Chapter 23
twenty-three
AMANDA
As we drove into the second hour of our journey, the snow settled more heavily around us. Hillsides and hedgerows were coated white until the world looked like it had been sifted with icing sugar.
Nerves rippled through me as I shifted in my seat.
I was on my way to meet Henry's family. The people who had made the man who smiled at me like I was precious. The man who whispered filthy things into my ears and tied me up with ribbons. How do you face that when you aren’t even officially a couple?
Just a… well, whatever we were. A holiday fling?
A few days of recklessness. I didn’t know what we were, but I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to quantify to all the people who loved Henry.
I twiddled my fingers in my lap, my thumbs worrying at the soft wool of the sparkly Christmas jumper Henry had gifted me.
Trying not to think about how I had agreed to do this.
To walk into a stranger's family Christmas as though I was some social butterfly and not a dusty Christmas moth. I hoped the sparkly jumper would trick them all into thinking I was a butterfly too. ‘You’re very quiet.’
‘I’m thinking.’ My voice lacked the levity I’d hoped for.
‘Dangerous,’ he teased, but it was threaded with the kind of affection that made my chest ache.
I watched the way fat snowflakes danced lazily past the windscreen.
‘I don’t know how to do the whole happy family thing. The chaos, the hugging, the million conversations at once. I never know if I’m supposed to say something or stay quiet. I’m not very good at it.’
He didn’t brush off my fears. He just reached out and placed one large hand over my thigh, squeezing gently.
’You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to be you, and they’ll love you.’
I studied his profile, the masculine line of his jaw and the sincerity in those blue eyes.
‘How can you possibly know that?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Because it’s impossible not to.’
Those words slipped into my chest, making my heart flutter.
I was sure he hadn’t meant it like that, but it didn’t stop my stupid pulse from marching like a school band.
Turning my attention back to the zipping countryside beyond the window, I hid the apprehension from him, but from the way his thumb drew circles against my thigh, I figured he might have sussed me.
Eventually, his family home came into view.
A large stone cottage draped in snow, smoke curling from the chimney and fairy lights glowing from the eaves.
It looked like something straight out of an illustrated storybook.
Some enchanted cottage where fae lingered in the garden, kelpies ran through the evening mist.
The kind of house kids dreamt about while stuck in their box room, avoiding the arguments.
Snow crunched beneath our feet as we got out of the 4x4, the front door bursting open, and who could only be Henry’s mum, spreading her arms. She had the same golden curls and pink cheeks, and the same sunshine smile.
Her robin-coated apron flapped in the wind, and she looked like she’d been standing at the door for hours, waiting for her boy to arrive.
She hurried toward us across the snowy path with snow getting in her slippers, her face beaming.
‘Henry! You made it. Your dad was saying that the roads are treacherous, but I told him you've made it home. You always do.’ She pressed her hands to his cheeks and pulled him down to her height to plant a kiss on his forehead. ‘You’re freezing, get inside. And this must be Amanda?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, enveloping me in a hug so warm and soft that I nearly forgot she was a stranger.
The kind of hug I imagined Mc Claus herself would give.
The kind of hug I had never once been on the receiving end of in real life from my own mother.
She hugged me, but while always leaning away a little, keeping some space between us.
And never more than three seconds. I’d counted, as a child. Sometimes I still did.
Mrs James’ hug lasted for a full seven seconds. No wonder Henry was so bloody jolly.
‘Lovely to meet you, sweetheart,’ she said into my hair. ‘You can call me Betty. Come on, the fires on. Let’s get you two warmed through.’
I followed her inside, immediately hit by a wave of noise that nearly knocked me backwards.
The house was alive. Like that scene in Home Alone when all the cousins were there and it was sheer pandemonium.
Was I Kevin? I hoped not. Children ran in erratic loops between rooms, a teenager chased after them, wielding a broom as a sword, while two dogs fought over a squeaky turkey toy, and laughter bubbled from every direction.
