“It’s . . . too many people.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Carefully, as though waiting for his permission, his mom scooted her chair closer and then wrapped him up in a hug. It felt so good and so warm, and for a moment, he leaned into her, letting his tears fall. And she just held him, her hand gently rubbing his back, her voice whispering quietly in his ear that it was okay. That it would be okay.
“We’ll figure something else out,” she said after another few minutes. “Your comfort and health are more important to me than anything else. You know that, right?”
He nodded against her, keeping his head buried in her hair.
“And if that means that Tanya and Jon host everyone, and it’s just you and me here for Thanksgiving this year, that’s okay. Okay, sweetie?”
God, that sounded perfect. Him and his mom. And maybe he could help her cook. And maybe he could tell her then, tell her and show her just how thankful he was for her.
“O-okay, mama,” he said, and he hugged her just a little tighter.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jake
“Goodmorning,Jake.I’mso glad you could make it.” Shirley opened up the door all the way and motioned Jake inside.
“Thank you for inviting me over,” he said, stepping across the threshold. The Davis home was warm and smelled of breakfast—biscuits and bacon and sausage. He started unzipping his coat as Shirley shut the door behind him.
“It was Ryan’s idea, actually,” Shirley explained, and she glanced over to the kitchen. Jake followed her gaze. Rye was there, his blond hair pulled back into a low knot, and he was flipping pancakes on a griddle. Shirley lowered her voice and said, “I think he wanted to do something for you.”
A fullness that was becoming all too familiar rose in Jake’s chest, and he took a long, slow breath. What... an amazing man Rye was.
“He, uh, didn’t have to do that.”
“He wanted to. Here, let me take your coat.”
Jake tore his eyes away from where Rye was working and handed his coat to Shirley, who hung it on the hook by the door. Then the two of them moved through the rest of the entryway and toward the kitchen together. Rye paused and looked up as they approached, and Jake’s heart did something funny in his chest as a shiver of warmth ran through him.
Rye’s eyes... god, Rye’s eyes just sparkled with an eagerness that was so, so beautiful to see. Eagerness and maybe even something like confidence.
Jake sucked in another breath, but it caught slightly in his throat when Rye smiled.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Rye said as Jake stopped just on the opposite side of the kitchen’s island.
“Good morning and happy Thanksgiving, Rye,” Jake greeted.
Shirley continued around to the other side of the kitchen and opened up the oven. “Feel free to take a seat there if you want, Jake. We’ve got maybe ten orfifteen minutes until everything’s ready. Just waiting on... yep, these biscuits need a few more minutes, and then the eggs need to be cooked still.”
“Scrambled . . . is okay?” Rye asked quietly, and when Jake nodded, his eyes seemed to light up again. “Good. I . . . um . . .”
“Ryan said you liked your eggs different. Over easy, I think?” Shirley picked up a platter of bacon and sausage and stepped around the island to make her way over to the dining table.
“Ah.” Jake nodded. “Yeah, that’s how I usually eat eggs at home.” When Rye’s expression tightened, Jake quickly added, “But I also love scrambled eggs.”
And that got Jake another smile.
“’Kay, good,” Rye said, and he, too, started to move around the kitchen a bit, grabbing a large mixing bowl with what had to be a dozen eggs already cracked and whisked.
Jake took a seat on one of the stools at the island as Shirley continued setting the table. They chatted a bit, the topic jumping from Jake’s Thanksgiving plans to the weather to work. Rye seemed particularly interested when Jake mentioned he’d just gotten a new assignment for an article on the effects of climate change on seagrass and how loss of seagrass beds was affecting the marine ecosystem.
“How do... you...” Rye trailed off and shook his head as he set the last of the breakfast items—the bowl of scrambled eggs—on the table. Jake waited for him to continue when he found the words he wanted, but Rye just shook his head again and motioned for them to sit.
There was barely enough room on the small table for their plates, and Jake shook his head as he took in the spread. Eggs, bacon, sausage, homemade biscuits, pancakes. There was a bowl of fresh strawberries and another bowl of diced potatoes. Shirley had poured herself a cup of coffee, and Jake and Rye had orange juice.
“This looks amazing. Thank you both.” Jake looked from Shirley to Rye and let his eyes linger as Rye smiled again.
