Chapter Twelve
After trying Freya and Susan’s “cocktails”—all various mixtures of sugary drinks, in colors that Mel is pretty sure must have involved food dye—Freya is allowed to stay up and watch her iPad in the living room, while the adults gather around the table for Kristen and Mark’s first course in the “three-course Christmas extravaganza” (Susan’s words).
It’s pitch-black outside, with a bright near-full moon bathing the back garden in a silver glow.
Candlelight flickers along the length of the table, with the main light turned down low, and instrumental music plays in the background.
Along with the smell of cooking comes the charcoal scent from the woodburning stove, adding a distinctly homey feel.
Under Susan’s instructions, they are all dressed up.
Finn is in jeans and a tailored suit jacket—about as formal as he gets unless it’s absolutely necessary.
She’s glad he’s not wearing the suit he wore to Hattie’s engagement party, but the black dinner jacket shows off his broad shoulders and muscled arms, which she has to pretend not to notice.
Mel, meanwhile, is grateful she decided to bring the black sparkly dress after all. She’d debated about it for a solid half hour while packing. She’d worn it at a party with Finn once, had seen the way his eyes traveled the length of her body, over the places it hugged her curves.
She’d grinned. “Like the sparkles, do you?”
His eyes had been dark when they’d met hers, but his crooked mouth had quirked at the corner. “You don’t need sequins to sparkle, Mel. You do that just by being in the room.”
She’d worn it deliberately tonight—because despite Finn’s declaration that it hadn’t been easy to leave her, he still had—and she wanted him to regret that, just a little.
She’s pretty sure it’s having the desired effect if the way he keeps looking at her is anything to go by—she felt his gaze scraping up the lines of her body when she’d walked into the kitchen earlier.
However, she is now wondering if the dress is entirely sensible, given the way her skin tightens whenever he looks at her like that, the way she immediately loses track of what she’s saying.
It doesn’t help that they are sitting next to each other, that she is too aware of the distance—or lack of it—between their thighs under the table.
I still say this is a terrible idea.
Oh, Priya, how right you were.
Kristen and Mark bring over plates of roasted figs with crisp Parma ham, garnished with rocket, and set one down in front of each person.
“I’m sorry it’s so simple,” Kristen says, biting her lip as she takes a seat.
Susan waves her comment away as she takes a bite. “It’s delicious, is what it is.” Mel takes a bite too—and Susan is right, the figs melt in her mouth and she just about resists letting out a groan.
After trying Freya’s concoctions, they’d moved on to champagne—posh stuff, which Dylan had brought with him—and now Mark hands around a good bottle of Bordeaux red.
Kristen declines the wine, then glances toward the kitchen door while everyone eats. “I should really get Freya to bed. She’s not used to being up this late.”
Mark throws an arm around her shoulder. “Relax, K, it’s Christmas. And if she falls asleep here, we’ll only have to move her.” Kristen bites her lip again, but says nothing.
“So are we all scoring out of ten for each one?” Hattie asks. “That’s what they do on Come Dine with Me, right?”
Susan dabs her mouth with her red-and-green Christmas napkin. “Well, I wasn’t sure if we’d actually mark everything. It’s more for fun.”
“What?” Hattie bangs her fist on the table lightly, faux outraged. “Where’s the fun if it’s not a competition?”
“If you can’t win, you mean,” Dylan says, grinning at her.
“Well, quite. Anyway, I give this a nine out of ten,” Hattie says. “Only not ten because I want more of it. It’s amazing, Kristen.”
“It’s only an easy dish, I know.” Everyone around the table shushes her.
“What about me?” Mark pipes up.
“Oh, I know all you will have done is the garnish,” Hattie says.
“Yes, well, it’s excellent garnish.”
“We need to get the sides on,” Mel says to Finn as everyone finishes up the starters, putting their knives and forks together. He gets up, following her to the kitchen.
“Whatever it is already smells amazing!” Susan calls behind them. Mel has the Wellington and dauphinoise in the oven, and is starting to feel anxious about the whole thing coming together on time—she hates to admit it, but Finn was possibly right about this being a little ambitious.
She is too aware of how close she and Finn are as they move around the kitchen.
The memory of touching him haunts her, making it seem like the space has shrunk since this afternoon.
She feels her bare arms prickle every time Finn brushes past her and has to actively force herself not to jump away.
Even though everyone is chatting among themselves, she feels as if she is being watched, as if one wrong move will give them away.
