Chapter 13
Preparations for Saturday’s wedding are well underway in the ballroom.
Rows of chairs flank a red carpet, each end seat marked with a wreath and a wide satin bow.
Low pots of poinsettias—red and white, bold against velvet green leaves—trace a ribbon of colour down the centre.
At the front, an arch is already laden with heavy floral garlands and satin draping.
Four conifers, two on each side, angle away from the archway; such perfectly symmetrical specimens they hardly seem real.
The air holds a fresh tang of sap and needles.
In front of each tree sits one of the huge, mysterious boxes I glimpsed this morning.
“Yes, my lovelies,” Loreena beams from the small stage at the front of the ballroom. “It’s tree decorating time.”
Damn it. Haley is pretty much guaranteed to take another win. Her house is overrun with Christmas trees each year, all decked out like something you’d see in Harrods or Liberty. We are fucked before we start.
“In the bottom of each box is one set of lights—I know you can manage those—all identical, and on top a randomly selected set of decorations. You have until one o’clock. Then, while you have lunch, a dear friend of mine is coming to help us do the judging.”
Haley, the smug cow, is grinning from ear to ear, confidence oozing from her at Loreena’s announcement.
She pounces on their box, flips the lid, and her gleeful smile turns to horror.
With a strangled squeal, she slams the flaps shut, palms plastered over the cardboard like she’s holding in a biohazard. “Holy shit,” she says, voice tight.
Maybe there’s a giant cockroach lurking in the box, or a mouse—although she’s more likely to pick up one of those and put it in her pocket. Christian pulls her back, stepping in front of her protectively. He edges the box open again and peers inside.
“What’s happened to them?” Haley steps over to open Ollie and Sam’s box. A puzzled expression spreads across her face. “Someone’s mixed up all the decorations.”
“And that someone is me,” Loreena admits, with a delighted smile. “It wouldn’t have been fair to give you a nice neat set of decorations and you simply arrange them on the tree. Where’s the fun in that? This way, you have to really show your flair. Now that’s what I call a proper challenge.”
I tug open the lid of our box and, while it doesn’t make me scream, the sight is rather hideous. Inside is a jumble of decorations, dozens of them in every shape, size, and style imaginable—like a chaotic department-store clearance bin.
A stern wooden nutcracker squares off against a plush velvet fawn. A delicate lace snowflake tangles with a chunky felt pom-pom garland. A crystal icicle nudges a rough-hewn hessian star. Individually they’re beautiful; together they’re a disaster.
This isn’t just about beating the others anymore. If we can’t pull something decent together, Haley’s perfect wedding backdrop will look like Santa threw up his dinner.
“And just to make it interesting, and because this is all about a wedding, I’ve got one extra task you must accomplish. Without it, your tree won’t be judged.”
“A bit harsh,” Garrett says.
“Don’t worry.” Loreena’s smile is smug. “With a little imagination, and of course, teamwork, you’ll all be fine.”
She holds up four cards in her hand like a fan and beckons us forward.
“You must feature something on your tree that matches your card.” She dishes them out one at a time with a theatrical flourish.
“Something old.” That’s Liv and Garrett.
Something new goes to Sam and Ollie. “Something borrowed.” She hands the card to Haley and Christian.
Which makes something blue our problem. One glance at the box tells me there isn’t a speck of it.
While the decorations are varied, they’re all in traditional Christmas colours: red and green, white and gold, and a flash of silver too.
Loreena’s compromise so the wedding venue doesn’t look a total mess; no riot of colours spoiling the service.
So blue is conspicuously absent and we are royally fucked.
But I’m no quitter, and if there’s a speck of blue buried somewhere in here, I intend to find it. I up-end the haphazard contents of the box onto the floor and start sorting. Maybe bring a little order to the chaos and we’ll have a chance.
Teddy sits on the floor in front of our tree, legs crossed like some auburn-haired forest sprite who’s wandered into the wrong folktale.
His long fingers move through the tangled nest of Christmas decorations in his lap with surprising deftness, and I find myself watching the way his brow furrows in concentration; how his hair falls forward as he leans over his work; the way he catches his tongue between his teeth.
When he glances up and finds me staring, heat rushes to my cheeks.
“Hey Trouble, any luck in finding that elusive blue?” His voice has that teasing edge, and the way his freckles dance as his eyes crinkle makes my stomach lurch.
