I blink. “I wasn’t—”
“I know. I’m just saying. Be yourself. Take breaks. Sit when you need to. Nobody’s keeping score. Ryan’s family really is great and easygoing. You’ll fit right in.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want to be a problem.”
He reaches over. “You won’t be, Vince. I promise.”
There’s no drama in it. No speech. Just a steadiness I need. I take his hand.
The house comes into view, lights glowing warm against the dark. It really is like a Christmas movie, lights and yard decor everywhere.
“This makes our effort to decorate your house look weak,” I say.
He laughs. “Right? Wait until you see the inside.”
Cars line the street, and as we get out, laughter drifts faintly through closed windows, even from here.
My pulse quickens. I take a deep breath, letting myself believe—just for tonight—that maybe I can do this.
Fletcher lets himself in, and the noise echoes off the bricks into the night.
I regret the vest the moment we step through the door. Heat rolls over me like a wall—a mix of food, too many bodies, and the oven cranked too high. My brain stutters as it tries to catch up.
Laughter bursts from somewhere around the corner, and the sound of a ball hitting a wall fades the further we get away from the foyer, teenage laughter echoing from somewhere down the house. Someone calls Fletcher’s name, and he answers without hesitation, seamlessly slipping into the rhythm of the place.
I hover a half-step behind him, fingers curling into the fabric at my sides.
There must be twenty people or more, spread out through the living room and dining area. A long wooden table is covered with gold and silver Christmas trees, and fresh garland is draped between them.
It’s the most beautiful family dinner table I’ve ever seen.
Around the room, lights and garland are hung everywhere, and the bookshelves are covered in tiny ceramic villages, lit up from the inside.
It really is like a Christmas movie.
“You good?” Fletcher asks quietly. He sounds like he’s asking if I want something to drink, when really it’smore—so much more.
My skin feels too tight, but I manage a smile. “Yeah.”
He tips his head toward the sliding glass door. “There are benches outside if you need them.”
How he reads me so easily is beyond me.
He grabs my hand, steering us toward the living room instead of the kitchen. A woman with wavy dark hair spots us and immediately gets up. “There you are!”
Fletcher gives her a quick hug. “Hey, Sarah.”
My heart swoops. His ex-wife.
Sarah steps back and looks at me. “Hi, Vince. I’m Sarah. I’m really glad you came.”
To my surprise—and relief—she sounds genuine. I offer a hand, and she shakes it. “Thanks for allowing me to be a tag-along.”
Fletcher chuckles as he squeezes my hand, eyes saying I’m much more than a tag-along.
A slender man with graying blond hair and glasses approaches us, wearing dark jeans and bright red socks. I like him instantly.
Fletcher gestures to him. “This is Ryan, Sarah’s husband.”
