Page 107 of Holiday Romance
“Thank is a pretty strong word,” Christian says from where he lounges by the table. Hannah sits opposite, peeling a large mound of potatoes while their mother hovers behind them. At Christian’s words, Colleen hits him on the back of his head before turning to the stove.
“How are you, Molly?” she asks. “Did you get any sleep?”
“A little,” I say. “Thanks again for letting me join you.”
“Not at all!” A timer dings and she moves a saucepan from one ring to another. The room is a mess of carefully controlled chaos with pots and pans and all manners of food in various stages of preparation. An old iPad showing a color-coded spreadsheet is propped against a stack of cookery books, and she examines it briefly before turning a knob on the oven.
“Do you need any help?” I ask, eager to be of use. Christian snorts as Colleen throws me a sympathetic smile over her shoulder.
“Mam’s favorite thing to do at Christmas is to complain that no one helps her,” Andrew explains.
“But then yells at you if you try,” Hannah quips. “We’re allowed to do basic food preparation and that’s it.”
“Did you or did you not burn your hand on the stove?” Colleen grumbles.
“I wassix.”
“I have everything under control,” she says. “In fact, the greatest gift you could give me is to all be out of the house for as long as possible until dinner is ready. It’s a beautiful day and you can go meet Liam and the kids in the village.”
Christian grimaces. “I’m good.”
“You’re hungover,” Hannah mutters, tossing a slice of potato skin at him.
“The dogs need a walk,” Colleen continues as though they hadn’t spoken. “And you can show Molly around.”
“Around what?” Hannah scoffs. “The grass?”
“Hannah.”
“I’m just saying.”
“AndI’msayingthat I want you out that door in five minutes tops.”
“But you said you needed me to—”
“I changed my mind.”
Hannah huffs as she pushes her chair back, but does as she’s told, shooting me a quick grin before running up the stairs.
“You’re the one who wanted a girl,” Christian says mildly, which earns him another head whack.
“You’re going too,” she warns him.
“I can’t.” He lumbers to his feet to kiss her on the cheek. “Promised I’d help Dad fix a fence or something. Think he wants to bond.”
I raise my brows, glancing at Andrew. I can’t imagine Christian out on a farm, though from the pained expression on his face, neither can he.
“Do you all help out?” I ask. Christian dumps his mug in the sink and tugs playfully on Colleen’s apron string before he slips out the back door.
“A little bit,” Andrew says. “Liam was the one who got into it. He has his own land a few miles over.”
“Do you know anything about farms?” Colleen asks politely.
I shake my head. “City folk through and through.”
“We’ll give you the tour before you go.”
Speaking of a tour… I step toward the fridge where a dozen family photos are pinned with fading magnets, the kind you used to find in old cereal boxes. Ruddy-faced children peer back at me, shots of the three boys on family vacations before later pictures of Hannah, first as a baby and then older, beaming as she’s surrounded by her brothers. But it’s one brother in particular who’s caught my attention.
