Page 72 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

There’s a short, heavy silence, and then the sound of Phoebe and Nico dissolving into laughter.

Phoebe appears first, her freshly washed face all pink and glowing, her pyjamas covered in pictures of donuts and slices of pizza. ‘Table linens,’ she says in what I assume is supposed to be an impression of my accent. She sounds like Lady Bracknell.

‘I forget, Phoebe,’ Nico comes up behind her, with Taco trotting alongside, ‘where did we put the table linens? Was it in the larder with the decanters and the finest porcelain?’

My hands are on my hips. ‘You’re telling me you don’t even have napkins? How am I supposed to create a charming tablescape in these conditions?’

‘Tablescape,’ Nico’s lips quirk.

‘No, wait, we do have napkins,’ Phoebe says, and she starts rummaging around in the kitchen drawers before emerging with a triumphant yelp. In her hand she clutches a crumpled packet of paper napkins printed with tiny unicorns. ‘They’re from my birthday party last year,’ she explains.

Nico chokes on a laugh, but I shoot him a glare. ‘Perfect, thank you, Phoebe. Now, let me show you how to fold them into the shape of a rose.’

‘A rose?’ Phoebe wrinkles her nose. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. And Nico, you can get the nice wine glasses down. I know you have those – I saw them in a box at the back of the cupboard.’

Phoebe settles down beside me at the table and I show her how to fold the napkins.

‘How did you learn how to do this?’ Phoebe asks, her brow creased in concentration.

‘My gran taught me.’ I run my fingers over the purple unicorns. ‘She’s good at making things special.’

‘My napkin doesn’t look right,’ she grumbles, and I lean over, smoothing out some of her corners.

‘Looks great to me.’ I twist the paper flower this way and that for her to admire.

‘What else does your gran do to make things special?’ Phoebe is interested.

‘Um, she always makes me the best birthday cakes. Even now that I’m a grown up.’ I pull out my phone and flip through my photographs until I get to this year’s offering, which was shaped like a high-heeled shoe. ‘When I was your age she’d sometimes take me out of school for the afternoon and we’d put on our best dresses and lots of her jewellery and go for tea at the Ritz.’

‘What’s the Ritz?’ Phoebe asks, intrigued.

‘It’s a fancy hotel in London.’

‘So she taught you how to do this stuff?’ Phoebe gestures at the napkins, at the pitcher that I filled with slender branches of autumn foliage from the garden, the white tea light candles that I unearthed in the back of a cupboard and dropped inside empty jam jars. It looks pretty. Festive.

‘She taught me how to do just about everything,’ I admit.

‘Remember that time she built you a den in your bedroom?’ Nico smiles. ‘It was epic.’

‘What kind of den?’ Phoebe asks.

‘She made it out of all these vintage tablecloths, stitched together like a circus tent,’ I say. ‘It had fairy lights in and silver stars hanging from the roof. I loved it.’

‘I think I need a den like that,’ Phoebe muses.

‘With your dad’s skills you should go full tree house.’

Nico runs a hand over his face as Phoebe visibly brightens.

‘That’s a great plan,’ she says admiringly.

There’s a knock at the door and as Phoebe runs to answer it, Nico turns to me. ‘You think you’re so clever.’

‘Hey, you’re the handy one!’ I laugh. ‘You can singlehandedly build an entire inn, I think you can stretch to a teeny little tree house. You live in the woods!’

‘I already told you, I didn’t build it singlehandedly.’ He reaches up and tugs teasingly on my hair. ‘I’m going to teach you how to use a hammer properly, then you can build Phoebe a tree house. I can already tell you she’ll be a nightmare client.’