He got it.

He got her.

Matt shook his head. “Sorry, that was …”

“No,” she said, protesting his apology. “I love that you …”

He spoke over her to finish his thought. “… A load of gobbledygook,” and the word made her laugh.

“Wait, sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m not, seriously. Just, ‘gobbledygook’? What even is that?” She started laughing harder, her hand lifting to her mouth. When she met Matt’s eyes, his were full of mirth and he joined in on the laughter, shaking his head at himself.

Jules laughed freely, long and hard, aware at some point that Matt’s laughter had died down and he was just watching her, an enchanted spectator of her amusement. “Yeah, yeah …” he said after a while. “Make fun of the Aussie.”

When her laughter subsided, she reached for his hand. “No, you are perfect.”

He started to brush off the compliment, but with Jules now knowing that Matt’s default was self-deprecation, she half-raised a hand. “Stop,” she said quietly. He stopped, his face suddenly a picture of seriousness. “You are. This place, you, Dexter, this is perfect for me. Right now. This is exactly where I am supposed to be.”

He frowned slightly, as though he was analysing her words, then he stood, pulling her up with him, and slipped his other arm around her waist. His eyes stared into hers, then he dipped his head to seize her mouth in a kiss. She tugged her hand free of his so she could reach her arms around his neck, her fingers caressing the soft curls at his nape.

His mouth was insistent, and when his tongue met hers, he tasted of wine and the gaminess of the lamb. His hand moved to the back of her head, cradling it as his lips pressed against hers, almost bruising them, a sweet kind of pain steeped in longing.

When the kiss broke, they were both breathing raspy breaths. “Do you want to go inside?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“God, yes,” she replied. He turned abruptly, clasping her hand in his and led her towards the sliding glass door.

Chapter 20

Lucy

After she and Chloe rang off, Lucy showered and dressed in her Christmas outfit of leggings and an oversized red jumper—even though people always said that redheads shouldn’t wear red. She pulled her tresses into a messy bun on top of her head and slicked on some shimmery lip gloss, then forced a smile at herself in the mirror.

The smile dissolved. With her sore head and the situation with Jules, she felt about as festive as the discount bin at Sainsbury’s on the day after Boxing Day—fifty per cent off some fake Christmas cheer, anyone?

“Come on you,” she muttered to her reflection, “time to be Christmassy.”

Downstairs, amid exclamations of “Merry Christmas” which she half-heartedly returned, Steph ushered her to a place at the breakfast bar in front of a steaming mug of tea. A glance at Will, who winked at her from across the room, confirmed that he’d made it for her. She mouthed “thank you” and gratefully sipped the tea as the ruckus of family festivities buzzed about her. Nate seemed to be in his element as he cooked up a Christmas breakfast feast, aided by Will and Steph—his “sous chefs” he called them.