Page 122 of Go Back to December

“Never,” I say solemnly. “I think Badger’s already decided. Last night he offered me a job on his team.”

“After what you showed him in the documentary, I’m not surprised. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to vote out the café. Especially once he’s heard our plan.”

“What happens if they vote us both out?”

“We’ll run away to Paris.”

I groan, but he presses a kiss to my lips that’s soft and reassuring.

“We’ll work it out, Mel,” he whispers. “Together.”

A withering honk summons me from the igloo.

Mark is the sole occupant of the golf cart. He grins as he takes my overnight bag. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.” I shove the cock bag at him. “Subliminal messaging?”

He chuckles. “I wondered if you’d get the joke. Come on, everyone’s already at the restaurant. Baz will meet us when he’s finished with this latest work emergency.”

“Thanks for retrieving me.”

“I volunteered.”

It seems Baz and I aren’t the only ones who appreciate some space from Clan Johnson.

“Well, thank you for volunteering. And for last night.”

He glances back at the igloo. “Pretty incredible.”

“Pretty spectacular. When do you guys get a chance for a night?”

Mark smiles sheepishly. Apparently, they’ve already enjoyed one.

We pull into the designated parking spot at the restaurant, and Mark lifts my bag out of the cart, saying we can check it with our coats inside.

It’s approaching the ten o’clock hour, but the place is already bursting with cashmere and fleece and all-inclusive holiday privilege. Sunlight reflects off the snow, splintering the room with bright light unappreciated by those who cashed in too many chips at the champagne stroll.

There are tables and tables of food, along with a carvery, two chefs making omelets and one whose sole job is pumping out waffles from an iron. It is a breakfast of champions, and Baz won’t be able to find fault with what’s on offer.

A week ago, I would have fled, screaming, in the opposite direction of a Money Honey holiday buffet. I would have battled my weakness for the scent of sugar in the air and the delight of someone pouring me hot coffee for a change, because I would have reminded myself it was an indulgence. One I haven’t earned, and part of a world I don’t belong to.

But there are distinct advantages to understanding how to navigate Money Honeyville. It’s a big part of Baz’s life, and I’ve fallen for all of Baz’s parts, so I’ll have to reconcile it.

Mark weaves us past the crowd toward a white cloth-covered table where Sofia sits. A server is impatiently saying something about a complete party and service, and she is ignoring him with Baz’s Bad Bastard annoyance painted on her face.

Her displeasure fades when we arrive, and she kisses our cheeks. “Peter’s coming later with Oscar. They already had pancakes this morning. Annabel and Luiza are at the buffet.”

Mark takes off at warp speed to join them.

Sofia orders coffee and mimosas. With a twinkle in her eye, she asks, “Did you enjoy the fireworks?”

Cheeks aflame, I nod and drain a glass of cold water, before swapping it quickly for a scalding latte.

“Do you want to grab some breakfast?” I quickly switch topics. “I’ll wait for Baz.”

“Is he still in the shower? That boy is a peacock.”

I don’t disagree with her. Nor do I elaborate on the shower we shared this morning. The tiny cubicle barely accommodated both of us, but Baz insisted we were conserving water. “He had to talk to a colleague this morning. Something pressing with work.”