“Right, first off, you’ll have to tell me your names again. Then we’re going to get to work taking the green tops off these strawberries.”

*

A couple of hours later, the dessert is ready. Pavlovas have been laid on platters and covered with whipped cream. Extra bowls of cream are in the fridge and the mountains of strawberries have been cleaned and trimmed. The hall is filled with people who would otherwise have gone without a special meal at Christmas and a loud din of excited chatter fills the air. The day is so hot and muggy that even with all the windows and doors open, the hall feels like a sauna.

Most of the guests look happy and relaxed, but there are a few staring into space with a dull, absent expression. The judgey part of me wonders if they’re on drugs, while another part of me wants to go and sit with them, take their hand and ask them to tell me who or what they’re missing.

In the corner of the hall is a giant Christmas tree covered in lights and tinsel. There’s a tower of brightly-wrapped presents underneath, all of which have been donated by local families and businesses. A hoard of excited children hovers nearby, keeping an eye on the gifts as if they might suddenly disappear.

Scott and I have had a few short snatches of conversation, but mostly we’ve been too busy. A couple of times he held out a glass of water and insisted I pause for a drink, and I’m currently sitting on one of the benches lining the perimeter of the hall, because both Scott and Lucas demanded I take a break.

I didn’t argue, as my feet are puffy and sore. Plus, my stomach feels heavy and my lower back aches. Not to mention I’m dripping in sweat. The day has turned out to be harder than I thought, though I don’t for a second regret coming.

Stretching my legs out, I glance over at Scott. He’s at one of the serving tables doling out roast potatoes. His hair is tied up in a ponytail and is damp with sweat around the neckline. Someone gave him a red bandana with mini Santas on it and he’s tied it around his head. It’s a sexy look on him. Very sexy.

Glancing my way, he catches me watching him and smiles. I smile back, my stomach fluttering.

“Right, Trish,” says Lucas, handing me a plate piled with chicken, stuffing, roast potatoes and salad. “Eat up.”

I take the plate guiltily. “Some people haven’t started eating yet,” I protest.

“Nearly everyone has a meal and you need sustenance before you can help serve dessert.”

Too hungry to argue, I balance the plate on my knees and eat.

*