“Or use the bathroom,” Callie adds.
Mrs. Winter raises an eyebrow. “Or eat her breakfast, evidently.”
Luna tosses her hands up in surrender. “Violet isn’t my child. You can blame that one on Ruby or Hamish.”
“We’ve never really sung carols much,” Granny says. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Has your mother joined in, Gavin? She has a lovely voice.”
Coming here feels like a mistake. I clear my throat. “Mum and Dad have been busy. We haven’t seen much of them.”
There’s an unreadable expression on Granny’s face.
We say our goodbyes. We’ll see them shortly for dinner and to decorate gingerbread houses. Granny pulls me aside at the door and gives me a hug.
When her mouth is near my ear, she lowers her voice so only I can hear. “Reserve judgment until you’ve heard the entire story from your parents.”
“That isn’t promising.”
“It could all be a grand misunderstanding. That’s all, love.”
“I see.” Granny, as always, wants desperately to believe the best of her daughter. My cynical heart will not cast shadows on her doorstep. I frame my face into the pleasant smile she’s used to. “I’m sure you’re right.”
She relaxes immediately. “We’ll be there shortly.”
“Grand.”
In the processof coming home and making enough royal icing to cover our gingerbread village in a blizzard, Maeve granted me permission to call her by her name as well. Either this family has grown informal since Rhys joined them, or they really don’t view me as a threat to their daughter’s locality,because they’ve brought me under their wing faster than heather takes to a hillside.
I’d be lying if I tried to pretend I didn’t love it. Cooking has always been a necessity of mine—a skill I learned so I wouldn’t have to eat beans on toast for dinner most nights when I was young, then more fully developed as I grew older. But baking has just been a hobby. I’ve honed the skill over the last few years since I’ve needed something to work on while my mind needed a break from illustrating and writing children’s stories, and I found it in the kitchen.
Spending the day with Maeve in the kitchen has been a Christmas joy I didn’t know I wanted. Rhys has been in and out as he’s had time. Hamish doesn’t cook, but he’s sat at the table and visited with us, too. This house has a large kitchen and a table made for entertaining. Sitting alone at it night after night has been haunting over the last three years. It’s meant to be filled with people and noise and the bustle of family like it has the last few days. Especially today, with all the different projects going on and every surface being covered in something cooling or setting. The houses have been assembled and are drying on the table, jam drops are taking up the space by the toaster—though Maeve calls them thumbprint cookies. They taste the same.
“We should have Christmas music on,” she says now. “Don’t you think so, Cal?”
Callie leans against the counter, licking a silicone spatula covered in royal icing. “I like music.”
Both women look at me. “I have a device in my bedroom. One of those Alexas. I could bring it down here.”
“Oh that’s perfect! I’ll get started on the caramels, you get the music, Gavin.” Maeve reties her apron and glances around the kitchen. “Rhys has the space tomorrow, so we need to get through everything today. I think we only have the caramels left, though, and Dad should start his fudge soon. Cal, you’re ondishes. Can you get all these cleaned up? I’ll be using them again.”
Callie takes one more lick of the icing and shoots me an amused glance. “We don’t have to put up with this. We can mutiny.”
I step closer to Callie, taking the spatula from her hand and dropping it in the sink. “And surrender these caramels I’ve heard so much about? Not a chance.”
“I like this one,” Maeve says, dropping a mixing bowl in the sink with a few measuring cups. “Can we bring him back to California with us?”
“Do you really think he’d sacrifice this house?” she counters.
Maeve hikes an eyebrow. “We live in a beautiful place too.”
“Aye, I’m sure you do.” I’ve never been to California, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a visit. “Not sure I could live without my Irn Bru, though.”
“You can ship it in,” she says, dropping butter in a pot on the stove.
Callie laughs. “Mom, enough. Leave the poor man alone.”
I love it. I don’t want it to be enough. It’s nice to bewantedby a parent instead of waiting around for them.
“We have horses,” Maeve says. “We live on a farm that backs up to a gorgeous mountain, too. We’re surrounded by vineyards people travel from all over to visit.”
