Page 90 of Naughty or Nice

‘True.’ She gives me a smile that I know says It’ll be okay and goes back to her turkey.

I go back to peeling the spuds. And then stop. No more potatoes.

If only I could stop loving Lucas as easy.

But if ten years without him didn’t work, why will the future be any different?

* * *

Dusk is settling as I pull up outside the house I once called home. It’s set back from the road, its private drive bordered by trees and old-fashioned lamps, their soft glow lighting up the well-maintained garden. Well-maintained and just the same as it was the last time I was here...

Five years ago.

The night I realised I was no longer welcome.

And yet you’re here now.

I drop my eyes to the steering wheel, to my knuckles that are white as I grip it tight. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. It’s Christmas. A day for families. A day for the Beaumonts. Not me, the outsider.

My eyes drift to the house, to the bedroom window top right—Eva’s room. As if by magic her light comes on. I can vaguely make out someone moving around and then the curtains are drawn and a silhouette remains—Eva?

I’m no longer thinking. I’m getting out of the car and walking up the drive, my eyes fixed on that shadow, my body following my heart.

It’s time I gave her the choice.

Time I wore my heart on my sleeve and took a chance.

I can feel no worse than I do already. Because I am nothing without her. Life has no meaning without

her in it.

I need her to know that. I need her to know it’s not her product, it’s not her family, it’s her that I want, that I love.

What the Beaumonts do with that is up to them.

I only care what Eva does.

* * *

I sit next to Nate, and Mum and Dad sit across from us. The table is fit to burst, with elaborate candelabra stuffed with holly, baubles, berries and pinecones—I spent several distracted hours making them—and a feast that could feed the entire village.

But no one is eating. No one is speaking.

If not for Frodo’s intermittent whine for food and the gentle hum of Christmas carols playing it would be as quiet as a morgue.

I look to Mum, to the concern bright in her eyes, and guilt swamps me. I try for a smile. ‘This looks lovely. Thanks, Mum.’

She doesn’t seem to hear me. Instead she looks to Nate, and then to my father.

‘Right, you two—out with it. I’m not having Eva force herself to get through dinner without hearing from you first.’

Dad looks at Nate, and I sense my brother shift in his seat.

‘I’ve said I’m sorry...to her...to Dad...’

‘And...?’ Mum presses.

‘And I will apologise to Lucas too. I am sorry for what I did. I just assumed he’d be okay. I mean...he’s Lucas. He was always okay.’