Rhys was standing behind the tent, talking to some unfamiliar man, both of them throwing pensive looks at a some sort of a complicated machine, which Viola assumed was a generator of sorts. A large corrugated tube led from the generator into the tent, probably heating up the air inside. Viola stopped a few feet away from them. Rhys looked her way, and she smiled at him. His eyebrows jumped up in surprise, and then he turned and said something quietly to the other man, who glanced at Viola. She gave him a polite smile.

"I don't think there's going to be any barney here," the man said, clapped his hand to Rhys' upper arm, and started walking away, with a respectful 'Dr. Holyoake' and a nod to Viola.

She stepped closer to Rhys. He looked exhausted, dark shadows lying under his eyes.

"Hi," he said. "We were just checking the–"

He didn't get to finish, because she pressed herself into him, pushing her hands around his middle, under his arms. His hands flew up, and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

"Vi?" he muttered.

"Shush," she said. "You need a hug."

He embraced her back, and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

"I do," he said quietly.

"Good. That's what I'm here for," she said.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, and then she felt him move his hand higher, onto her nape, and then his fingers tangled into her hair, slightly shifting her hat.

"You can tell me if something happens," she said firmly, and he jolted. "You can come for help and ask for what you need," she continued. "If I'm not comfortable or struggling with my own issues, I'll tell you. But, Rhys?" She slightly moved away from him and looked him in the eyes. "Like you said, we are family. However our dating goes this time, we aren't strangers. And you coming to me for help isn't going to push me away."

"You said it was challenging," he muttered stubbornly, taking a small step away from her. "And at the karaoke night–"

He stopped, and Viola gave him an expectant look. "What about the karaoke night?"

"I know we joked about it, but going out, say, with Fenton doesn't involve buggering about with family problems," he said and looked under his feet.

"They are my family as well," Viola said. "And besides, I'm not talking about discussing Sam's problems with me. That - you shouldn't do at all. If he wants to include anyone in them, it's his choice. What I'm talking about is you." Viola patted his chest with her open palm. "You had a rough night, and you can ring me up and tell me about it."

He looked at her, uneasiness splashing in his eyes.

"I wanted to," he said. "But it's just the same thing again. And I–"

"You never talked to me about your parents, Rhys," Viola said softly, and he frowned. "You never said how hard it was, how painful," she continued. "You just sat there, and I never knew if you needed me near, or I was imposing and making it worse. You close off, and you don't talk. And you wouldn't talk for days, and–"

"I did need you there," he interrupted. "Vi, of course I did! You were the only thing that made sense at the time. And I needed you yesterday, but–"

"But what?" she asked.

"I just didn't want you to see that," he said and shook his head. A heavy silky curl bobbed in front of his face, and he pushed his hand into his hair and raked it away from his face. "I shouldn't have insistent on Sam coming out with us, and–"

"Sam is an adult," Viola said and grabbed Rhys' hand. "Do you hear me? Sure, I understand you feel guilty for barging in, and giving Semra a job, which potentially wasn't ideal for her, but you didn't drag Sam to the pub, and you didn't create whatever mess they have in their marriage. Don't overestimate your influence," she joked and gave his hand a small shake. Even through her mitten she could feel the warmth. "You have plenty of flaws– Heaven, so many flaws!" she said, and saw his lips twitch. "But thankfully, you aren't omnipotent and omniscient, love," she said.

"Meaning?" he asked, his voice growing warmer and livelier now.

"You don't know everything, and you can do only that much," Viola said. "Which is a good thing, considering how intolerable you'd be if you could control everything. Your head is already too big. Now, stop sulking, remind Sam that you're here for him, but also you aren't a scapegoat and his punching bag, when he needs to work through his problems. And have dinner with me," she added and stepped closer to him again.

"It's the bonfire tonight," he murmured and looked down at her lips.

"Monday?" she said. "Tomorrow is the Dance."

"Monday," he agreed - and started leaning.

Viola held her breath, suddenly a bit nervous. Earlier that day, she'd already had one disappointing kiss.

"Rhys, where are–" a male voice came from behind Viola, and she looked over her shoulder. The voice's owner, one of Rhys' crew, turned the corner of the tent, and dug his heels into the snow. "Pardon, I–"

"I'll leave you to it," Viola said, well-aware she was being a coward.

Rhys threw her a disgruntled look, and then scowled at his man. Viola patted his chest.

"Good luck with the bake," she said. "I'll be watching you make a complete idiot of yourself."

He gave her another - this time perfectly fake - glare. She laughed, turned around, and went to look for a spot to watch the bake from.

***

Three-tiered benches were brought in and placed near three sides of the tent, leaving plenty of standing space between the sectors for those who didn't fit on them. Viola looked around, trying to find a spot on the already crowded benches, and she saw Mable wave to her. There was an empty seat between her and Clem. Viola joined them, greeting them, and wrapping in the blanket John handed to her.

