She tries to ignore the pang in her chest as she turns off a few lights, locks the back door, and goes up the stairs.
As she reaches the landing, Esther and Otto clatter in through the front door. They laugh and dance, so completely in love with each other. From her pocket, Esther takes a sprig of mistletoe and holds it up between them. Beaming, Otto takes her into his arms and kisses her softly.
It’s a movie kiss. His head bent down to her, still wearing their coats dappled with snow.
This is what she wants. The silliness, the lifetime of love. A family of their own.
And she wants it with Kit. If Kit can ever forgive her.
Upstairs, Christopher is fully tucked up in bed.
‘Did it go okay?’ he says, sitting up and flicking on the bedside light. He is wearing adorable green tartan flannel pyjamas that she hasn’t seen before. ‘Did you sort everything out?’
‘Are you my wingman now?’ she asks with affection. ‘You did a pretty good job with that speech.’
‘And?’ he urges. ‘What did she say?’
‘She’s . . . thinking.’
‘Give her time.’
Haf nods. ‘Please tell me about these pyjamas. You look so sweet I want to die.’
‘There’s a pair for you. Check under your pillow.’
He’s right – she finds an identical pair to Christopher’s, all wrapped up in a bright red bow with a tag that says,With love from Santa.
‘Hope you didn’t peek,’ she says, sliding under the covers. After all they’ve been through, she hadn’t even thought to be shy about changing in front of him. Being practically naked in front of Laurel probably helped.
‘Course not. I’m a man of honour. A wingman of honour, perhaps.’
Haf curls up against him. ‘You didn’t have to do that, you know,’ she whispers.
‘I know. But I meant what I said. The way she looks at you... I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like that. It’ll be all right.’
She groans softly. ‘I hope you’re right.’
He rolls over to face her and extends a pinkie finger towards her.
‘Are we pinkie-promising again?’ she asks. When he nods, she says, ‘What to?’
‘To another day, in this together.’
She wraps her little finger around his, and they both smile.
‘Together,’ she says.
Chapter Eighteen
Haf wakes to the sound of her phone almost vibrating off the bedside table.
‘Happy Christmaaaaaas!’ Ambrose yells. On-screen, they are somehow already dressed, and accessorised with a Santa hat and an apron.
‘Are you cooking already? What time is it?’ Haf groans.
‘Too early,’ Christopher mutters.
‘Is that Christopher in your bed? Hello, fake brother-in-law – I hope you’re taking care of this absolute pigeon. Her survival is in your hands.’
