He’d given me one of those Japanese lucky beckoning cats for Christmas. Which would have been fine if I hadn’t spent about a thousand hours laboriously making him a music box that played “Dream a Little Dream of Me” and had a photo of me stuck inside the lid. It was star-shaped. Maybe that had been a bad idea. The music box was as good as shouting I love you! while I wasn’t so sure what a battery-driven souvenir costing six pounds ninety from the Asia shop said.
I stared through the window and thought of sending Henry a text—I’m here, where are you?—but then I decided not to. From the plane, London had looked like a scene in one of those kitschy snow globes, with glittering white powdered sugar all over the rooftops, trees, and streets—down here, however, there wasn’t any glittery sugar to be seen. Slush isn’t in the least romantic, and if I’d had to describe my mood, slushy would have been the right word for it. I’d arrived at the airport feeling cheerful and full of anticipation, and I got out of the car in a really bad temper when Ernest finally parked it in the drive of his house—I mean, our house. Matters didn’t improve when the front door was opened by Grayson’s girlfriend, Emily. She was the last person I wanted to see at that moment.
“Oh, there you are,” said Emily, looking about as pleased as I felt. Objectively considered, she was a very pretty girl with gleaming, smooth brown hair, nice skin, a tall and athletic build, but I couldn’t help it: to me she always looked like the stern governess in an old movie, like the one in Heidi. And like a horse. A kind of governess horse or horsey governess. She seemed much older than other eighteen-year-old girls, and it wasn’t just because of her high-necked, severe clothes, but also because of the superior, know-it-all expression that she turned on everyone. For a split second I was tempted to turn around then and there and march away again. But then Buttercup came into the front hall with her ears flapping, and behind her were Grayson, Florence, and Lottie.
And someone with bright-gray eyes and dark-blond hair standing out in all directions. I almost burst into tears of sheer relief.
Henry.
He simply pushed Emily aside and took me in his arms.
“Hey, there you are again, my cheese girl,” he murmured into my hair. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I wound my arms around Henry’s neck and held him much closer than was strictly necessary.
“You smell nice,” I whispered. It wasn’t precisely what I wanted to say, but it was the first thing to come into my head.
“That’s not me; it’s the stuff with the unpronounceable German name that Lottie’s been baking.” Henry made no move to let go of me again, and as far as I was concerned, he never had to, but stupidly we weren’t alone.
“You’re all invited to try them,” cried Lottie. She was wearing the felt slippers she’d originally made as a Christmas present for Charles, but at the last minute she’d decided not to give them to him after all. Because there are many people who don’t appreciate the value of a homemade present, she’d said. And that had been a wise decision, because the day before Christmas Eve, Charles had given her a foil-wrapped chocolate Santa Claus. A small foil-wrapped chocolate Santa Claus. My beckoning Japanese cat was a one-carat diamond by comparison.
“It’s a surprise welcome-home party for you snow bunnies!” Lottie beamed at us. If she was suffering from unrequited love for Charles, she hid it well.
“And we’d have made up a welcome song, I’m sure,” said Emily, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “Only, what on earth rhymes with snow bunny?”
“Jar of honey?” suggested Grayson.
“Don’t be silly!” said Emily, and without even looking, I could tell what kind of face she was making.
“No, silly doesn’t rhyme with bunny. But very funny does,” said Grayson, and I chuckled into Henry’s sweater. Oh, it was good to be home. “And plenty of money.”
“Wrapped up in a five-pound note, like the Owl and the Pussycat when they went to sea,” added Mia, “in their beautiful pea-green boat.” She patted me on the back. “Hey, you two are getting between us and Lottie’s jam buns.”
Lottie’s new recipe did indeed turn out to be for large, fluffy, very light yeast buns with a plum jam filling and a crisp crust, and life was downright perfect for the next twenty minutes. Sitting in the kitchen with the people I loved best in the world, drinking hot chocolate and eating the delicious jam buns—at that moment I couldn’t imagine anything better. Everyone was talking at once, Mia telling more tall tales about our skiing expeditions, Florence planning the party she and Grayson would have for their eighteenth birthday in February, and Lottie describing the Bavarian cream pudding she was going to conjure up for us tomorrow. I didn’t even have to let go of Henry, because we went on holding hands under the table, laughing and exchanging meaningful looks with each other, and after the second jam roll, I felt sure I was about to burst with happiness. Well, maybe not just happiness—those rolls might seem as light as a feather, but once inside you, they swelled to twice their original size. I felt a blissfully satisfied smile spreading over my face entirely of its own accord.