Monica: Chandler will get mad if we tell him he’s growing a dad pooch.
Mom: Perry is the sweetest baby.
Dad: How goes the new job, Lilah?
I debated how to answer, finally opting for very few details for now.
Lilah: Promising.
Dad: You’ll always have a job with us. Wish you would take it. We miss you.
Mom: Can’t wait for Christmas night to see you again.
Monica: No pressure, but Perry needs to meet his other aunt. And then we can compete for rights to be called his favorite.
My parents never believed in my dreams of following in my grandfather’s footsteps. Which was why I’d flown straight fromEurope to New York, rented a car, and driven to Snow Quest Lodge without seeing them. My work always came first. Or maybe I’d delayed the family visit due to Chandler announcing his ex had his baby. They weren’t in love. They’d decided to co-parent.
The first photos he’d sent of my tiny nephew scraped straight across my old wounds. The life I’d thought I’d have by now flashed sharp and clear—culinary acclaim with the restaurant Brad and I had opened in Lucerne. A devoted husband. A family.
Instead, I’d left Brad at the altar, bounced across Europe chasing jobs, running from rumors he spread about me… sometimes running from myself.
Coming back to New York without a single dream achieved was like admitting my parents had been right all along, that I should have stayed in New York, worked at the diner with them, or the bagel company with my brothers and sister, and married some guy in Queens.
I pressed a palm to my chest. It hurt that badly. Why now?
The answer came fast. Seeing Holden again had cracked the door I’d sealed shut.
I texted Mom a quick apology for missing Christmas and tossed my phone aside. Tears blurred my vision as memories surged.
Harp music floated up through the old chapel. Monica had gone to fetch Dad, who would escort me down the aisle toward Brad beneath an arch of red roses.
I stood alone in the stone room, bouquet trembling in my hands, minutes from marrying the man I thought was my forever.
I stepped onto the balcony and peeked down at the guests who’d traveled all the way to Switzerland for our Christmaswedding. Mom and Dad were there, worry etched on their faces.
How I wished Pops had been too.
As the oldest, I’d spent summers cooking beside my grandfather. Two kindred spirits with a shared love of food. He was why I became a chef. Why I believed excellence mattered.
I retreated into my room and, after adjusting my veil in the mirror, I was ready to get married. I headed carefully down the stairs, waiting at the bottom for Dad, when voices carried to me from the room where the men had been waiting.
Brad’s laughter drifted to me. I shifted closer and strained to hear, thinking I’d catch how excited he was to become my husband. Instead, I got the shock of my life.
“I can’t believe you brought Chantal as your date to my wedding. Lilah and I argued about her last night after the rehearsal dinner.”
That was Brad’s voice.
“Oh, right. I forgot the two of you used to date.” I recognized that as Holden’s voice. He and Brad had gone to college together and had vowed a bachelor life after graduation. Gorgeous and rich, they made the perfect playboys—until I came along.
The first night I met them, Holden’s eyes had gold flecks that danced when they held my gaze, stirring the butterflies in my stomach.
But it was the connection Brad and I instantly had over food, given his family’s international restaurant business interests, that sealed my fate. We quickly found common ground with our shared dreams to open restaurants across Europe.
“Used to date?” Brad laughed. “Chantal and I still hook up now and then.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What about Lilah?” Holden asked.
