She turns to me. “Matthew,” she says with a polite nod. She doesn’t hug me, but she also doesn’t look at me with complete disdain.
I’ll take that as a win.
“Come in. Come in. Jordan dear, after you hang your coat you’re needed in the kitchen. Matthew, the men are in the sitting room smoking cigars.” Then she glances at Jordan. “Panagía mou! The whole house is going to smell of that stench.”
She huffs and walks away, arms lifting in a dramatic wave as she disappears around the corner.
I meet Jordans eyes and a laugh busts out of her. “Oh my God, I don’t know what she’s complaining about. The smell of lamb always overpowers everything else.”
I chuckle, helping her out of her coat. “Just tell me there’s a turkey.”
She lifts a brow. “Doubtful. I can’t remember the last time I had turkey on Thanksgiving. Andrea brought one once—to this day, it’s the only time she was ever liked less than me.”
She laughs softly, and I pull her into me, brushing my lips across hers, noticing the ease in her body. “You’ll always be my favorite person here,” I murmur. “You doing okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. I feel good. Things feel good.” She gives me a small smile. “I’m happy you’re here. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent Thanksgiving together.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking. “Probably ten years. At least.”
Growing up, I used to come here for Thanksgiving. But once we were in our twenties, I got sick of the bullshit with her family. And honestly? Jensen’s family is just a hell of a lot more fun. Jordan never felt brave enough to ditch hers. So we’d meet up afterward.
She promised we’d go to the Adams’ next year, and we’ll do Christmas Eve with them this year. Together—hopefully with Cole.
I hand her the pies. “Have fun in the kitchen,” I say with a grin. “I’m going to go smoke a cigar.” I tap her ass as she turns.
“Lucky,” she whispers. “I’ll walk you back.”
We walk down the hall to the sitting room. Jordan’s pappoús sits in a dark green chair facing the window, cigar in one hand, newspaper in the other.
Shit. I didn’t even know people still read the newspaper.
I’m relieved to find him alone. No Christopher… for now.
“Pappoús!” Jordan’s voice cuts through the room.
He looks up, eyes lighting instantly. “My sweets.” He starts to stand.
“Don’t get up,” she says, making her way toward him. “I just wanted to say hi before I head to the kitchen.”
She bends down, wrapping one arm around his neck while he kisses her cheek.
“You look happy, kouklaki.”
She pulls back, smiling. “I am happy.” She coughs and fans the smoke away from her face. “God. No thanks to that cigar.”
He chuckles. “It’s better than breathing in the city fumes. This helps me think. Without it, I’m just a grumpy old man.”
“A grumpy old man who might live longer.”
“Careful. You’re starting to sound like your yiayiá.”
Jordan laughs. “Oh, God, we don’t want that.” She steps back, glancing between us. “I better go help. Get to mywomanlyduties while you men sit on your asses and smoke cigars.”
She plasters a shit-eating grin on her face, turns, and walks toward me, leaving her pappoús chuckling behind her.
“Why do you think we love this holiday so much?” I say with a smirk. She swats my arm as she passes me, gripping her pie box in the other hand.
I laugh. “Thanks for taking one for the team, babe.”
