Chapter Fourteen
Three days to Christmas
Mel is both tired and restless as they drive into Ballater—she and Finn in the backseat of Susan’s car, who insisted on driving.
She hasn’t slept well at all, too aware of the heat of Finn’s body, even behind that stupid pillow barrier.
The concealer under her eyes hasn’t seemed to do the trick and she’s aware that she’s been grouchy all morning.
She tried to get some work done and couldn’t concentrate, made worse by the fact that Jodie, the designer she’d assigned to the Lillian Hart project, didn’t get the designs quite right—but Mel couldn’t figure out a way to fix them without starting from scratch and, given the time frame, that wasn’t an option.
She also couldn’t put her finger on why, exactly, the designs weren’t working—just that they didn’t have the right feel about them.
When she asked Amanda for her opinion, Amanda couldn’t see what Mel meant, and thought they looked just as good as Jodie’s other designs—so maybe Mel is slowly going mad on this holiday.
Breakfast was a somewhat subdued affair—Hattie and Dylan looked tired, too, and Mel tried hard not to wonder what had kept them up so late after they’d gone upstairs.
Mark and Kristen had stayed over at their cottage to let Freya sleep in, and it seemed like the late night had caught up with Susan too.
She perks up, however, when they park the car near the village green, beaming at both Finn and Mel.
Mark and Kristen pull up next to them, with Dylan and Hattie in the back next to Freya. Mel has a moment to marvel that Dylan, who has starred in a film that actually showed in cinemas, is squished into the backseat next to a child seat.
“Is it another scavenger hunt?” Hattie asks as she gets out, shoving her hands deep inside her coat pockets.
Susan just smiles, gesturing for them all to follow her—she refused to tell them what was on the agenda earlier, wanting it to be a surprise.
Mel pulls her scarf tighter to her as she walks.
The village is just as pretty as it was a couple of days ago—and, though the sky is a heavy, snow-laden gray, the Christmas lights in shop windows make the place feel bright.
They walk to the village square, where a towering Christmas tree stands, forming the centerpiece.
They pass a bakery, full of mince pie and—of course—shortbread, which Freya edges toward hopefully.
The snow-dusted peaks of the Cairngorms surround them, and Mel feels again that she should be in some kind of storybook.
Their breath steams out in clouds as they walk past twinkling lights strung along the riverbank, and the feel of snow lingers in the air.
Mel is vaguely hoping they might be heading to the shop where she saw the gorgeous landscape painting, just so she can stare at it some more—and maybe even look at the price tag—when Susan comes to a stop, beaming at them all and gesturing to the shop behind her.
It’s painted lilac, with the name Pot On Me engraved in gold.
A wreath of holly and ivy hangs on the door, and all sorts of pottery make up the window display.
“Christmas decorations!” Susan exclaims delightedly. “We get to paint and glaze our own baubles, then they fire them in the kiln and we can pick them up just in time for Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, that’s such a nice idea,” Kristen says, squeezing Freya’s hand.
They head inside, and are shown downstairs to a sort of underground pottery-making den, which has its own Christmas tree in the corner and fairy lights hung above.
They are given mulled wine—and hot Ribena for Freya—and are shown to their own long table, with two benches each side.
They’re allowed to pick which decoration to paint and unanimously go for a bauble each, in varying sizes.
Christmas music plays in the background as they all help themselves to paint and brushes.
“I want to do stars,” Freya says.
“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Kristen says, helping Freya choose a paintbrush.
“Stars sound wonderful,” Susan says. “I think I’ll do stars, too, because I’m surrounded by a table of them right now.
” Mark groans at the cheesiness, while Hattie grins.
Freya frowns, clearly not quite understanding, while Kristen helps her fill her paint deck.
“But, before I do,” Susan continues, “I’m just going to pop upstairs to the loo. Back in a tick.”
Mel purses her lips as she contemplates the bauble, deciding she’ll do white snowflakes over a blue ombré.
Before she starts to paint, she checks her phone.
She’s feeling unnerved by the lack of emails—and guilty for how little time she’s spent working since arriving in Scotland.
She can’t help sending a quick message to Amanda.
Any more news from the agent?
The reply is almost instant. Nothing. But no news is good news, right?
Mel bites her lip as she picks up her paintbrush, tips it in light blue.
“I need a wee,” Freya announces.
“Mum will take you,” Mark says absentmindedly.
“Oh, will I?” There’s a slight bite to Kristen’s tone, which makes Mel look up. Kristen flushes slightly, seeming to realize how she sounded—even if Mark seems oblivious. “Come on, then, Freya,” Kristen says, smiling at her daughter and holding out her hand as Freya jumps up.
