By late afternoon, the pale northern sunlight gives way to a deep, bruised twilight, painting the snow-dusted coastline in rich shades of navy and plum.
Evelyn has prepared slow-roasted ham glazed with dark maple and clove, creamy garlic mashed potatoes, buttery roasted root vegetables seasoned with fresh rosemary, and freshly baked sourdough rolls coming out of the oven in golden, steaming batches.
Locke has abandoned his long sleeves for one of his tight black t-shirts that hugs the broad, intimidating expanse of his chest and shoulders.
He handles heavy iron roasting pans without bothering with oven mitts, carves the ham into thick, juicy slices with a massive carving knife, and keeps the living room fireplace fed with thick logs of split birch until the entire ground floor is bathed