Finn checks on the glazed carrots while Mel starts to wilt the spinach.
He moves up next to her at the stove, his arm grazing hers.
Even though they are separated by the fabric of his jacket, goosebumps still rise up on her skin.
She makes herself stay where she is, even as his gaze drops to hers.
His lips curve into a knowing smile. Well, at least it’s not just affecting her—it’s like their bodies remember each other’s touch, remember the chemistry between them.
Well, her body is just going to have to get over it, isn’t it?
When she looks down at the pan, the spinach is not so much wilted as a slimy, almost congealed mess. She lets out a cry of dismay and moves the pan off the heat—but it’s too late.
Finn looks into the pan, and she catches the grimace before he smooths out his expression. “It’s fine,” he tells her quickly.
“It is not fine,” she hisses. “I can’t serve this.”
“It’s only a side.”
“It’s not only a side. The sides are what makes it.”
“We’ve got loads more, just throw it out and don’t tell anyone.”
But Mel stares down at it and for some irrational reason, she feels a lump coming to her throat. The whole thing is ruined.
“Mel?” She feels his hand, running down her spine. “Mel, it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” she whispers, feeling her vision blur. “It’s not okay.” It’s ruined. She’s ruined it all.
“It’s only spinach,” he says, his voice soothing. He strokes a hand down her back again. “No one is going to care—it’s not like we’re a table full of Popeyes.”
Right, she tells herself. It’s only spinach, Melanie.
She takes a deep breath. It is not ruined. The plan just has to change, that’s all. She can live without spinach in her life. She can.
She moves to the bin, tips the contents of the pan into it. Tells herself to get a bloody grip.
“What’s going on over there?” Hattie calls over. “We’re all politely trying not to listen.”
“Well, you’re not doing a very good job!” Finn calls back. “And it’s fine, all definitely going one hundred percent according to plan.”
Mel is quiet as they get together the rest of the meal, and although Finn keeps trying to catch her gaze, she ignores him. They serve the dishes on heatproof mats so that everyone can help themselves, and Mel tops up her wine as she sits down.
“This is brilliant,” Hattie says through a mouthful of Wellington.
“Also a nine out of ten. The only thing that would have made it better is a side of spinach.” Her green eyes slide to Mel’s, sparkling.
And to Mel’s relief, she bursts out laughing, making Hattie grin.
Ridiculous. She was being totally ridiculous.
Finn’s gaze meets hers and she remembers the way he looked at her earlier.
I’ve missed that. The sound of your laugh.
She feels heat in her cheeks, and covers it by sipping more wine.
“You’ve really gone all out,” Susan says, smiling at Finn and Mel. “You two are a marvel.”
“As are you, Mum,” Finn says, raising his glass.
“Hear, hear,” says Mark, and everyone raises their glasses in a spontaneous toast to Susan.
“So I’m thinking beef for the wedding,” Hattie says. “As well as a seafood and vegetarian option. I tell you, it’s bloody exhausting looking at menu options.”
“Did you book a venue in the end?” Mel asks. Obviously, they would have by now, but she’s a little behind on the plans.
“Landmark London,” Hattie says. “You know, the hotel.” Mel isn’t sure which hotel Hattie means, but she nods anyway.
“It’s easy for Dylan’s family—they’re flying in from America and we can put everyone up in rooms there—you guys all included, of course.
” Mel catches the way Kristen looks down at her plate as Hattie says this, though no one else seems to notice.
What is that about? “There’s a spa and everything and I’m going to have a proper pampering session the morning of—it’ll be great.
Plus the ballroom is, like, epic. Isn’t it, Dylan? ”
Dylan reaches out to take Hattie’s hand on the table. “It totally is. We’re expecting everyone to bring their best dance moves.” He grins round at them all.
“Sounds great, Hatt,” Mark says. “A bit more extravagant than our wedding…”
“Nonsense, your wedding was lovely,” Susan says absentmindedly. They’d been married by the time Mel had met Finn, but she’d heard about the barn wedding, the fairy lights, how gorgeous Kristen had looked. “It does all sound very expensive, though, Hattie love?”
Hattie waves a hand in the air. “All weddings are expensive, no point in denying that. And we want ours to go down in history, don’t we?” she adds to Dylan.
He swings an arm around her shoulder, sitting back in his chair to take a break from eating.
“We do. And what’s the point in being a movie star if you can’t spend your money on throwing a massive party?
” He quails a little under Hattie’s look and clears his throat.
“Not that it’s all about the party, of course. ”