“I misplaced my phone,” he admits quietly. “Night before last. Probably had too many beers with Nick and—” He clamps his mouth shut, eyes flaring. “I’ve missed you, Rumpel.”
Before I’m forced to answer, Raewyn calls me into the kitchen. The radio is on, the soft sounds of carols filling the space as we work together to cook Christmas lunch.
I ignore the concerned glances she keeps spearing me with until she asks, “How’ve you been, Gracie?” She picks up a glass of eggnog, watching as I sprinkle some parsleyonto the casserole dish of buttery potatoes. “We’ve barely seen you since Thanksgiving.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, desperately trying to convince myself there isn’t something hiding behind the question, that her eyes aren’t a little tooknowing.
“I was here for dinner a week ago,” I remind her, and she playfully rolls her eyes. “I’m okay. The shop has been busier than we anticipated, but Maryann is back now.”
I take the potatoes into the dining room and set them down in the only free spot left on the decked-out table, faint amusement tugging at my mouth.
“You’ve really gone all out this year.” I look at Raewyn, who’s staring at the table with a look of pride. “This is a lot of food.”
“Well, you know how Nick and Brax like to eat. I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.” She rubs her hands against her apron, her cheeks rosy from hours spent in the kitchen. “In fact, the Burstans should be here any minute. Why don’t you go grab yourself a drink before they arrive? Just relax a little bit.” She tilts her head. “I know how much social events like this can take it out of you.” Raewyn disappears back into the kitchen, not realizing that she’s gutted me with just a few words.
I stand frozen, hand hovering out in midair, but I can’t remember what I was doing. Each breath is agony, my lungs refusing to do their job as my hands tremble uncontrollably. The urge is there to turn around to ask, to confirm, but if I do, she’ll know that Ididn’tknow the Burstans were coming.
“Sounds good,” I say, my voice sounding stiff to my own ears. I robotically pour myself a glass of wine. It’s not even midday, and I’m not a big drinker, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to get through this without it.
Braxton is in the living room with Stephen and Analise, who arrived yesterday. They’re discussing the footballreplay they’re watching when I enter the room, with Braxton sitting on the two-person settee. Before I can choose somewhere else to sit—anywhere else—he pats the cushion next to him with a small smile.
I sit down, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my wine sloshes in the glass before I reach out to grip my wrist with my other hand, steadying myself.
Stephen gives me a warm smile before his attention drifts back to the television. There’s a loud cheer from the game, and Braxton reaches over me to point out something on the screen. I hold my breath, terrified I’ll smell something other than him.
That I’ll smellheragain.
It doesn’t take long before my chest burns, forcing me to drag in air through my mouth. I don’t smell anything but his woodsy cologne, and despair chokes me.I can’t do this. I can’t?—
“Look at that,” Braxton tells his dad. “You can’t tell me that’s a good defense. The hole in that line is bigger than the one in the ozone layer.”
Stephen grunts. “Fine, but they still won, didn’t they?”
Braxton scoffs. “Sheer dumb luck.”
Analise has her nose buried in her Kindle, but looks up to say, “If you two start bickering, I’m telling Mom to take you outside and hose you down. No one cares about football. It’s literally just an excuse for men to fondle each other without judgment.”
Braxton and Stephen gape at her. “Those are fighting words, my girl. Why’re you trying to ruin Christmas?”
Analise rolls her eyes at his dramatics, her attention pointedly going back to her book. Stephen chuckles just as the doorbell rings. Braxton’s fingers pulse against my leg, digging in tightly before he loosens his grip. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, noticing the way his jaw tenses, a muscle fluttering wildly.
“Ah, there’s our guests.” Stephen slaps his knee, turning the television off and standing up. “You’d better put your book away, Analise. It’s time to be social.” She groans, but does as she’s told, leaving the e-reader on the side table as she follows her father to the door.
I don’t make a move to stand, and neither does Braxton. In my peripheral vision, his mouth tightens, a muscle flickering in his jaw. He turns to look at me, but I keep my eyes forward as he reaches out to touch my leg. “Rumpel?—”
“There is nothing you can say right now that will make me feel better,” I tell him, not looking his way. “Please don’t.”
Voices from the entry hall reach up, and I flick a look toward the doorway before looking back at him accusingly.
His eyes flash with defiance, a scowl on his lips. “You can’t be mad about them being here, Gracie,” he grits. “Our families have known each other for years. Theyarebasically family.”
I stiffen, turning on him with a glare. “I don’t care that they’re here,” I say carefully, making sure to pitch my voice low enough that no one else will hear. “I don’t care thatshe’shere. What I do care about is that the person who tells me he loves me allowed me to be blindsided.Again.That’s what I care about, Braxton.”
I grab his hand, throwing it off my leg and standing up just as Raewyn calls, “Well, let’s not dither! Come and eat while it’s hot.”
The lunch goesoff without a hitch. It reminds me a little of how Thanksgiving dinner played out at Esther and Joseph’s. Paisley is sitting across from us again, but several seats down, so while we’re involved in the same discussions,it’s easy enough for me to avoid talking to her directly. And there’s enough distance that I can ignore the way her eyes keep coming back to Braxton and lingering.
Once all the food has been cleared away and most of the dishes sorted, the two families migrate to the living room, someone turning up the Christmas music. My smile is fixed in place as I retake my seat on the couch. Braxton sits next to me, his thigh pressed tightly against mine.
