“Thanks, Jackalope.” I give him an aw-shucks punch on the arm. Gemma rolls her eyes.
“That’s not an actual thing, you know.” He pops the top on his beer, and I’m so far gone at this point, I watch the bulge of his lean biceps even during this most minuscule of flexing.
“Literally couldn’t care less.” Reaching over him to the appetizer tray, I grab a cracker and pop it in my mouth.
The doorbell rings a second later, and we usher in the Robertsfamily plus Nick, taking coats and pouring drinks and getting everyone situated. The men naturally gravitate toward the TV, where Jack hands off the remote to Nick. They all settle into the couch and armchairs around the coffee table, where an additional appetizer plate sits ready with snacks.
Gemma and Mrs. Roberts huddle in the kitchen, going over timing and temperatures and probably solving world hunger between the two of them while they’re at it. Harley and I hop onto the bar stools at the kitchen peninsula, the perfect place to observe both groups and have easy access to the charcuterie.
“Sooooooo.” I nudge her with my elbow. “First major holiday as a couple. How’s it going?”
Harley rolls her eyes, but a slow smile also spreads across her face. “It’s not like this is the first time Nick and I have spent Thanksgiving together.”
“No, but it’s the first time since you fell in looooooovvvvee.” Seriously, it’s a wonder I have any friends at all.
“God, I can’t wait for you and Jack to finally get it together. You’re so going to get what’s coming to you.” Harley grabs a bottle of wine from the bucket, pouring herself a glass before topping mine off.
I sigh. “I should probably get some kind of reward for how patient and noble I’ve been.”
Harley snorts into her wineglass. “One, you and patient are not a thing together. Two, youwillget a reward.”
I look at her questioningly, my eyebrows raised.
“Jack’s the reward.” She flicks me on the forehead, and I forgot how much that hurts.
“You’re such a sap now that you’re in loooooovvvvve.”
She laughs and pushes me, almost knocking me off the stool. “Talk to me in another month. You’ll see.”
My gaze wanders over to the menfolk, lounging around in the living room. Jack meets my eyes, giving me a cute little wink and an adorable grin. Which causes me to also grin, probably adorably.
Harley catches me and chuckles. “Scratch that, talk to me tomorrow and you’ll see.”
An hour later, everyone files into their assigned seats and the bonanza begins. Platters are passed, wineglasses filled, meat carved. Once our plates are loaded to the brim, the four of us regulars turn our attention to Mrs. Roberts, who leads us in a quick prayer. Most of us don’t really go for the whole religion thing, but we also know it’s important to the Robertses, so we go with it.
And then for a couple of minutes, there’s nothing but the clatter of utensils on plates, peppered with an occasional “Mmmmm.” Because damn, Gem can cook.
Mr. Roberts finally breaks the silence. “Gemma, you’ve outdone yourself. Everything is delicious.”
We all murmur our agreements around mouths full of food, not willing to stop eating in order to compliment the chef. Which in itself is a compliment to the chef. The frenzied eating starts to slow down not long after, as we all shift to savoring the tempting morsels left on our plates rather than tasting each new bite of deliciousness as quickly as humanly possible.
“I think it’s time,” Mrs. Roberts says a few minutes later.
We all groan, knowing what’s coming and pretending to hate iteven though it’s my favorite part of Thanksgiving. Aside from the mac and cheese.
Harley sits up a little straighter in her seat. “I’ll start. Mine’s easy this year.” She turns to Nick, and the smile they share almost makes me want to puke up everything I just ate. “I’m so thankful for you, Nick. Thank you for loving me, and for letting me love you.”
We shower them in a chorus of “Awwwwww,” and Nick actually blushes.
“Can I just say ditto?” Nick asks after leaning over and planting a kiss on Harley that has her dad squirming in his seat.
“Yes, because I might throw up if I have to hear any more from the two of you.” Gemma rips off a chunk of her roll and throws it at Nick, who happily picks it up and eats it.
“My turn,” Mrs. Roberts volunteers. “I’m so thankful for my lovely daughter, and I’m so thankful she ended up stuck with all of you. And I’m thankful you continue to let the old folks hang out with you all, year after year.”
Mr. Roberts clears his throat.
“Oh, and I’m thankful for my husband. Of course.” She flashes him a blinding smile.
