Page 117 of Make You Mine This Christmas

Her heart races and she’s sure her face is blushing rose pink, but no one else seems to notice. It’s like they’re in their own bubble, unseen by everyone else.

Or at least she hopes so.

Does it mean something more? she wonders. Is this a sign of Kit thinking things through? Has she forgiven Haf for all the weird shit? Hopefully they can have a proper conversation soon, but until then, it’ll have to be secret touches. It doesn’t last long – because how could it? – but it was enough. Her body aches when the touch ends.

More presents are passed around and unwrapped and shared and ogled. It’s all so relaxed, a well-practised routine.

‘We should get up and have a walk now before we get cooking,’ Esther says to Otto, who slaps his thighs, startling the dogs.

They get to their feet, followed by Christopher, who gathers up the empty plates and takes them into the kitchen. Stella and Luna trot along after him, hopefully.

Grateful to be alone with Kit but too nervous to speak, Haf nervously fiddles with her ring.

‘What’s this?’ Kit says, taking her hand to inspect the ring.

Every time Kit touches her, her skin feels alight. It’s an addictive feeling.

‘My present from Christopher,’ she whispers.

‘It’s lovely. It suits you. Antlers for the patron saint of small mammals.’ She smiles.

‘Are we okay?’ Haf asks, eyes darting to the door. She has no idea how long they have alone together, but she wants to know where she stands.

There’s the longest pause in the history of the world, before Kit says, ‘I’m not sure yet. Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’

‘Maybe, maybe,’ she says, with a tiny smile.

‘Okay.’

‘Will you take these glasses through to the kitchen for me? I’m so stiff after last night,’ she says, rolling her shoulders. ‘I don’t want to drop them.’

‘And so you’re trustingmewith them?’ Haf laughs, getting up to collect them. ‘Tea? Painkillers?’

‘You make the tea. I’ll find the drugs,’ Kit says, hauling herself to her feet, still blanket-wrapped.

All the glasses collected, Haf sets them down by the sink, where Christopher has started washing up, and fills the kettle.

At the kitchen island, Esther pours over a notebook, surrounded by several open cookbooks turned to well-thumbedand slightly spattered pages. The notebook shows a strict list of timings for dinner later. It reminds her of the layout of their gingerbread instructions – a kind of mood board that looks like chaos from far away, but is meticulously organised.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asks, flicking on the kettle. ‘Caffeine for the walk?’

‘No, thank you, dear. I’m all well on both fronts. Just double-checking the timings before we go out.’

‘The offer is open for whenever you need a pair of not very competent hands.’

Esther chuckles throatily, and it makes Haf’s heart swim to hear how close it is to Kit’s own laugh. ‘Perhaps it’s best we keep you clear of the kitchen.’

‘I think you’re right. I’ll stick to tea maid.’

‘An important role,’ says Esther, putting her pen down. ‘Haf, I want to thank you. You’ve only just joined our family, but I’m very impressed with how hard you’ve been working to look after everyone. You saved the day at the fête – and me a significant amount of stress – and I heard you sorted out that Ratliff-Zouche boy and have been keeping an eye on Kit when she’s not feeling well. We’ve both noticed.’

It all feels like unearned praise, and her mouth goes dry. What would Esther say if she knew all the rest of it?

Esther takes her hand, as if ready to say more, but as she does, a tiny flash of confusion crosses her face. She pushes up the sleeve of Haf’s dressing gown and raises her hand up to see the ring.

With horror, Haf realises exactly what is going through Esther’s mind.