Page 23 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

There’s a look of genuine shock on my mother’s face. An expression rarely seen on a woman who’s usually ten steps ahead of everyone else. It makes her so impossible to argue with because she already has answers for every question you’ve thought of.

“ Hermes ,” Alex mutters next to me, as my mother’s profuse levels of thanks increase as she opens the box and ties the scarf around her neck.

“I’d say that’s already earned her a hundred points more than Caroline ever had.

She was at least negative five million by the time the wedding got canceled. ”

I don’t argue. Of all the people who didn’t like Caroline, my mother didn’t like her the most.

The final nail in Caroline’s coffin was when she rejected my grandmother’s engagement ring, a seven-carat antique-cut diamond that once belonged to Anne Boleyn and had been in our family for generations. I’d proposed with it, only for her to ask if she could have one from Graff’s instead.

“Now, where’s Miles?” asks my mother.

“Running late as usual. ”

“Then we shall start without him again .” She tuts, turning around to where Max is still playing with his fire engine, having been joined by Hamish, Dolly, and Maud. “Max, come and eat.”

The long table set out on the patio has candles burning down its length. It’s where we’ll always be when the weather allows.

As much as we might all complain about this compulsory mealtime and the curtails it placed on our sacred Friday nights growing up, we all love it. It’s one tradition I hope we keep forever.

And we usually take the same seats, but tonight, Holiday is sitting in my spot, so as Miles is yet to grace us with his presence, I take his. Because it’s opposite her.

Food is being placed down, though not fast enough for Max, who’s grabbing pieces of chicken, half of which Hendricks promptly removes to put on his own plate, along with sliced steak and shelled prawns.

Summer salads made with leaves and vegetables from the Burlington gardens and freshly baked bread come next.

While everyone’s preoccupied with piling their plates, I pick up a bottle of wine and gesture to Holiday.

In response, she pushes her glass across to me. “Why, thank you, Gracie.”

I’m so focused on smiling back at her that I fill her glass almost to the brim.

It’s only been two days since I’ve seen her, but it feels like longer.

In those two days, I’ve found my mind drifting to her more often than it should have. Where she could be, what she might be doing, how her baking is going. Once I found myself on the way to the kitchen, hoping to see her, only to turn around again .

It’s noisy enough that the two of us can have our own conversation without being overheard.

There’s a strand of hair that’s come loose from the clip, and I want to reach over and fix it. But instead, I ask, “How’s your week been?”

“Goat aside, it’s been good. I’ve been reading through the terms for this contract?—”

“The one you were most clearly worthy of receiving? And celebrated with coffee and a donut?”

Her lashes flutter down, giving me the impression she’s embarrassed or uncomfortable like she can’t take the compliment. Or perhaps she doesn’t know how to take the compliment from me.

“Yeah, that one. My agent’s coming over next week to discuss terms.”

“Ah. Always important to discuss terms. Are you happy with it?”

She nods. “I think so. It’s a good offer. I’ve never had one quite so large before. I usually take a smaller fee and larger profit share, but it hasn’t always paid off.”

“Who manages your money?”

She tilts her head. “My dad. He worked in finance, and now he just manages Tanner and me.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes, he earns ten times what I do. It keeps my dad busy.”

I’m about to tell her I’d be happy to look over it for her when my youngest brother’s arrival shatters the peace.

“I see you all started without me. How was the tennis?” Miles leans down to kiss our mother’s cheek and as he does so spies the Hermes bag to the side. “Managed to fit in a spot of shopping too.”

“A gift from Holiday, actually.” She beams with a smile usually reserved for Miles, only now it’s directed at Holiday .

Pulling out the chair next to mine, Miles bends close enough to whisper, “ Hermes. Oh, Your Grace , Holiday is good .”

“Nice of you to join us,” I drawl, the only response I’ll give him even though he has a point.

Gifts aside, Holiday’s so charming and effusive that it’s easy to see why she’s so popular.

Winning over the Duchess of Oxfordshire is not for the fainthearted, but she seems to have managed it with little effort.

The calm of the table prior to Miles’s arrival vanishes.

“How’s my new neighbor doing?” He winks at Holiday as he piles his plate up with more than he can fit on it, earning himself a frown from our mother. “Fitting into the village nicely? When are you coming over for a cup of tea?”

Opposite him, Alex rolls his eyes.

“I don’t drink tea.” Holiday pushes a fork through her salad and turns to Miles. “But I sure am fitting in well. Everyone’s super friendly, and I met your girlfriend the other day.”

Next to her, my mother splutters into her wine before recovering herself immaculately, but I can see she’s now on tenterhooks like the rest of us.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Miles replies with a coolness to his tone. “Right, Maxy? Girlfriends are bleugh.”

“Yeah, girlfriends are bleugh ,” Max mimics and sticks out his tongue.

“But she was coming out of your place and introduced herself to me as your girlfriend. Though tell her I prefer her hair blond to the dark she had last week. We blondes have to stick together.”

Holiday couldn’t look any more innocent if she was wearing a nun’s outfit and had a halo around her head.

For a moment, I genuinely wonder if she realizes Miles would never ever commit himself to a girl. But when she lifts her fork to chew down and throws me a wink, I realize exactly what she’s done.

Holiday one, Miles nil.

His eyes flare, and Hendricks snorts with laughter.

“Oh, I like you, Holiday,” Alex barks loudly, leaning back in his chair until it almost topples. “You can come again.”

“Maybe I will,” she replies before excusing herself to use the bathroom.

Which is the exact moment my mother has been waiting for.

