Alice decided that she must stop accepting dinner invitations to the Blake house. She glared across the table at the happy couple. Jean gave her a wide, insincere smile. Lucien was very interested in the rim of his whisky glass, sliding his fingertip along checking for chips. Those two had obviously arranged this latest meal from hell.
Then there was Matthew. He sat to her left, head down, steadily eating his Christmas dinner. He ignored the daggers she shot his way. He'd never called- She supposed that she could have refused to stay when she'd discovered him there, but she wasn't going to let him win. Giving an outraged huff, she drained her wine glass.
Matthew chewed the roast pork more aggressively than necessary. He wasn't going to let that woman ruin his meal. After all, if he didn't stay, it was another lonely dinner down at the pub. Just because she didn't want him- too old, too lame, too old-fashioned... The talk of marriage had spooked her. He gulped down his whisky.
Later, he blamed the three scotches. She would blame the half a bottle of wine. They both teetered through the doorway, his cane tangled in her legs, her heels suddenly felt much higher than when she'd put them on, and the end result was an awkward sort of hug, each trying to save the other.
"Sorry."
"Yes."
He'd had to press her against the doorframe to keep them both upright. "Sorry," he repeated.
"Yes," she said again.
"Had too much Christmas cheer."
"Yes." Something above his head caught her attention.
He glanced up. Mistletoe hung over them. "Well. Right. Yes." He still hadn't released her.
Lucien and Jean were in the kitchen, loudly washing dishes, bellowing about the weather.
"Oh bloody hell," he muttered, and kissed her.