In an effort to have a holiday that he could spend with Daisy, DI Alec Hardy had decided that he would begin to celebrate Thanksgiving. Even if it wasn't really a part of his country's history as much as that of the United States, he could still appreciate the sentiment. Giving thanks for your blessings while surrounded by people you loved and plenty of food to go around. It was a good holiday. Mostly.

And after all, didn't he have a lot to be thankful for? The Sandbrook murders were solved, after all. Daisy no longer hated his guts. He had a functioning pacemaker that hadn't killed him when it was installed. Overall, things were pretty okay! Good, if he was feeling generous.

For your part, you harbored your own love of Thanksgiving for much the same reasons. Food, family, and a celebration of all those good things in your life. Also, sometimes the arguments over politics and religion and all of those other things could be entertaining if you were tipsy.

As the holiday approached, you found yourself wondering about your DI, unsure if he was doing anything for the holiday, considering it wasn't so widely celebrated in Broadchurch. Watching him microwave his cold tea... Yeah. No. This man should not be left alone for Thanksgiving. Could he even cook semi-decently, or was he as terrible with food as with tea? Making up your mind to ensure he wasn't alone for the day, you wrote out a quick little card inviting him over to celebrate, stuck it into an envelope, and waltzed into his office at the first opportunity to give it to him.

"What's this?" Hardy sat behind his desk, staring at the little envelope in your hand like it was a ticking time bomb that would explode five seconds after he touched it, covering him with tar and turkey feathers. "Is someone retirin' an' the card's goin' around?"