers firmly entwined with hers, as if the game will be immediately up if they don’t enter the room touching in some way.
His palm is more calloused than when she last felt it on her skin—more like when they first met, when he was still working with his hands.
But still, it feels familiar, her fingers slotting perfectly through his, and before she can stop herself she’s remembering what it was like to have those hands touch her in other places.
She scowls at herself. No thinking about the past, Melanie, remember?
“Mum?”
At the sound of Finn’s voice, Susan looks over from where she is stirring something on top of an actual Aga range cooker, then claps her hands.
She’s wearing a Rudolf apron over a jumper and a thick pair of Christmas socks.
She looks flushed—like the cottage really is too warm—and her cheeks are a bit puffy.
But her smile is the same as it always is—warm and kind.
She makes a little sound of delight, then crosses the kitchen and pulls Mel into a hug.
Mel uses this as an excuse to let go of Finn’s hand—because even he would have to admit that clinging on to it when hugging someone else would look kind of weird.
She’s missed Susan’s smell, she realizes.
Floral—rose maybe. It’s always the same perfume, and Mel breathes it in as she leans into Susan’s touch.
Irrationally, she feels a lump pressing on her throat, and squeezes her eyes shut tight.
Crying would not be appropriate right now, all things considered.
“How was the journey?” Susan asks, breaking away from Mel and giving Finn a quick squeeze.
“Was it awful? I’m sure it was. I’m sorry to make you come so far, it’s just I’ve always wanted to see some of Scotland and the Cairngorms is supposed to be so beautiful.
It seemed like the perfect place for Christmas.
Oh, Mel.” Susan doesn’t stop for either of them to answer as she takes Mel’s hands, squeezes them.
She’s let the gray in her hair grow out so that it falls in waves down to her shoulders.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here.
When Finn told me you might not make it, I was so disappointed. ”
Mel glances at Finn, who doesn’t meet her eye. When had he said she might not make it—before he asked her? So that had been an option, despite what he’d said to her.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Mel says—and the smile comes more easily now.
Susan unties her apron, dumping it on the island that separates the kitchen from the dining area. “Come on. I’ll show you your room.”
Room. The word takes a moment to register. But of course room! How had she not considered this? Idiot, Melanie.
If Finn notices, he does not react. He probably knew there was only going to be one room—because he has had time to think about it, to plan the whole thing. He probably assumed she would guess it—because she is not supposed to be this stupid.
He insists on carrying Mel’s suitcase up the stairs as well as his backpack, and, given that his mum is right there, she can hardly argue about it.
He gestures for her to go up ahead of him, like he’s trying to one-up her after she won the front-door round, and she can feel him behind her as they climb, far too close.
Susan points out the bathroom—complete with a freestanding tub—before opening the door to a small double bedroom and gesturing them both inside. “You can’t see right now because it’s too dark, but this room has the most beautiful view of the park.”
It also has a four-poster bed—singular—and two bedside tables with lamps, giving the room a low, warm glow.
There is a big fluffy white rug on the wooden floors, and a gorgeous landscape painting of a forest hangs behind the headboard.
And that—apart from a single chest of drawers—is about it.
A beautiful, cozy room. With definitely not enough space for both of them.
Mel works up a smile. “It’s lovely.”
Finn puts the bags down, slings an arm around Mel’s shoulders. Digs his fingers in when she stiffens. “It’s perfect, Mum. The whole cottage is.” Mel fixes a smile in place, slightly concerned that her eye is going to start twitching in a moment.
“I’ve put the heating on,” Susan says, “but I think it’ll still be a bit chilly at night. There are loads of extra blankets down the corridor in the airing cupboard, though, so help yourself.”
She’s half expecting Finn to say something ridiculous and corny like, That’s okay—we’ll keep each other warm .
Thankfully, he doesn’t, and she slips out from under his arm under the guise of checking out the view.
She heads to the window, but can barely see anything in the dark—only the stars, and wisps of cloud.
“I’ll leave you to unpack, then,” Susan says.
Mel turns round, trying not to look at Finn, who is standing like a bloody lemon, leaning against the chest of drawers.
Susan is still hovering in the doorway, one hand on the handle.
Can she sense the tension between them? Mel is thinking of making some excuse about being tired or hungry, but then Susan smiles in the way that makes her dimples wink out.
“Oh, Mel, love, I’m just so happy you’re here.
This really is going to be the perfect Christmas. ”