Richard bursts out laughing. “But people-puppies are never as cute as the real thing? Is that it, Kirstie?”
“Um…” I mumble. “Something like that.”
My embarrassment is interrupted by James returning, carrying a huge tray. He sets it down on the coffee table. “Help yourselves, folks.”
“Shall I be Mother?” Richard shoos off Scruffy, resting a hopeful snout on the edge of the table, then takes a knife to what looks like a large panettone loaf, snowy with powdered sugar. Examining a slice, he takes a sniff. “Smells good.”
James flashes him a smile. “Always one of my favourite Christmas treats when I was a boy.” Then, taking the poker from the ashes, he plunges it into a jug.
Steam hisses and deep red bubbles froth up, carrying with them the fragrance of cinnamon, cloves and oranges. James
