Tessa
My parents’house smells like cocoa, eggnog, and freshly baked sugar cookies, the living room glowing with soft lamplight and a fire that’s been burning since noon. Bing Crosby croons lines about being home for Christmas in the background, and I swear there’s enough tinsel on the tree to blind a person.
Nathan looks wildly uncomfortable—everyone my mom invited for Christmas Eve dinner wants to talk to him.Friendswant to catch up with the man who doesn’t usually do private social events like this.Neighborswant to fawn over their town hero … and try to coax a little gossip aboutourlove lives out of him.
My mom keeps introducing him like he’s a celebrity, which only makes it worse.
By the time my aunts descend on him, he’s holding a plate of gingerbread in one hand and a mug of spiked egg nog in the other, listening politely as Aunt June asks if he’s “ever considered running for mayor.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No ma’am. I happen to think Charlie is doing a great job. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, I suppose you’re right,” she gives him a flirty smile.
He laughs, the sound low and genuine, and I watch the edges of his discomfort start to melt. He’s too grounded not to fit in—quiet charm, steady smile, the kind of presence that settles a room instead of commanding it. Within twenty minutes, he’s got my cousins swapping fishing stories with him like they’ve known him forever.
Then Dad corners him near the fireplace, and my stomach drops. I hold my breath and scoot closer to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“So, Nathan,” Dad begins. “You still play poker with the guys from the football team?”
“Every other Thursday,” Nathan says easily, leaning one shoulder against the mantle. “Though I think they’re about ready to ban me after the last hand I pulled.”
Dad’s mouth quirks. “Still cheat?”
Nathan grins, that dangerous kind that melts my panties right off. “Only when it matters.”
Dad snorts, shaking his head. “Well, as long as my daughter’s not part of your poker pot, we’ll call it even.”
“Sir,” Nathan says with mock solemnity. “I’d never gamble with something I couldn’t afford to lose.”
The cheesy line lands perfectly. Dad’s eyes narrow, then soften, and just like that, the tension between them breaks.
Mom swoops in at that exact moment with a tray of peppermint bark. “Good heavens, Jack. Are you interrogating the poor man again?”
“Just doing my due diligence,” Dad mutters.
Nathan laughs, that deep, easy sound that I swear vibrates through my bones. “No harm done. I’m used to background checks.”
Mom pats his arm. “Oh, I bet you are, Chief. Now, tell me—do you prefer shortbread or ginger molasses cookies?”
“Depends,” he says, glancing at me with a smirk. “Which one does Tessa like?”
Mom practically beams, and I hide my face behind my oversized mug of hot chocolate.
When it’s time for Mom’s famous Christmas Eve meal, Nathan is seated between Aunt June and Uncle Tom, helping refill wine glasses and telling stories about the first snowstorm he ever worked as Chief. My dad’s laughing, my mom’s glowing, and my heart is doing this ridiculous, fluttering thing I can’t seem to control.
I thought introducing him to my entire family would feel fraught with tension—like the moment they saw him, they’d start counting the years between us. Judging and trying to convince me to stay away. Instead, having Nathan here feels…right. Natural.
Watching him surrounded by the people who made me who I am, it’s clear that he doesn’t just fit into my life—he’s quietly, effortlessly become a part of it in only a few weeks’ time.
After dessert, we slip out onto the porch. Snow drifts lazily through the night.
He leans on the railing, breath fogging the air. “You really told your whole family about us.”
“Better now than when they spot your truck in my parents’ driveway when they’re not home.”
He chuckles, then grows quiet for a beat. “You sure about this, Tessa? Small-town life, my schedule, the gossip…it’s not always easy.”
I step closer, tucking my hands into his jacket. “I don’t want easy. I want real. And I’m done chasing anything that isn’t.”
