Then she spotted me.
The look on her face was pure caught-out schoolgirl, her shoulders tensing.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ she groaned and dropped her head back against the cupboard.
‘Don’t stop on my account.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think anyone was still up.’
‘No one else, just me,’ I said, moving to where she sat, clutching the enormous tray. ‘But the smell of pudding called as I was checking the doors.’
Her chin lifted, those prickles resurfacing. ‘Don’t judge me. I’m too frazzled to deal with your mockery tonight.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ I grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer and sat beside her. Her eyes widened as I leaned in and took a sizeable scoop before she could swat my hand away.
‘You’re not seriously?—’
‘Mmm.’ I closed my eyes dramatically as I chewed. ‘Bloody delicious.’
‘You’re an ass.’
‘Possibly,’ I said, stealing another spoonful. ‘But at least I’m well-fed.’
That earned me a fraction of a genuine smile, even if a roll of her dark eyes accompanied it, and I wanted to snatch it up and keep it.
We sat in amicable silence for a while. Just sneaking spoonfuls of the cakey dessert like two kids hiding in a kitchen at a house party, stealing treats before anyone found us. I couldn’t tell if the warmth filling me was from the Aga or my proximity to Amanda.
She looked different like this. Not the hyper-efficient version she showed the clients. The brittleness was softened, and with each bite, she unwound a little more.
Eventually, our eating pace slowed, and I felt the need to fill the empty space with words.
‘Why do you hate Christmas so much?’
Her spoon paused mid-air. ‘Who says I hate it?’
‘Your face, primarily.’
She huffed, staring at the pudding. ‘I don’t hate it. I just never enjoy it. It’s always been messy. Family fighting. People pretending things are fine when they’re not. Mum crying. Dad drinking too much. Being carted from one house to another while trying to balance my parents’ emotions. The whole festive performance. So this year, I bowed out of pretending.’
‘By working a Christmas event?’
‘Everyone talks about Christmas cheer,’ she said quietly. ‘I just get Christmas dread. This way, I can focus that into productivity, and go on a sun-soaked holiday in January when it’s all finally over.’
‘That’s rough.’
She shot me a look. ‘You’re not going to tell me to cheer up?’
‘Nope.’
‘Or that family’s what you make it?’
‘Definitely not.’ Her thigh relaxed against mine, and I froze, not wanting to move an inch in case it startled her away. ‘Some families suck.’
‘Well, I can agree on that. So why are you here instead of with your family if Christmas is so great?’
‘We moved Christmas to the 28th.’
‘You can’t just move Christmas.’
