I didn’t think she knew what deranged meant, so it was extra cute watching her smiling.
“Santa’s coming tonight!” Alder added, as if this explained everything about their behavior.
I giggled as I watched my brother try to wrangle two hyperactive kids while simultaneously operating his phone’s camera with fingers that were going numb from the cold. We were all freezing our butts off, but the photos were going to be amazing. They were going to be full of genuine joy and the kind of family chaos that you couldn’t fake in a staged marketing shoot.
This was better. Natural. Candid. Real. In a world full of performance, our lodge was going to be the throwback to the old ways when people made real human connections. Nothing digital or fancy, just good old-fashioned holiday fun.
“One more!” Brom called, his breath forming clouds as he spoke. “I want to get the lodge in the background with all the lights!”
We dutifully arranged ourselves for what felt like the hundredth time. I had to admit that despite the cold, this was actually fun. It was nice to have hope for the future.
By the time we finally headed back inside, my cheeks were stinging from the cold, but my heart was full. The warmth of the lodge hit us like a physical embrace. I could see dinner was being put out on the tables. Everyone was slowly migrating toward the long tables, claiming their seats in preparation for the feast.
I looked around, hoping to spot Kent walking through the door. He still wasn’t back. I couldn’t help but wonder if something had gone wrong with picking up Mr. Withers. What if the old man had changed his mind? He could be a grump, and Kent could be stuck arguing with him.
The front door opened with a rush of frigid air, and Kent stepped inside, stomping snow off his boots. Behind him, moving more slowly but with unmistakable dignity, was a figure I almost didn’t recognize.
Mr. Withers was wearing a dark gray suit that looked like it had been tailored sometime in the sixties but was clearly his very best. Around his neck was a thick wool scarf that had probably been expensive once upon a time, and on his head sat a cap that gave him an old-fashioned, distinguished air.
But the most shocking thing wasn’t his clothes—it was the velvet green bowtie at his throat and the fact that he was smiling. Actually smiling, not grimacing or scowling or wearing his usual expression of generalized annoyance with the world.
Even more shocking, he was laughing at something Kent had said as they made their way into the lodge.
“Is that Mr. Withers?” Stacy asked in surprise, appearing at my elbow with a serving spoon in one hand.
“Can’t be.” Emmy giggled from beside her. “Kent’s jokes aren’t that funny.”
I laughed, though I had to disagree with Emmy’s assessment. I thought Kent was pretty funny, actually. And I knew from personal experience what it was like to feel better just by being in his company. There was something about Kent’s presence that made you feel like you were worth paying attention to, like your stories and opinions mattered.
But I was also perfectly happy if they never knew that about him. That was my little secret. I didn’t want to have to be jealous of my best friend ogling my man.
And he wasmyman.
I made my way over to greet our newest arrival, who was looking around the festively decorated lodge with wide eyes.
“Mr. Withers,” I said warmly, taking his coat and hat. “I’m so glad you could make it. You look absolutely dapper in that bowtie.”
The old man’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Well,” he said gruffly, though his eyes were twinkling. “Kent kept nagging me to dress up for the occasion.”
“And you certainly did,” I said, admiring the green bowtie that was clearly a treasured piece from his collection. “Come on, let me show you to your seat. You’re just in time for dinner.”
I led him to the chair I’d saved right beside mine at the main table. He settled in with the careful movements of someone whose joints weren’t quite what they used to be but who was determined not to make a fuss about it.
“This is quite the celebration,” he said, looking around at the crowded room with genuine appreciation.
“It is,” I agreed, serving him up a plate loaded with Stacy’s amazing food. “And we’re so happy you’re here to share it with us.”
Sober. I didn’t add that last bit, but I couldn’t smell liquor on him. Phineas was sober.
I glanced over at Kent, who was shaking hands with one of the other guests. He turned and caught me staring. I liked that. I liked that when we were in a room, we could always find each other.
Everyone was finding their seats now that food was coming out. Glasses were being filled with wine and mulled cider. The talking and laughter meant everyone was having a genuinely good time. The music could only be heard when there was a lull in conversation.
Perfect.
Kent and I loaded our plates and took our seats at the table.
“Dang, this smells amazing,” Kent said.
