Five candles lit, prayers sung, and a quick dinner, then everyone separated to their rooms to get ready for the Nelsons’ holiday party. The sea wind had tangled my hair irreparably, so I brushed it into compliance and forced it into a French twist.
As I smoothed down the last few strands with a touch of lotion and sprayed them into place, I could feel my stomach twisting. Sometimes I felt so stressed, though I couldn’t pinpoint why. I tried to pull apart a twisty, tangled knot of possible causes. Was it because I might have to flirt with Isaac tonight for real, initiate something romantic? Or did the idea of Isaac and Tyler being in the same room terrify me? Or was I worried about... something else? Why couldn’t I tell what I was worried about?
Deep breaths.
I picked my ensemble carefully: a wintry lilac dress with a very low back, silver heels, and pearl-drop earrings. I used a frosty palette for makeup; silvers and the palest pink lip. From the bed, Miriam watched wide-eyed. “I wish I could pull off makeup like you can.”
“Of course you can. We have the same exact coloring. Come here. Open.” I carefully primed her lips, then smudged on the pale pink. “See? Gorgeous.”
Rather than walk a scant five minutes, the whole family stuffed ourselves into a caravan of cars to avoid the cold and snow. Warmth and light spilled out of the Nelsons’, their windows glowing cheerily. As we climbed the steps, Pentatonix’s “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” slipped out the front door, voices twining and twisting around each other.
“Hello!” Tyler’s moms beckoned my massive family inside. “So good to see you! So glad you could make it!” People darted about, pressing cheeks and shaking hands. Cinnamon and vanilla and mulling spices floated through the rooms. I would have assumed it came from candles or fragrance diffusers if I hadn’t learned this week how much Tyler’s family baked.
Coats discarded, we dispersed into the rest of the house, a mob of Barbanels and Danzigers. I wandered into the main living room behind the triplets, my gaze searching every corner. Guests milled about, their outfits all greens and reds and golds, beneathwreaths of pine cones and evergreens. I knew most of them: local families and a few seasonal islanders. Olivia’s family couldn’t make it, since they had relatives arriving tonight, but otherwise the crowd looked similar to the one I expected for my family’s Hanukkah party in a few days.
“Who are you looking for?” Ethan arrived at my side. Somehow, my cousin had already armed himself with three delicately balanced appetizers.
I helped myself to the cream-cheese brownie he had the weakest hold on. “No one.”
Ethan ate a miniature spinach-and-mushroom quiche in one bite, talking around it. “These things are soboring.I dunno why we have to come.”
“Gotta show that Barbanel face.” I grinned at him. “Missing the swashbuckling of the high seas?”
“You’re making fun, but I amveryswashbuckly, I’ll have you know.”
Ethan was arguably the most adventurous of the cousins, prone to mountain biking and water skiing and spending large swaths of time trying to break limbs. Interning for a historian for the past three summers had not calmed him down in the slightest; it seemed to make him think he could be Indiana Jones. He’d gone so far as to declare his major in archaeology at the University of Chicago, where he’d gotten in on early decision.
“I bet Tyler will sneak us some shots if we ask.” His eyes litup, and I followed his gaze to a pretty girl smiling at Ethan from across the room. “I bet she can get me shots.”
“You do?”
He waggled his brows at me. “Shots ofdopamine.”
“Please don’t make jokes ever again.” Shaking my head with amusement, I watched him make his way across the room. Unlike at a party of my peers, I was perfectly comfortable being alone in a party of mostly adults—especially since I knew I could find half a dozen cousins at a moment’s notice.
From behind me, I heard a familiar, melodic voice. “Hey.”
I wasn’t even surprised; I’d expected him to make his way to me. I turned, a faint smile still on my lips, to find Tyler appraising me with his own arch expression. He wore a white sweater over burgundy pants, wintry in a festive way, blond hair staticky, the wispy tendrils floating like a halo. He handed me one of two champagne flutes, clinking his glass against mine.
I took a small sip, the bubbles bursting on my tongue. Crisp and fresh and sweet. “Thank you.”
His gaze ran up my lilac dress, taking in my hair, drawn up to elongate my neck, the pearl drops in my earlobes. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. You too. Is this cashmere?” I reached out to stroke his forearm, the soft fabric cloudlike under my fingers.
“Early present. To ensure good behavior.”
“Is it working?”
“Depends on your definition of ‘good.’ ” He led me over a few steps to a high table with round, two-layer miniature chocolate cakes covered in a chocolate ganache with a cranberry on top and a decorative green sprig. “I made those.”
“You did not.” I carefully lifted one from its delicate paper wrapper and took a bite, closing my eyes to savor it. The cake would have been a light sponge, but it had been soaked in—what? Cranberry syrup? Maybe some orange as well? “This isdelicious.”
“Thanks.” He looked pleased.
“How long did it take you to make these?”
“Two hours? It wasn’t so bad, though I’m always messy at cutting out the shapes.”
