‘Come on, let’s try to assemble it,’ Haf says, confident the gingerbread is now firmed up. ‘It can’t get worse than this.’
Naturally, it does.
While Haf holds the sides up, Kit slathers in the icing to cement them together, but it just slops down the biscuit like melted ice cream.
‘Let’s just hold it a bit longer...’ Kit says, pressing the sides together.
‘Maybe it needs a little emotional support as well as structural.’ Haf lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘Wow, what a good house, you’re doing really well at being a house.’
‘Please don’t make me laugh again, or I’m going to crush this.’ Kit giggles as the corners on her side wobble.
‘Okay, okay. Serious time.’ Haf presses her lips into a flat line and scrunches her face into a deep frown.
‘I can’t look at you,’ says Kit, staring at the floor. ‘You make facial expressions like a cartoon character. And I don’t think you’ve been serious for one minute in your whole life.’
‘Maybe two. And a half. Possibly.’
‘No more talking,’ commands Kit.
This is, of course, exactly when Haf realises just how close they’re standing to each other. Their hands wrap around the gingerbread house, fingertips only millimetres from each other.
‘I think it’s holding,’ says Kit, taking her hands away. The walls, surprisingly, do hold. The stuck-on icing door and windows look a little soft from the heat of the biscuit and their hands. ‘Just the roof to go.’
Kit gently lifts an almond covered roof tile from the baking tray, and with Haf’s help, brings it to the rest of the house. But as soon as they tilt it ready to fix it on, the gloopy icing and almonds slide off in one enormous avalanche, all down the roof, their hands and over their little house.
‘Oh, fuck!’ shrieks Kit, setting it back on the tray where it promptly snaps in half.
The reindeer, having valiantly held on for as long as possible, finally gives way, falling onto its side.
‘RIP,’ says Kit solemnly, and they back into heaving laughter again.
To her surprise, Kit steadies herself against Haf, holding on to her arm. Their faces are only inches apart, and as the hysterical laughter softens between them, all that’s left is a held look and heaving breaths.
Platonic. Friends. Don’t look at her lips or think about how soft her hair is or how much you want to touch her or how good she smells. Fuck, she smells good. And that’s just basic sexual chemistry, a very normal human response. Nothing romantic at all. Just hormones.
Maybe Ambrose is right. I am a horny gremlin.
She swears that, for just a second, Kit’s eyes dart down to her lips. But she has to be wrong, because they’rejustfriends.
This is fine.
‘Bloody hell, what is that?’
They leap apart, and Haf has never been more relieved to be interrupted.
Christopher, who must have returned while they were laughing, stands next to them staring at their house in horror.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be a haunted house, you know.’
‘It’s quite clearly a festive gingerbread house... almost as ordered,’ Haf says haughtily, suddenly feeling defensive over their monstrosity.
‘Is it?’ he says in disbelief. He picks up some of the offcuts and crumbles it between his fingers. Or rather, he tries to, but it is so hard it doesn’t give away. ‘You absolutely destroyed my lovely gingerbread. Did you nuke it?’
‘We started it. Had a breakdown. Bon appétit,’ says Kit, and Haf cackles gleefully at the reference to that celebrity baking competition show that was all over Twitter for months. ‘You can thank Esther for thinking this was a good idea.’
‘Ialwaysdo it. I even made the dough. Why couldn’t it wait?’ He huffs.
‘I think this was supposed to be a punishment for all of us teasing her.’