Mel glances over at Dylan, who is sitting on the opposite side of the table next to Hattie, although the two of them seem to be concentrating hard on their baubles rather than on each other. She remembers Hattie’s comment on the first night here about Dylan knowing Lillian.
“Dylan?” He looks over at her. “Do you know Lillian Hart?”
“Sort of. Why?”
“She’s thinking about coming on board as a partner for my brand, and I’ve got a meeting with her tomorrow.
” Her stomach swirls. Tomorrow. And she’s been distracted by Finn, by being here.
“I just wondered if you had any tips.” Hattie glances at him, but says nothing.
In fact, she’s being a bit quieter than usual today—very un-Hattie-like.
“Ah…” Dylan scratches his dark head of hair. “Ask her questions about herself—that’s always a good start.”
“Right.”
“She doesn’t really like being told what to do, but she’s fine if she thinks it’s her idea.”
“Okay.”
“Make sure you get a compliment in nice and early.”
Mel blows out a breath. “This is all slightly making me dread working with her.” She feels Finn’s attention on her, not his bauble, and feels unsure of where to put her hands all of a sudden.
“Sorry. She’s not that bad. Honestly, she’s actually quite nice. She’s just a little…”
“Insecure?” Hattie suggests.
Mel purses her lips. That’s actually the impression she’s got from the agent so far, reading between the lines. Though she may be overthinking it.
“Maybe. In all honesty, I don’t know her that well, and there are a lot worse out there—trust me.”
“Well, that’s good. I guess?”
“She’d be amazing publicity, though. She’s very hot right now.”
“Well, that’s the idea.”
“Good luck. If you want to prep before the call, I can help, but I’m not an expert.”
She smiles a genuine smile. “Thanks, Dylan.” She doesn’t know him all that much, as his and Hattie’s was very much a whirlwind romance, but she can see why Hattie likes him.
“ You shouldn’t be nervous,” Finn says quietly. Now she has to look at him, her eyes finding his instantly. “If anyone can convince her, it’s you.”
She makes a scathing sound at the back of her throat. “You don’t know her.”
“I don’t have to. I know you.”
She hesitates, not sure what to do with that, given it’s so obviously sincere. She opens her mouth, closes it. Then nods. “Thank you.”
He smiles and she looks away, thankful for the excuse of concentrating on her bauble.
Freya, Kristen, and Susan all come back from the toilets together, Susan’s arm looped through Kristen’s.
“What did we miss?” Susan asks brightly, taking the seat that Kristen slides out for her.
“Lillian Hart likes compliments,” Hattie says immediately.
Susan nods, pursing her lips. “Good to know.”
Freya throws down her paintbrush almost the moment she sits down. “I can’t do it,” she moans, accompanying the action with a stamp of her foot. At what age does the foot stamp become unacceptable, Mel wonders? Nine, ten? Definitely by your late twenties—that’s for sure.
“Yes, you can,” Kristen says patiently. “You’re doing it.”
“It doesn’t look like I want it to.”
“Well, it just takes practice—that’s all. I still think it’s beautiful.”
“It’s better than mine, Freya-bean,” Mark pipes up, holding up his bauble, which does, admittedly, look terrible. Mel thinks the green blobs are supposed to be Christmas trees, but it’s kind of hard to be sure.
Freya folds her arms, and points with her eyes to Mel’s bauble. “I want mine to look like that.”
Finn grins at Freya. “Don’t we all, Freya. But Mel is an artist. Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”
Mark rolls his eyes. “You could at least keep the nicknames seasonally appropriate.”
Mel shakes her head. “Besides, I’m not an artist.” But he’s called her that before—was the first one to announce that as her title, in a way that made her feel more proud than she’d let on. Although these days she is very much more practical businesswoman than tortured artist.
“She makes jewelry for a job,” Finn tells Freya, whose eyes widen, like she can’t imagine anything like it.
“You get paid to make jewelry?”
“Ah…sort of.”
Freya nods slowly. “I want to do that.” Then she scowls down at her bauble, as if it’s the destruction of all her future dreams. Mel does her best not to laugh, can see Mark doing the same.
“It’s hard when things go wrong,” she says to Freya. “I can be a bit of a perfectionist too sometimes.”
Freya’s scowl is still in place when she looks up at Mel, though her eyes have turned a little quizzical.
“A perfectionist is someone who needs things to be perfect,” Kristen says.