This was what I wanted. This was what I was choosing.
CHAPTER 61
SYLVIE
Iwas beaming from ear to ear, feeling like my heart might literally explode from happiness. They were all being nice. Really nice.
And I had a boyfriend.
Not that we were official, but I felt like he was my boyfriend. Was that childish? Teeny-bopper stuff?
I didn’t care.
He was mine.
I didn’t need to add the boyfriend title.
Mine.
“Kent,” Dad said, putting down his glass of wine.
His tone was one of complete seriousness. Everyone stopped talking and eating and gave them their full attention.
Oh please, please don’t let him say something rude.
“We’ve talked it over as a family, and we would like to accept your investment offer.”
Kent just stared at him for a moment, his fork halfway to his mouth, looking like he couldn’t quite process what he’d just heard. The silence stretched long enough that I started to worry he might have changed his mind, or that he was having second thoughts about the enormity of what he was proposing.
No one breathed.
I nudged him with my elbow, and suddenly he was moving, setting down his fork and extending his hand across the table with a huge grin that took ten years off his appearance.
And damn if I didn’t have to squeeze my legs together to fight the urge to jump him right there at the dinner table.
“Really?” Kent asked as Dad shook his hand firmly. “You’re sure?”
“We’re sure,” Dad said, relief and hope in his voice. “Though I have to warn you, we drive a hard bargain when it comes to protecting what we’ve built here.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Kent said, still grinning. “I can have the lawyers draw up paperwork tonight,” he continued, his businessman instincts kicking in even in the middle of Christmas dinner. “We could sign everything first thing tomorrow morning.”
Dad held up a hand, laughing. “Son, I’ve had a couple glasses of wine, and this is Christmas dinner with my family. The lawyers can wait. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”
Kent’s expression softened at being called “son,” and he nodded. “Of course. Tomorrow it is.”
The rest of dinner passed in a blur of laughter and storytelling and the kind of chaotic family joy that made our dining room feel like the center of the universe. Mom kept piling more food on everyone’s plates despite protests that we were all already stuffed. Brom told embarrassing stories about my childhood Christmas disasters. Stacy regaled us with tales of her adventures with the kids, which Aspen and Alder thought was pretty funny.
Throughout it all, I kept stealing glances at Kent, watching him take in everything with the kind of wonder that suggested he’d never experienced anything quite like this before. And maybe he hadn’t.
From what little he’d shared about his upbringing, the Bancroft family dinners sounded like formal affairs with perfect table settings and children who were expected to be seen and not heard.
This dinner was the opposite of that. Kids interrupted conversations. Wine was spilled. Someone’s elbow knocked over the gravy boat. At one point, Alder and Aspen got into a heated debate about which reindeer was the best. The entire table took sides with the kind of passionate intensity usually reserved for political discussions.
Rudolph wasnotthe favorite.
Kent seemed to love every chaotic minute of it. When he caught me watching him over the rim of my wine glass, I tipped my head toward the main room, silently asking if he wanted to slip away for a few minutes. He nodded once ever so slightly. We quietly excused ourselves from the table while the debate over best Christmas cartoons raged on.
I was team Charlie Brown.
