She pulls her sweater down, stretching out the fabric. “Let it Snow.” The picture of Jon Snow in the middle makes me laugh.
“Mason, can you set the table?” Ember says as he’s tugging on his sweater.
Sienna scoots down the hall on a pink scooter. “Uncle Flint, look what Santa brought.”
Drake groans, “Not in the house, bug. Take it out back. You can scoot up and down the path in the garden.”
“How come you were late?” I say.
Drake nods towards Ember. “Blame your sister. She went overboard with gifts. Took Sienna two hours to open her presents.”
“She’s six,” Ember says, lifting her head from the oven. “It’s how it’s supposed to be. Besides, it wasn’t all me. Santa has to take the blame too.”
“Dad,” Mason shouts from the table, placemats in hand. “How many places?”
I know he’s asking whether to set one for Sera. Other than a Merry Christmas text yesterday, I haven’t heard from her, but I still hold on to hope that she might show up today. “Six places, son.”
Drake leans back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. “May and Harold said they saw Sera at the diner yesterday, and she said she’s working today. The diner’s doing their annual Christmas dinner for the singletons.”
“I forgot about that,” Ember says as she mixes some instant gravy. “Singletons and seniors.” She points the fork in my direction. “Can you believe Flint tried to make me go every year?”
A small smile curves my lips. “Maybe I should go.”
“Maybe we should all go,” Mason says. “After dinner, though. I’m starving.”
Warmth spreads through my body. I’m not sure what Drake said to Mason the other day or if Lauren said anything to him, but he’s been trying, and that’s enough for me. I just hope it’s not too late with Sera.
The room buzzes with chatter again as plates are brought to the table and we all sit down to eat.
Ember talks about school plays, Mason complains about not even likingGame of Thronesand how the ending ruined it for him, but I can’t stop glancing at the empty chair across the table with her nan’s cushion propped against the backrest. I tell myself it’s fine, that she’s moved on, not wanting to get my hopes up, but it doesn’t stop me from saving her a plate, anyway.
When dinner’s done, I clap my hands together. “Right. Mason, your turn for dishes.”
He groans. “Seriously? It’s Christmas.”
“Exactly.” I hand him the tea towel. “Consider it a gift. Builds character.”
Drake chuckles. “He’s got you there, mate.”
I’m halfway through clearing the table when there’s a knock at the door.
Mason shouts, “I’ll get it,” and disappears down the hall. Anything to get out of doing the pots.
The front door creaks open.
“Why didn’t you use your key?” Mason’s voice floats down the hall.
My brows knit as I walk to the door. “What key?”
“Didn’t want to assume.” A soft unsure voice floats in on the chilly breeze.
My chest tightens. I don’t need to see her to know whose voice that is. I gently move Mason aside.
Sera’s standing there, snow in her hair, cheeks pink from the cold. A small gold key glinting in her hand.
“I got her a key cut,” Mason says with a shrug. “If she’s gonna be living here, she needs her own key, right, Dad?”
I look at my son, a watery film blurring my vision. “Right,” I manage, my voice thick.
