“You’ve already had turkey and all this food?”
“Yes, but that was hours ago.”
She chuckled, counting herself lucky to have a man like him in her life.
* * *
“Does anyone have any room for dessert? Or should we wait an hour and digest?” Suzy asked.
Everyone around the table groaned.
“We don’t have any room left, Nan,” Charlie said.
Frankie poked him in the arm. “And whose fault is that? You didn’t have to eat three helpings!”
“Nan, I’ll go out on a limb and say we should wait.” Leslie stood and started collecting everyone’s plates and utensils. “Does anyone feel up for a nice walk by the lake?”
Frankie, Charlie, Ron, and Jack eagerly agreed.
“No for Rich and me. We want to get a head start on putting away all the leftovers,” Suzy remarked.
“Tim and I are staying behind to help with the washing up,” Gemma said.
“Gem, Tim, you guys are guests. You shouldn’t have to do the dishes,” Frankie told her.
“Oh, I don’t mind, especially since I didn’t cook anything,” Tim said.
“And I don’t want to overdo it after skating this morning.”
Frankie nodded in understanding. Getting up from around the table, everyone helped bring the remaining dishes into the kitchen, then the others left to grab their coats for their walk.
“Suzy, do you mind if I borrow Tim for a few minutes? I need his help with something in the den,” Mr. T said.
“Of course.”
“Come on kiddo.”
Tim and Mr. T exited the room.
“Where would you like me to start?” Gemma asked, staring with wide eyes at the sheer amount of leftovers. There was still so much of everything remaining. “If you wouldn’t mind pulling out some of the Tupperware containers off the top shelf of the cabinet on the right, that would be great.”
Gemma retrieved the requested items, then assisted Suzy with rinsing and loading the dishes and utensils into the dishwasher.
When they’d finished the first stack, Gemma said, “Mr. T and Tim have been gone a long time. Do you think they’re okay?”
“Why don’t you go check on them, dear.”
After Suzy assured her she was indeed fine by herself, Gemma wandered out of the kitchen into the den. The Elvis song “Walks Like an Angel” was playing from the family jukebox. The lights had been dimmed and replaced by the soft glow of twenty candles. Rose petals had been sprinkled around them. The coffee table had been moved out of the center of the room to the side.
“Gemma, I’ve been waiting for you. I think you owe me a dance,” Tim said as he stepped out of the shadows wearing a crisp white dress shirt, skinny tie, and fitted black trousers that reminded Gemma of a man straight out of the 1950s.
Her pulse began to race.
“I think this song was written for you.” He winked.
Wordlessly, a grinning Mr. T snuck out of the room.
Closing the distance between them, Tim placed a hand on hers and led her out into the center of the room. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gazed into his eyes and swayed side to side in a slow dance. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