“Not yet,” I manage, forcing myself to look away before I do something stupid like reach out and brush that wayward curl back from his forehead.
Next to us, Haley, the queen of Christmas, is struggling.
Tears glisten in her eyes, and I doubt it’s just the decorations getting to her. This is her wedding, and right now, it looks like the four ugliest Christmas trees ever are going to be front and centre, a blot on the perfect Christmas-themed wedding she’s pictured. How could Loreena do this to her?
“You can’t have vintage pieces scattered amongst all this modern stuff,” Haley wails, plucking out a cartoon mouse in a Santa suit and placing it to one side like she’ll catch something off of it.
Seeing it perched there on top of the card that reads ‘Something Borrowed’ in giant sloping handwriting triggers an idea.
What if we all borrowed from each other?
Give one, get one, until we each have a set of ornaments that look good together? It could work.
It could also cost me. The word borrowed sits there like a dare. Sharing levels the playing field and may cost us the edge we really need in this challenge. God knows I’m no tree-decorating expert.
Twenty thousand pounds and an almost guaranteed win—mine to lose.
Worse, it’s his to lose too. Memories That Matter isn’t just a name to Teddy; it’s personal.
It’s why he’s sat there for twenty minutes, all his normal restlessness subdued, totally focused as he sifts through the mess with quiet determination.
I drop the glass bauble in my hand back on the pile.
“Stop,” I order Teddy, and he looks up, surprised.
If I say this out loud, I can’t unsay it. I’m choosing kindness over the win, and I’m oddly proud to let everyone see friendship matters more to me than my ego.
“Tools down, people,” I call, jumping up onto the stage.
They turn and stare at me.
“What’s the point in going further when none of us can make something decent out of this mess? Look around—we’re all battling the same problem.”
“So we just stop?” Haley’s voice quivers as she casts a fearful look at the bare trees. My pulse pounds. This is the right play, but a risky one. I can feel the loss before it happens: the shot of someone else accepting the cheque; the look on Teddy’s face if I’ve misread what matters.
“Just long enough to be smart about this,” I say. “We each pick a theme and trade decorations to match.”
“But what about the competition?” Sam seems reluctant.
Of course she is. I am too. I’ve spent my whole career squeezing wins out of tight corners; the reflex to grasp what should be mine—not share—was hammered into me in childhood.
But this is Haley’s wedding, not a courtroom.
If we do it my usual way, she’s left in a muddle.
If we try something different, she gets the magical Christmas wedding she deserves.
And I accept the chance I’ve just made losing more likely. For me. For Teddy.
“I get it, Sam, I really do. There’s so much at stake here. Twenty thousand pounds and four worthy charities. But there’s also Haley and her wedding, and right now that’s more important.”
Saying it doesn’t make the thought of losing hurt less. It doesn’t quell the uneasy realisation of how much what Teddy wants matters to me. It doesn’t quiet the unsettling truth that, after only a few days, he matters to me. But it does make me certain.
“Think about it—we’re all friends here, all here for Haley. Competition or not, don’t we want to give her the best bloody trees we can? I’d rather lose than see this ballroom look like a dog’s breakfast.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Teddy says immediately.
Relief bubbles up, fizzy as a laugh I have to swallow.
He’s with me on this; sees the same problem and reaches for the same answer.
He’s willing to risk the donation to his charity for our friends’ special day.
It’s like stepping into the same current, shoulder to shoulder.
I’m used to being right on my own; being right together is different. Warmer. Dangerous, because I like it.
“Rachel’s right,” he says. “We help each other; we all win.”
The way he looks at me when he says my name—like I’ve just solved world hunger instead of a decoration crisis—makes me forget about blue ornaments entirely.
“What if we all want the same things?” Liv asks.
“Then we negotiate. After all, we’re friends first, competitors second.”
“Great idea,” Ollie says. “Let’s do this.”
Once we’ve agreed on our themes—ours is ‘Let It Snow’—we simply free range around the room, no formal swaps, each of us trusting that we’re heading for the same goal, taking only what we need, not grasping at things we don’t.
I spot Teddy frowning down at his hand, studying something he found in Ollie’s rejects pile.
“Who the fuck thought the Tardis should be turned into a Christmas decoration?”