Walking around slowly, I catch everyone’s seat and notice that Amy is directly across from Frost. His name is scrolled across the card, with the word 'biker asshole'written underneath.
Definitely not a coincidence.
The scent of turkey fills the air, smelling like heaven and impending doom. Dad is already two glasses deep, which means the filter on his mouth is dead and buried. Frost sits beside me, his shoulders tense, and his eyes alert like he’s prepared for battle.
Amy sits across from him, cracking her knuckles likeshe’sready to hit him head-on.
Mom brings out the turkey with a proud flourish. “Dinner is served!”
Everyone fills their plates with all the traditional foods. Frost compliments the mashed potatoes, and Mom’s eyes brim with tears over the recognition from an outsider. It’s a shockingly typical Thanksgiving Day until Mom levels her gaze directly at Frost in thatMom look, only she can give.
“So, Frost,” she begins gently. “Tell us about your family.”
Frost stiffens beside me. It’s not visible to most people, but I feel it. His hand brushes mine under the table, and I know he’s withdrawing into himself.
He clears his throat. “My dad and sister live in New Mexico,” he says, his voice steady. “I haven’t seen them in a bit, but we talk.”
Amy stops chewing, and my dad sets down his fork.
Frost continues, quieter. “I, uh… I lost my mom recently. I needed some space and time. Figured I’d head West for a while and drive the coast.”
My chest tightens hearing the hurt in his voice, and I slide my hand fully into his under the table.
My mom’s face softens completely, eyes full of heartbreaking sympathy. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she says, reaching out to touch the back of his hand on the table. “I really am.”
Frost gives her a tiny nod. “Thank you.”
Dad clears his throat. “Losing a parent, that’s never easy.” His voice is rougher than usual. “Glad you’re here, son.”
Son?
Amy’s fork clatters to her plate as she stares at my parents.
My mom squeezes Frost’s hand once more. “I’m glad you could join us tonight. Holidays can be lonely. You’re not alone here.”
Frost swallows, jaw flexing. He looks at her, then at my dad. When his eyes land on me, something in his expression softens in a way that makes my heart ache.
“I appreciate it,” he says with a hint of vulnerability.
Amy wipes under one eye aggressively. “Ugh. Dust,” she mutters. “This house is dusty. Fix it, Sharon.”
Dad snorts, and I burst into a fit of giggles.
Leave it to Amy to take the focus off Frost. I fucking love her.
Mom ignores her. “Eat up, Frost. You need more stuffing.”
She’s already putting more on his plate before he can answer. He huffs out a small laugh.
“I’m starting to understand where Hope gets it,” he says.
“Gets what?” I ask.
He lifts our joined hands under the table and squeezes, just once. “Her ability to make a place feel like home.”
My insides turn gooey.
Amy points her fork at him. “Okay, biker boy. That was smooth. I’m not even mad about it.”