Someone shouted about a burnt cake, and Betty went off toward the kitchen.
A wizened old lady argued with an old man about thermostat settings while one of Henry’s sisters greeted him with a shout that sounded like both affection and threat.
I stood in the doorway like a tourist watching a safari.
And then they spotted me.
‘Is this Amanda?’
‘Oh, she’s lovely, Henry.’
‘Do you want tea, dear? Something stronger?’
‘We’ll need to find another chair.’
‘Or put Henry on the kids' table.’
‘Mum, stop fussing!’
It was too much. Too loud. Too warm. Too everything. I didn’t know who to talk to first, them all merging into one voice. I was torn between ducking behind Henry and running back into the snow.
He saw it right away.
Of course.
He always sees me.
He closed the distance between us and put that steadying hand on my lower back. To anyone else, it likely looked casual, but it grounded me amongst the chaos. His breath brushed my ear.
‘You’re alright,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll soon filter through the loud.’
‘Loud?’ I whispered back. ‘It’s practically noise pollution.’
He smiled, his hand staying exactly where it was.
The terror eventually morphed from overwhelming to welcomed. Folded into the family as though I had always belonged there.
The evening fell into a rhythm I had never experienced before, where arguments fell easily into laughter, children climbed onto laps without being shooed off, and grandparents dispensed sweeties with a soft smile.
The kitchen table groaned under the weight of leftovers.
Betty might have a propensity to burn Yorkshire puddings, but she certainly made up fr it in sheer quantity of food.
Henry’s father told a story about a turkey disaster that had me choking on my drink. At various intervals, people kept touching my arm affectionately as we spoke, fully invested in what I had to say. Being in the James home was being surrounded by love. Overwhelmed by it.
It shouldn’t have felt like home. I’d only known the family for a few hours, but everything in me relaxed. I found myself laughing with his sisters and playing cards with his grandmother, who definitely cheated.
Henry was never more than a few feet away from me.
Ready to swoop in whenever I looked remotely uncomfortable.
He wove in and out of the room, chatting to everyone, both young and old, giving piggybacks and dispensing pretty packages he’d brought.
Every now and then, he’d sidle up beside me, his fingers finding mine.
Later, in the living room, the family decided to play charades with the most competitive teams I’d ever seen.
A brutal, cutthroat game that slightly terrified me.
Betty announced she would tolerate no cheating this year, which immediately set off arguments from people who were clearly planning to cheat or accused others of historical cheating.
Apparently, the great charades debacle of 2017 still hadn’t been settled.
Henry pulled me onto his lap in an armchair.
‘Watch or play?’ he asked.
‘Watch. I don’t think I’m quite ready for active participation.’
‘A good choice,’ he whispered. ‘They become feral during games.’
He wasn’t exaggerating.
I had never in my life seen such competitive energy.
There was shouting. Accusations. Victory dances and more than one set of flipping birds.
One of his sisters performed a charade so violently when her team couldn’t figure it out that she sent a slipper flying into the Christmas tree.
A child clambered onto Henry’s lap next to me, midway through a round, yawning sleepily and placing her sweet little hand in mine.
And through it all, Henry kept me giggling. Kept me involved. Certainly kept my fizz topped up.
I loved how protective he was, without being domineering. Outside of the bedroom at least.
‘Having fun?’ he whispered when the child fell asleep against my arm, her. Pink little cheek hot against me. The sweet curve puffing out with each sleepy breath.
‘I am. Thank you for inviting me.’
‘They’re a lot,’ he said, eyes gleaming, ‘But they already adore you.’
‘They barely know me.’
‘Time doesn’t matter when people find what they want; they see what I see.’
I swallowed hard. ‘And what’s that?’
His eye contact never wavered.
‘Someone worth bringing home.’
And sitting in a room full of loud, loving family, Henry wrapped his arm around me, holding me close as we enjoyed the chaos together. I realised I might be falling so fast I couldn’t stop things from snowballing.