Lucy felt the sting of another flush. Hot friend. She ignored the scoffing inner voice, the one that still thought of her as an awkward, podgy eleven-year-old, and instead picked up her end of the banter.

“Oh, I didn’t peek.” He flashed her a grin, one eyebrow raised; she’d always wished she could do that. She was fairly certain it was a flirtatious move and emboldened by her own adventure in outdoor weeing, she continued.

“I’ve always thought it was better to wait until Christmas morning to unwrap presents, rather than to peek beforehand.”

Oh, Lucy, that was utterly cringeworthy.

There was a moment before Will answered and Lucy seriously contemplated getting out of the car and walking the rest of the way to the cabin.

“You know,” he began eventually, “this doesn’t happen very often, but I am actually speechless.”

Oh god. He thinks I’m a total slapper. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Horrified speechless or intrigued speechless?”

The car in front of them started moving, but before he put his in drive, Will pinned her with a look. “Oh, definitely the latter.” Then he turned his eyes to the road, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lucy, relieved not to have made a total fool of herself, looked out her side window. It was so beautiful there, everything blanketed in white, snow hanging heavily on the boughs of the pine trees like nature’s fondant. The thought made her think of her mum’s Christmas cake, which she loved as much for the generous layer of marzipan and fondant, as for the brandy-soaked cake itself.

“Oh!” Lucy exclaimed, startling Will. “Sorry, but I’ve just been thinking about Mum’s Christmas cake, and remembered I’ve got one with me.”

Lucy’s mum had sent her across the pond with her very own Christmas cake—something to share with Jules’s family. It had arrived at her flat in the post the week before, wrapped in foil and tucked snugly into a box surrounded by scrunched up newspaper. It was now packed in her carry-on bag. “We could have some—if you’re hungry, that is.”

“I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I don’t really like Christmas cake.”

“Sorry, what?” Who didn’t like Christmas cake?

“It’s just too dry and crumbly and it always tastes like it’s been out of date for, like, I dunno, a millennium.”

“Mum’s cake isn’t like that. It’s homemade and it’s wonderful.” Lucy caught the slight edge in her voice and lightened her tone. “Not to worry, more for me.” She just knew he’d think differently if he tried some. She turned in her seat and unzipped her carry-on, rummaging about for the cake.

“I’ve insulted you.”

“No. Honestly, you haven’t.” She pulled out the dense bounty and even though it was tightly wrapped, the smell of spices and sherry started filling the car.

“Well, then I’ve insulted your mom … Hold on, is that it, that smell?”

She sat the cake on her lap and carefully started peeling back the layers of foil. “Uh, yes,” she said nonchalantly. “Look.” The cake sat in its bed of foil, the snowy white fondant perfectly smooth.