She takes one of the trees from the truck bed. I put one on my shoulder, and Garrett grabs the last two. We circle away from the light and noise at the front of the house, to her back deck. She has four tree stands waiting.
“So this wasn’t a complete ruse to get my sister to come back?” I ask.
Dani winces. “No, of course not. This is a secret, but I’m pregnant again. This is how we’re going to tell our families tomorrow.”
“Oh myGosh, Dani!” I jump up and down, so excited for her. “That’s amazing news. How far along are you?”
“Twelve weeks. It’s a little unexpected.” Her cheeksturn pink. “We spaced the first three kids out much better than this.”
“It’ll be all right,” I promise her. “I’m so happy to be in on the secret!”
“You can tell your parents,” she says. “How are they?”
“They’re good. Busy with the farm, you know. How are yours?”
“Enjoying retirement.” She rolls her eyes. “I wish we could make them talk.”
I groan. “I know.”
Then a child comes running, looking for his mom.
“I thought we could talk more,” she says apologetically. “Are we doing diner lunch on the 26th?”
When I started my residency, and the Christmas break got squished down to a few days, we started carving out a dedicated Cousin Lunch where most of the Minelli cousins and the Kincaid cousins all descend on Mac’s Diner—sans parents who don’t speak to each other. And also without kids. “Of course we are. I’ll make sure Cassie is there, too. See you in a couple days!”
Garrett says his congratulations to Dani as she’s dragged away, then we’re alone in her backyard.
“Wow, four kids,” he says under his breath. Then he rubs his jaw and gestures. “Let’s get back, I guess.”
Regret slices through me. Followed by deep, frustrated jealousy that at some point, Garrett’s going to meet a girl who wants to pop out baby after baby for him.
It’s not that I don’t want kids. I do. Theoretically, in the future. I’ve always wanted them…later. And now I’m thirty years old and my cousin who is only five years older than me has herfourthon the way and I’m eight months out of a breakup with the only guy I could imagine spawning the next generation of neurotic Minelli girls with. Or Minelli-Kincaid girls. Or just Kincaid girls, because they don’t have enough girls on that side of the family, and my mom’s side is nothing but girls all the way back, so I’d probably?—
“Hang on.” Garrett catches me by the arm, spinning me around just before I reach the front of the house and all the lit up displays and the busybody neighbours checking it out.
All the breath whooshes out of me as I collide with his hard chest.
He wraps one of his arms around my back, bending me into the glow of the Christmas lights as he gently plucks at my hair with his free hand. “You’ve got some pine needles...here.”
I stare up at him.
Even through our winter coats, I can feel the steel of his muscles banding around me, holding me tight.
He’s letting his usually close-cropped beard thicken, like he always has over the holidays, and his blue-green eyes are glittering with intense focus as he de-Christmases my hair.
I’m sorry, I want to say, but the words don’t come out. This isn’t the time or the place.
“There you go,” he murmurs.
Then his gaze flicks to meet mine. Heat flares low in my belly. A different kind of awareness than our dirty talk in the truck. This is way more dangerous. His eyes darken, his brows furrowing into a frown, but the moment doesn’t break, it only intensifies. And there’s a flare of something that makes me lightheaded. Slowly, his attention slides from my eyes to my mouth.
His hand slides out of my hair and along my jaw.
His thumb brushes at the corner of my mouth, then drops to catch me under the chin, holding my face up, as if he’s afraid I’ll look away and break this connection.
I should.
But I don’t want to.