Her elbow hits the table, and her chin is propped on her fist.

“You know, darling . . .” She leans forward. “You seem very happy tonight.”

“Do I?”

My mother hums softly. “Yes, and it’s not just tonight. It’s the past month or so, you’ve been much more . . .” She waves her hand around. “Relaxed, I suppose.”

A month is the exact amount of time Holiday’s been in Valentine Nook. Sometimes I wonder if my mother thinks I’m stupid.

“It’s probably the weather,” I reply.

It’s not the weather.

“Perhaps,” she muses, sitting back and folding her napkin.

I know this move. I’ve fallen victim to it many, many times because the real subject of the conversation is about to reveal itself in three, two, one .

. . “And isn’t it wonderful that Holiday’s settling in so well?

And she’s delightful. We must host a party for her. ”

I roll my eyes. “She doesn’t want a party, Mother. She’s come here to get away from everything.”

“Maybe a family movie night, then?”

I shift my chair closer, so it’s just the two of us. I want to beg her to stop, but I can’t bring myself to because right now, at this moment with my family and Holiday here, I wonder if my mum’s onto something.

I am relaxed.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m enjoying myself. Perhaps movie night isn’t a bad idea.

I’m ruminating on it, along with Alex’s comment from earlier, when Holiday plops back down into her chair.

“You okay there, Gracie?”

I nod. “You know, Hollywood, I think I am.”

“Good,” she replies and turns to Alex while I sip my wine.

As I stretch out, my feet hit something I assume is the leg of the table, but when it shifts, I realize I’m actually resting against Holiday’s feet. The polite thing would be to move. But I don’t.

Her eyes flick to mine, looking at me from under thick black lashes.

In the dimming light, her irises seem even more piercing than usual. I expect her to shift away, but she resumes her conversation with Alex instead. I swear the pressure of her leg deepens.

I can’t be sure, but I think I might be playing my first game of footsie.

And so the evening continues as most family mealtimes do. Miles makes everyone laugh by being as outrageous as usual. Max regales us with tales from his week at school, and Hendricks updates us on the progress of all the calves.

Clementine and Alex bicker over which pieces of Valentine gossip are true, and my mum watches on.

It’s hard to believe she’s as disapproving as she comes across when her expression holds nothing but amusement as she laughs out loud at the next outrageous things Miles says or weighs in on the argument between Clem and Alex.

It’s moments like these that I miss my father so profoundly, because I know how much he cherished family time and ensured we had quality moments together despite his busy schedule.

We carry on laughing, drinking, and joking around until the sun is close to setting and Birgitta comes to collect Max for his bath.

Usually, this is followed by a lot of pleading and crying on a Friday, but not tonight.

“Don’t start the fireworks without me,” he orders, shouting louder than any four-year-old should be able to shout as he marches off, holding her hand.

Holiday immediately sits up. “Fireworks? Do you always have fireworks?”

“No, never.” Miles frowns. “Why are we having fireworks?”

I wait to see which one of my brothers outs me. It’s Alex, but instead of announcing it to the entire table, he leans into her.

“Fireworks are usually reserved for bonfire night. Lando organized these for you.”

“It’s not the Fourth without fireworks,” Hendricks adds.

Her eyes find mine. “You did?”

The flame of the candle flickers in her irises when I lean forward. “I can be fun when I want.”

“I knew it.” Happiness flashes across her face, and all the worries I had about whether fireworks were a stupid idea become insignificant.

After what has to be a record bath time, Max returns in his pajamas and a dressing gown, which makes him look like a sheep.

The sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving an inky sky behind with stars making their debut for the evening.

“Fireworks time,” Max screeches.

We stand on the patio and watch as they burst above us, a rainbow of colors lighting up the sky. There’s something about fireworks that has even the most stoic personalities become awestruck for that moment.

Catherine wheels, rockets, and spirals explode, but I miss most of them because I’m transfixed by the joy on Holiday’s face.

It’s something I didn’t know I needed to see. I never realized how much happiness I could derive from someone else’s, yet here I am, heart pounding at what feels like a thousand times a minute.

Max squeals with excitement until the very last one, and Hendricks takes him up to bed.

“Thanks, Gracie, this has been a really awesome evening. I can’t believe you organized fireworks just for me.”

“Anytime, Hollywood.” I grin down and fight an urge to kiss her. “Some would even say fun .”

“I would say super fun. And while we don’t have celebration donuts, I think apple pie would work just as well.”

“Apple pie is perfect.”

My eyes follow as she rushes off to fetch them, and immediately her spot is taken.

“What did she just call you?”

Damn Miles and his exceptional hearing. “Nothing?—”

“And what did you call her?”

“Nothing—”

“But you did call her something .” Miles’s finger points right in my face, and his mouth drops open. “Oh my god, have you guys got nicknames for each other?”

“What’s going on?” Alex asks, his head appearing in the gap between the two of us.

“ Nothing ,” I repeat for the third time.

Except third time’s not the charm in this case, and Miles turns us all to where Holiday and Clementine are slicing up her apple pie and placing it on plates. This time his finger is less accusatory, but no less pointy .

“Our big brother has a thumping great crush on our Hollywood starlet, and they have nicknames for each other.”

Alex lets out a low whistle. “ Nicknames ? Does this mean?—”

“It does, Alexander. It means Lando might be happy again,” he says, before adding, “and that stick up his arse is finally loosening.”

Ignoring the identical guffaws from both my brothers, I take a long sip of my wine.

I don’t know what’s worse—having a crush on my tenant . . .

Or that Miles is right.