The bake was indeed a disaster - and of the best kind. Miss Rosa - the person responsible for assigning the recipe, supervising the bake, and later, placing the final judgement on the result - was especially cruel this year. Watching the participants struggle with their strawberry meringue roulades was most entertaining! There were over a dozen families participating, each was assigned a table, and the ingredients were lined up on it. Three tables in the centre of the tent were left for Miss Rosa's main victims and the crown spectacle of the day - the three single men who were supposed to create their pudding solo. After a flamboyant and gleeful announcement from Miss Rosa and a short, well-written speech from the Mayor of Fleckney Woulds, the participants stepped to the tables.

"Oh, this is going to be fun!" Fiona said, having joined them a few minutes earlier. "I know Rhys can't bake for the life of him. What about James?"

"He once told me he burnt an egg," Snezha, who was sitting in front of them, said over her shoulder. "He was boiling it."

"Perfect!" Fiona rubbed her hands, covered with fluffy wool mittens, and Viola chuckled.

"What about Frank Harris?" John asked, craning his neck.

At that moment James dropped the bowl with the caster sugar he'd just measured, and started coughing and waving his hands in the air, chasing away the white cloud.

"Frank's mother is a wizard in the kitchen," Mable said. "She used to do the baking for all parish committee meetings, so perhaps she passed her talent down to– Oh no, nevermind," Mable said and burst into laughter, watching Frank crack an egg and drop it together with the shells into his mixing bowl.

"I can't decide whether Rhys is trying to hull those strawberries, or mash them into a puree," Clem said pensively.

"That's why I leave making pudding to you, darling," John said with a laugh. "It's a whole different level of skill from cooking."

"The Onyangos are doing so well, though!" Fiona exclaimed, and pointed at a family of four, working as a team.

Viola saw Dr. Onyango, the local optometrist, help her son to hold the whisk, and they both laughed when the cream from their bowl splashed at them.

"They are! And look, the Maliks and the Petrovs are not far behind!" Clem said. "They're already baking their sponges. Mr. Watanabe is doing so well too! Look at his meringue! So stiff!"

"Clem used to work at and co-own a pâtisserie," John said to Viola, with pride in his voice, and she threw Clementine an admiring look.

Viola couldn't cook or bake. She simply never had the time to learn - and in the last twelve years, any desire to, either.

"Oh no, I think Rhys might have– Yep, he's burnt his meringue," Fiona said mournfully. "Oh that's not going to taste good."

"It doesn't look good either," Will supplied his first line since they'd arrived, and Viola snorted.

"And it's supposed to go outside his sponge, not inside," Clem said, half standing to see better.

"I think that's not his main problem. Or James' or Frank's, to think of it," Fiona said snickering. "Just watch them try to roll it. And here we go. Oh, this looks like a–" Fiona scrunched her nose.

"A murder scene," Viola blurted out, her eyes on what would never become a roulade, in Rhys' hands.

The Holyoakes rolled with laughter, and Snezha looked back at Viola and gave her a grin.

"Maybe he needs a wife to cook for him," the nurse said to Viola and winked.

"Maybe," Viola agreed, leaned to the nurse, and whispered, "Just teach James to boil an egg after all, so he can make you breakfast."

Snezha made a funny 'pfft' noise and returned her gaze to the tent. Her ears were pink.

"Just look at the Ocampos! Their roulade is gorgeous!" Clem appraised with professional expertise. "Just the perfect ratio of sponge to meringue."

Miss Rosa stepped to the microphone and announced a five minute warning. By then, James had given up and was snacking on his broken meringue. Viola wondered if she was currently looking at a future patient with Salmonella. Frank was still trying to scoop the filling back into his half-raw sponge. Rhys had wandered away from his table and was chatting with two little boys at the next table. The Mendoza twins, Akira and Hernando, were telling him something, gesturing excitedly, one of them biting big pieces of a large strawberry. Their Mother was a patient of Viola's, and the latter had met the boys.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the bake, and the roulades were carried away and arranged on the judges' table. Miss Rosa; Edith Sparrow, the owner of Cornflower & Sparrow, the second best bakery in town; and Father Peter from All Saints Catholic Church started their evaluation, while the participants stepped back to their tables. Members of the audience flooded the tent, everyone chatting and laughing - and Viola rose. The Holyoakes all stared at her in surprise, but she decisively walked down the stands and into the tent.

Rhys was standing near his table, laughing at something Mrs. Tomlin was telling him, and then he noticed Viola. A warm smile lit up his face, and Mrs. Tomlin waved to Viola and stepped aside to greet the Mendozas.

Viola walked faster and faster, each next step bouncier than the previous, her heart fluttering, and some sort of joyous anticipation making her whole body feel light and tingly - and then she came to a stop in front of him, and looked up, and smiled. His eyes widened - and she could see he hadn't forgotten her tells.

His large scorching palm lay on her jaw, the callouses pleasant against her skin, and she smiled wider - agreeing and inviting - and he leaned to her lips. He tilted her head back, his thumb under her chin, his long index finger on her cheekbone, and she rose on tiptoes.

And then there was no tent, no people around, no Fleckney Woulds. There was nothing in the world - just Rhys.