Cat smiled.“Olivia’s quite generous.”
“Always has been,” he answered.
Together, they strolled through the market, and then down the high street.Rhys helped Olivia try on a knitted hat with a bobble the size of a small snowball, which made her giggle uncontrollably.Jillian found a bookshop and disappeared into the young adult section, Rhys trailing after her while Cat browsed through the toy section with Olivia.
He was good with them, she thought, as they stepped outside again.He was patient and present.The precision and control that he lived by at work seemed to loosen around his daughters, replaced by a dry understated humor that made Olivia giggle and Jillian roll her eyes, even as she secretly smiled.
Cat was content to walk behind them as the girls chattered about their day, talking about the snowflakes they’d made the other morning and how tomorrow would be orange cloves, or something like that.
Despite Rhys’s fears, they were a close family, a real loving family.He had nothing to worry about.The girls adored him and he loved them unconditionally.
After an hour of shopping, Cat asked Rhys if she could sneak away for fifteen minutes for a few errands of her own.He nodded, distracted by Olivia’s tug on his sleeve.“We’ll meet you at the Rutland Arms Hotel at five?”
Cat nodded, knowing by now where the historic coaching inn was located.“That works.”
She slipped into the crowd grateful for a few minutes on her own so she could do some shopping, not sure when she’d have another opportunity quite like this.The streets were glowing now, the early dusk settling over Bakewell, the air rich with the smell of all things delicious.Strings of lights stretched across the narrow lanes and the windows of the shops shone with golden light, all staying open later now that they were getting closer to Christmas.
She wandered until a small pottery shop caught her eye, its window crowded with hand-thrown mugs, bowls, and teapots in soft winter glazes of blue, green, and cream.
Two hand-thrown mugs caught her eye immediately—one pale blue with tiny snowflakes, the other cream with a painted sprig of holly with bright red holly berries.One for each girl, she thought.Something pretty and simple, something they could use back in London on cold mornings.
She bought them both, and after a moment’s hesitation, added a third—a mug glazed in deep forest green, simple and masculine for Rhys.She tucked her purchases carefully into her bag and then stepped back out into the cold.In the distance, a bell tolled, marking the hour.Time to rejoin everyone, but she was pleased by her purchases.They were just small gifts, nothing extravagant, but it felt good to do something for the family that were sharing their home with her this holiday.
When Cat reached the meeting spot at five, she found Rhys and the girls already there.His expression brightened as she crossed the street and joined them.
“Should we eat here?”Jillian blurted, surprising them all.“This looks like a nice place and that way Cat doesn’t have to cook tonight.”She glanced shyly at Cat.“That is, if you want.”
Cat smiled.“I’d like that very much.As we all know by now, I’m not a very good cook.”
“But we’re not starving,” Jillian flashed with her very Jillian sense of humor “At least, not yet.”
Rhys entered the Rutland Arms to enquire about dinner, but they’d been booked out for a private holiday party.The host suggested they try a restaurant near the Bakewell Bridge.
They walked toward the river, where a small inn overlooked the water, its windows fogged with warmth and candlelight.Inside, they found a table between the bar and the kitchen, a spot that captured both the scent of ale and roasting meat and vegetables.
The girls split a steak-and-ale pie.Rhys ordered fish and chips, and Cat did the same.Conversation flowed easily, the way it did when no one was trying too hard.Olivia chattered about her new hat, Jillian about the book she’d found, Rhys about an elderly patient of his who loved Christmas pudding too much for her own good.
Cat laughed more in that hour than she had in days, if not weeks.When the plates were cleared the girls begged for sticky toffee pudding, and Rhys agreed, since they’d been very good all day.
While the waiter cleared the remaining dinner dishes, Rhys leaned back in his chair and spoke quietly to Cat.“They are loving all the crafts and activities.It’s not something they normally do, but it’s been good for them.”
“It’s good for me too,” she answered.“We did these things when I was little, and I’m enjoying doing them with your daughters.I don’t expect the girls to ever make clove studded oranges again, but it’s fun for this year, since there is no TV—as Jillian frequently likes to remind me.”
“Jilly was not happy about that when we first arrived.”
“Poor Miss Pettigrew,” Cat said mournfully.“She really got the short end of the stick.”
Rhys’s straight teeth flashed as he smiled, and he nodded to the window.They all followed his gaze.Tiny, delicate snowflakes had begun to fall.
*
Back at thecottage everything was quiet and calm.Rhys had read a chapter to the girls then walked them upstairs to tuck them in.He’d returned earlier and was now at work, his pen making small scratching noises as he wrote.
Cat sat curled in the armchair near the fire, opposite Rhys.She’d wrapped one of the old wool blankets around her, her laptop balanced on her knees, a half-empty mug of tea beside her.On the screen, a job application form blinked patiently.
Tiredly, she rubbed her eyes and scrolled back to the beginning of the page.
Position:Adjunct Lecturer, Modern European History.
