T he main dining room at Briscombe Hall seated twenty people. Comfortably. We never used it as a family, preferring to crowd around the little round table in center of the kitchen. Being in the great hall always put me in mind of Christmases with barely familiar relatives sitting stiffly at the table. The stuffy ones who all wanted to pinch my cheeks while I sweated in my velvet dresses and tried to straighten the satin bow that always slid out of my hair .

When I got older, my mom would let me retreat after dessert was served. I'd immediately head back to my sketchpad, which even back then I never was without. I have many years' worth of sketches of the Christmas tree in the great room, with our presents all laid out to tempt me, sketched out of boredom while my distant relations droned on around that table .

I didn't much care for the main dining room. But tonight was different. Tonight the normally stuffy, off-limits room was being pressed into service to feed the lads .

"Pass the potatoes, you fuck," Jules hissed at Ewan .

"Fuck off, I'm talking to C! Get them yourself ."

"You're such a cunt." Jules stood up and grabbed at the serving dish. "Ah! Son of a twatting twat !"

"Oh my god, did you just grab that without a mitt?" August asked in exasperation. "Serves you right for getting burned." Then her face fell. "Does it hurt?" she murmured, dipping her napkin in her water glass to dab at his palms .

"And this is Mr. Penrose!" Ewan shouted, holding out his phone so CeCe on video could see around the table. "See how he's a handsome, dashing sort? Must have been quite a shock when his only son turned out to have the face of a prat, yeah ?"

Celia's tinny, shocked laughter rang out from the speaker. My brother looked like he'd swallowed his tongue. My mother's dazed smile was pasted on her face, and I imagined her brain must have been short circuiting from all the bad language used at once .

But my dad just roared. "It'll be so nice to finally meet you, Celia," he said, leaning in to address the screen directly. "I do hope you ladies can keep this lot in line ."

"We try," Reese piped up as Niall leaned over to kiss her. "I mean, the day we met I - "

"Literally saved my life," Niall finished, kissing her hand. "My guardian angel ."

"You saved his life so you could kill him yourself later on, right?" I piped up, reaching for the wine bottle .

"That's right. Nothing gets to murder Niall except me," she cooed, tapping the end of his nose .

I clapped my hands together. "Bravo. I like you Reese, you know that right ?"

My future sister in law grinned. "I like you too, Tally ."

I nodded my thanks and took a sip of the wine I'd just poured. I did like Reese. I liked her toughness and I admired the story of how they'd met - how she'd tackled Niall to the ground before he was crushed by a falling stage light. She intimidated me a little, and I couldn't shake the feeling that she thought I was slightly ridiculous. A bit too spoiled. She'd grown up tough and grown up fast, while I still had this family and this house to fall back on if things ever went tits up for me .

Like I said. I was lucky .

"Pass the roast, please?" Hudson drawled, interrupting my thoughts .

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Without looking at him, I reached over and speared a slice of meat and flung it on to his outstretched plate. "Here ."

"Thank you," he said. Unruffled. Unfailingly polite .

Under the table, I clenched my fist. He'd pissed me right off with that stunt about my sketchbook. But instead of grabbing it and rushing off in a huff like I'd wanted, I'd stayed and talked with him. Flirted with him? No, that was too dangerous to consider, but I had enjoyed letting him tease me about the sketch I'd done, and I'd definitely enjoyed his frustration when I wouldn't let him see it .

Do you see anything in me ?

His question rattled around in my brain for no good reason. I mean, I did, of course. That's why I'd fucked up and kissed him in the first place back when I was in the States visiting Niall. But it had been a mistake. Hudson Grant was definitely not my type. Now that I'd seen him again after a year, I was reminded of this quite forcefully .

He was wholly the opposite of the bespectacled poets I usually went in for. I enjoyed dating wispy guys who liked to incorporate the color of my eyes into their latest sonnets. I enjoyed men who listened to me with a worshipful expression on their face. I especially liked it when they wore that expression while I told them what to do and who to do it with .

Yeah, some guys had called me a ball buster. A few more had accused me of emasculating them .

But there can only be one person running the show. And I liked it to be me .

No. Hudson was too ...

Too much .

He had this big, broad body that he slung around, taking up way more space than he deserved. He splayed out his legs under the table, so that my thigh kept touching his, no matter how many times I shifted in my chair. His eyes were way too blue, his smile was way too white. His blond hair, longer the last time I'd seen him, was now chopped short and styled in a sharp undercut that made his jaw too jutting and angled. His hands were too big, his biceps were too big, his smile was too knowing, and also...too big .

No. Not my type. But I wasn't blind. For a certain kind of girl, he probably ticked off all the boxes of aggressive masculinity. For the kind of girl who wanted to lose herself in a man, he was the exact right type of man to get lost in .

His laughter was usually big too, big and booming, and easy to come by. But tonight he seemed quieter. "You tired?" I asked him suddenly .

He glanced up from his plate. "Jet-lag," he sighed, not really looking me in the eye .

I shifted for a second. I wanted to draw out that crinkled smile, get him to throw back his head and make the muscles in his neck flare out as he laughed. Ever since I'd sketched him, I'd been noticing signs of his underlying tension. Tension he clearly wanted to keep hidden. It would have made me feel a lot less ill at ease if he'd only pretend a little harder to look relaxed. "You should be used to it by now, right?" I asked. "Being tired ?"

He set his fork down. "Mrs. Penrose, I've got that," he suddenly called across the table .

My mother was gathering plates in her hands, playing hostess, and looked at Hudson with no small amount of surprise. "Really Hudson, it's not trouble ."

"I hate feeling like a freeloader," he explained with a grin, sliding his chair back and throwing down his napkin. "I'll clear the table." He looked down at me. "Will you excuse me please, Tallula ?"

"Uh, sure," I stammered, completely baffled .

He nodded and loped to the kitchen. And everything seemed normal. The lads resumed giving Niall shit and I picked at my roast, trying not to think about the tension I'd seen in Hudson's walk. The way he was trying to look like he wasn't rushing away from me. But he absolutely was .

His voice floated out from the kitchen, freer now, his laughter the same kind of twangy music that filled the blue albums my brother had listened to over and over in his bedroom growing up. It sounded just like a home I'd never even seen, but still somehow missed terribly .

Hudson was definitely too much. And a week spent this close to him was going to be way, way too long .