Page 18 of Just a Taste
‘Fine,’ Eve huffs, finally accepting that she’s beaten. ‘I guess I’ll just suffer then.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
She glares at me for a long second and then shrugs, any trace of frustration wiped from her face. Despite all her dramatics, Eve never really means it. I’ve long since known that my twin is the kind of person who just always needs a healthy injection of drama in their life. ‘How’s your night been, anyway?’ she asks. ‘Did Sexy Boss – sorry, Sexy Client – burst into flames at the sight of your apron?’
‘Almost,’ I laugh as I make my way around the kitchen, wiping down the countertops as I go. ‘But it was fine. Bit weird at the start, but everyone got into the spirit by the end.’
Well. Mostly everyone.
When I returned to the dining room at the end of the night to start collecting their dishes, Hoxton was still proudly wearing his signature scowl, still apparently reeling from the unfortunate Grinch cookie – which I ended up eating myself, and it was phenomenal.
It didn’t matter that someone – Luca, I suspect – had taken out their phone and was blaring Christmas music from it, and that everyone else was singing along to the familiar tunes with a grin on their face and rosy cheeks. Hoxtondidn’t so much as twitch in his seat, a faraway look in his eyes as his lips turned even further downwards into a frown.
‘At least you survived,’ Eve says with a smirk. ‘And maybe Sexy Client will thaw out a bit by the new year. Who knows, maybe he’ll even crack a smile next time you see him.’
‘You’ve really got to stop with the name.’
Eve shrugs. ‘I’ll stop when he stops looking like that.’
It really is quite unfair.
Even the perpetual grimace plastered across his face does irritatingly little to distract from the fact that Hoxton is stupidly, unfairly, attractive. Thankfully, his personality is enough of a deterrent and stops me from losing myself in wildly inappropriate daydreams involving Hoxton, myself, and the wooden farm table I’m leaning against right now.
For the most part.
I clear my throat. ‘I do need to go, though. I’ve got to finish up here so I can head home before the snow gets any heavier.’
At the mention of snow, Eve perks up a little more. ‘Oh yeah. How is it down there for you? It’s coming down pretty hard up here. Uncle Morris was talking about heading outside later and building a snowman with the kids.’
I peer out of the nearest window. A thick white layer covers my car and the rest of Hoxton’s drive. I squint into the distance. I can just about make out the shape of Hoxton’sneighbours’ homes through the flurry of snow that’s rapidly falling from the dark night sky. ‘It’s definitely coming down pretty steadily,’ I say, watching as a few more icy flakes float past the window. ‘But nothing too crazy yet. I don’t think it’ll slow me down too much on the drive home.’
Eve nods. ‘Just make sure you drive safely, okay? Let me know when you get home and when you head out tomorrow morning.’
‘Got it,’ I say, giving her a mock salute. ‘No driving into ditches.’
‘Ha ha,’ Eve deadpans, giving me an uncharacteristically serious look. ‘I need you here. Christmas isn’t Christmas without you.’
For a second, she’s almost got me, and I briefly consider throwing caution to the wind and making the four-hour drive to Gran’s in the dead of night. But then I hear the slightly muffled sound of familiar arguing coming from somewhere in the distance behind Eve. ‘You just want me to deal with Mum and Aunt Valerie for you.’
Eve breaks out into a sheepish grin. ‘That too. But, also, the Christmas thing. Mostly the Christmas thing.’
I know exactly what she means. The tiny amount of Christmas cheer I’ve managed to sneak into Hoxton’s home tonight hasn’t been enough to change the gloomy atmosphere that hangs over this place like an everlasting rain cloud.
Definitely not the Christmas vibe.
I can’t wait to drop down onto Gran’s soft, squishy sofa, and inhale the warm scent of freshly baked cookies and cake wafting in from the kitchen as I watch my little cousins add their latest monstrosities to the tree. Even the threat of Mum and Aunt Valerie being at each other’s throats isn’t enough to sour the image in my mind. In fact, their arguing is practically part of the fabric of Christmas at this point.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I cut the call, drop my phone into my bag, and survey the rest of the kitchen. There are still pots and pans piled high in the sink, empty wrappers, boxes and containers strewn across the island, and a bag of food scraps I’ll need to take out to the bins before I go.
Thirty minutes. I’ll give myself thirty minutes and then…
And then what?
I’m suddenly acutely aware that Hoxton is in the house with me.
That we’re the only two people in the house right now.
And this has never happened before.
