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“And you’ve never been married?” He frowns.

“No, never married.” She lets out a breath. “Though I came pretty close.” There’s a beat. “I was supposed to get married later this month.”

Caleb blinks and looks at me. I shake my head.

She mentioned a bad breakup but didn’t tell me that. And now I feel like a bastard because I should’ve already known.

“Uncle Theo,” Daisy whispers, pulling at my hand. “I want to play piano.”

“In a bit,” I promise her.

“But it’s my birthday. Please. I want to play with you now.”

I look back at Georgia. Properly this time.

“Will you be okay if I play?” I ask her.

“I will,” she says. “It’s Daisy’s birthday. If she wants you to play piano with her then you should.”

I don’t want to leave her, especially with my nosy friends. But Daisy is already tugging at my sweater sleeve.

I glance at Caleb. “Look after her,” I tell him. And for god’s sake, don’t be a dick.

“We got this,” he tells me, his tone easy. “Go tinkle the ivories. I’ll open the champagne.”

“Champagne?” Georgia asks, looking confused now.

Caleb grins at her, already reaching for the bottle. “Today absolutely calls for it. You didn’t get married, that’s a cause for celebration.”

“Is it?” She looks like she’s not sure whether he’s joking or not.

“It is,” he replies solemnly. And though he’s loud and he’s forthright I know he’ll take care of her. So I let Daisy take me to the piano. But even as I sit at the keys and lift her onto the bench beside me, I keep looking over at the kitchen door.

“What shall we play?” I ask Daisy.

“‘Jingle Bells’,” she says immediately. Because she can play that one with ease.

When my fingers touch the keys, I feel myself start to relax. Because playing is easy. It keeps things moving, it keeps people happy.

And right now, I feel like the happy one.

GEORGIA

While Theo keeps Daisy entertained by teaching her Christmas tunes on the piano, Caleb’s somehow manages to wring my entire life history out of me.

Or that’s how it feels.

Right now he’s frowning at his phone, because of course he found Patrick’s Instagram in about five seconds, after he asked me his name.

“He looks like a dick,” he says, shaking his head as he turns off his phone. “You’re well out of it. Honestly, even my mum would kick him out of bed, and she’s not exactly discerning.”

I take a sip of champagne. I swear it’s going straight to my head. “I take it you don’t like your mom?”

“I love my mum. But she’s got a better sex life than I have.”

“Which is a high target,” Beckett says, leaning in to whisper.

I laugh again.