Page 77 of The Christmas Catch
A cheer went up from the bar. Morgan strode towards it and peered through the plating-up area. Ali dashed past, serving someone, not looking left. Out of sight, she heard Elaine cackling, her laugh as loud as her skin tone.
Maybe Morgan should just leave. They’d agreed this would be family time, and this was Ali’s family home. But she should hang around to say goodbye at least.
The gingerbread Rising Sun was still on the side. Morgan hadn’t seen it up close, so she carefully picked it up, held her breath, and put it down on the counter in front of her. She leaned in, marvelling at the lit windows, the gingerbread bar, and the biscuit bar stools. She’d never have the skill to make something so intricate. Gingerbread biscuits and bigger cakes, she could do. She’d love to have the patience for the fiddly things, but it wasn’t her style. She reached out a finger to the outdoor table and the gingerbread umbrella, painted bright pink. The level of detail was off the scale. She leaned forward a little more. How had they done that?
She poked the tip of her finger onto the top of the picnic table. It was softer than she’d imagined, but still sturdy enough. It didn’t need to take much weight, so she guessed that made sense.
“How’s it looking?”
The words jolted Morgan. It also jolted her finger unexpectedly and suddenly forward.
Right into the picnic table.
It caved under pressure. Then, like the absolute best episode of the Great British Bake Off where one cake falls off a stand, it snapped in half with consummate ease.
“Shit!” To rescue what had just happened, Morgan tried to pick up the two halves of the table to stick them back together again, but only snapped off the benches, too. Which then also split into a few uneven pieces. As a final insult, the umbrella toppled left and broke, too.
Admitting crushing defeat, Morgan took her hand away—her fingertip now adorned with pink glitter—and stared.
The model had looked beautiful. Now it looked like a drunk had gone on a rampage in the garden. The whole sequence probably only took ten seconds, but it felt like the longest ten seconds of her life.
In moments, Ali stood beside her.
Morgan didn’t dare risk a look at her face. This wasn’t doing anything to help her cause.
“I did ask ‘how’s it looking?’, didn’t I?”
Morgan nodded. “You did, and I’m sorry. I was just admiring it, but you coming in made me jump. Not that I’m saying it’s your fault.” She risked a glance right.
Ali caught her stare and sighed. “We have to fix it before my mum sees it.”
Morgan’s brain ran on overdrive. A thought popped into her head. She turned to Ali. Whatever was or wasn’t happening between them, at least Morgan could fix this.
“I have a possible solution.”
Ali’s brow furrowed. “Go on.”
“We could take it back to mine and bake a new table and benches there? I’ve baked gingerbread before, and my mum will probably have the ingredients.” She paused. “I assume your mum wouldn’t?”
Ali snorted. “I told you, we’re a strictly no-baking family.”
Morgan gave a slow shrug. “It’s worth a try. Even if we just bake a normal biscuit table and stain it brown with nail polish, nobody will know, right?”
Ali covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe we got it all the way back from up north, then break it in the pub kitchen.” She peeled her fingers away. “You were joking about the nail polish?”
“Either that, or your mum’s fake tan. Although it looks like she might have used it all.” She put a hand on Ali’s arm briefly. The touch stilled them both.
“Harsh, but fair,” Ali replied.
Morgan stared at her fingers, still connected to Ali. Her heart swelled. How she wanted this connection back. However, it wasn’t hers to ignite.
“One way or the other, we’ll fix it. I’ve already brought your case in and put mine in the car, so we’re good to go.”
Ali gave her a nod, then carefully placed the pub inside its box. She grabbed their coats from the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll just let my mum know I’m heading out for a little while.” She gave Morgan the gingerbread box with the words, “Don’t drop it!” then grabbed some keys from a hook on the hallway wall.
“You don’t need your keys, by the way. I’m driving my dad’s car.”
“I thought you didn’t drive?”
