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“You know what you all need,” Susan says thoughtfully, “is to let off a bit of steam. You work too hard, the lot of you.”

“I don’t,” Kristen says with a shrug.

“Yes, you do,” Susan says firmly. “Being a mother is very hard work—I should know.”

“Cheers, Mum,” Mark says with a grin.

She waves a hand at him. “You know I say that with only the greatest affection.”

“What did you have in mind, Mum?” Finn asks.

“Oh, not me. I’m pooped.” Freya giggles delightedly at the word and Susan winks at her. “How about I take Freya home, wash the paint off the both of us, and the rest of you can have a nice night at the pub, hmmm?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s—”

Susan waves Kristen away. “Nonsense. I want to spend some time with my granddaughter.” She gives Kristen a firm look. “We can make hot chocolate and watch The Grinch, can’t we, Freya?”

“Yes!” Freya affirms.

“She might get scared of the Grinch,” Mark says.

“I will not.”

“We can hide at the scary parts—I don’t like scary things, either.”

“Well, looks like that’s settled, then,” Hattie says, before anyone can argue. She comes up beside Mel, links their arms. “To the pub!”

Chapter Fifteen

The village pub is packed, but they manage to find a corner table near the open fire. The smell of cinnamon from mulling spice mingles with beer, pine, and burning wood, and the light inside flickers low against the darkness drawing in outside. Tinsel is strung along the wooden bar, and a specials board advertises all kinds of festive dishes, including turkey with all the trimmings. It seems as if everyone in the village must be in here right now, but the bar staff doesn’t look overly stressed, stopping to chat and laugh with almost every person who orders a drink.

Hattie and Dylan come back from the bar with mulled cider for all of them, passing the glasses around the small table while they all lurk by the chairs, all too polite to take one of the few and leave the others standing. Mel sees a few people glance in Dylan’s direction—potentially just because he is a tall, dark, handsome stranger, but she wonders how much he gets recognized out and about.

“Guys, they have a band!” Hattie exclaims delightedly. And they do, indeed, have a live band, opposite the fire, flicking through music sheets in front of them as they get ready to perform. Mel is half expecting them to strike up with bagpipes, given the general vibe of the village, but a man raises a fiddle to his chin, and the woman next to him begins singing into the mic, a Gallic tune Mel doesn’t recognize, her voice somehow both haunting and upbeat. It reminds her slightly of the Celtic salsa music playing in Edinburgh the first night she and Finn met. When his eyes meet hers, she knows he’s thinking the same thing. But she makes herself hold that gaze, makes herself turn her lips up in wry recognition. Because if he’s remembering that, then he’s not thinking of whichever girl he’s taken up with now, back to his “pre-Mel days,” as Priya liked to call them.

Hattie plonks herself down on one of the four available chairs. “I’m not as British as the rest of you, apparently. We can rotate seats.”

Dylan takes the seat next to Hattie, Mark insists that Kristen sits. Before Mel totally realizes what’s happening, Finn has slid onto one of the seats and is pulling her down onto his lap.

“Here,” he says. “You can sit with me.”

She feels herself tense, even as Hattie rolls her eyes, while his scent envelops her. She feels sure this is a continuation of whatever game he started in the pottery shop—who is more attracted to who. Or who is not over who? She’s not really sure, but she knows she wants to win. So she relaxes into him, tilts her chin up, and offers him a smile. She sees the way his gaze drops to her mouth and, this close to him, the action makes her heart thud.

His arm comes around her stomach, holding her to him, and even though they are both in jumpers, she feels the heat of his skin against hers. The backs of her thighs warm and she is worried he will feel it, just how much being pressed against him is affecting her. In retaliation she moves her ass farther into his lap, stopping just shy of grinding against him, and hears his breath hiss between his teeth. Good.

“So, Finn,” Mark says, one arm on the back of Kristen’s chair, “about this conveyancing internship—”

“Oh, Mark, do shut up.” It seems to take everyone a moment to realize this has come from Kristen, who takes a big gulp of her mulled cider, then pushes the half-empty glass away determinedly. They all stare at her. She purses her lips. “Well, not everyone wants to be a boring lawyer, do they?”

There’s a moment of quiet as they all process that, Mark frowning down at her, Hattie and Finn exchanging a look while Dylan makes a show of looking around the pub. Then Mel laughs, and Kristen gives her a small little smile.

“Hear, hear,” Hattie says, raising her glass. And, just like that, the tension is gone.

“This is great, isn’t it,” Mark says, looking around the pub appreciatively. Next to them, the logs in the fire crackle, and as Finn reaches around Mel to pick up his cider, bringing his chest closer to her back, she feels her skin spark. She keeps her gaze firmly fixed on Mark, tries to ignore what her body is doing. It’s just a reaction to being touched, after months of not being close to anyone—that’s all. She can handle it.

“I can totally imagine us settling down somewhere like this,” Mark continues, laying a hand on Kristen’s shoulder.

Kristen shakes her head. “No way. You’d get too bored.”