Grady was checking paint stocks, pencil in hand. He straightened with a blazing grin and outstretched arms. Laurel met him halfway across the cold concrete floor and slid against him for an enormous, fierce, wordless hug. His stubble tickled as it brushed her hairline.

He pressed soft kisses on her chilly skin. ‘Sorry I already had plans with Mac tonight. I want to know what’s going on with Tonya …’ He broke off uncertainly.

She hugged him harder, though her stomach took a tumble at this reminder of the trouble caused by Tonya catching Laurel with Mac’s letter. ‘He’s your brother and you want to support him.’ With an effort, she added, ‘And mend bridges. I want what’s best for you.’ She wondered whether that would ever be her. Or was that crying for the moon? Instead of voicing such misgivings, she murmured, ‘Sorry I freaked on you last night. I won’t be like that next time.’

He sighed hotly down her neck and she felt him relax. ‘That there’s going to be a next time is all I need to know.’ Then he kissed her properly, deeply, pulling her up on her tiptoes so that they both almost overbalanced.

When he let her up for air, she laughed. ‘I’ve just realised I must smell of horse.’

He settled his hands comfortably on her bottom. ‘Doesn’t matter. Though …’ He winked. ‘I’m quite partial to sharing a shower, if you feel the need to clean up.’

‘Mm,’ she said, pulling his head down for another kiss. ‘I do have a Christmas tree to decorate but it’s a way to save hot water.’

He broke the embrace to reach out for his keys. ‘Not the way I do it.’

At The Three Fishes, the Christmas grotto look was in full shimmer and the staff members were wearing Santa hats. The pillars around the bar were studded with notices about the Christmas raffle, carol singing and the Christmas lunch. A couple of noisy groups in the dining area cheered as their crackers snapped and the reflections in their wine glasses only increased the mass bling effect.

Mac was waiting at a small table in the corner near the darts board, two pints of beer before him. Grady had manoeuvred around the cluster of darts players to reach him, and Mac shoved one beer in his direction as Grady took the vacant seat. This particular table was usually considered part of the darts area and utilised by those not currently in a match but at least a darts match in full swing created a wall of sound between the brothers and the rest of the pub.

Mac’s jaw looked tight and one of his knees jiggled. ‘How’s everything with you?’ he enquired woodenly.

Grady took a few mouthfuls of beer. It was rich and cold, the taste lingering on his tongue. ‘Mixed,’ he said, eventually.