“Yeah, no shit.” He raises his eyebrows when a solid knock lands on the door. “You gonna answer that?”
“It’s not my house,” I say, my heart thumping in the hollow cavity of my chest. But it occurs to me that Bryn headed back to the kitchen with Ellen on purpose, because she thought I should talk to him. Because she wanted this to happen.
“I'm staying here with you,” Rowan says. He’d look a whole lot more severe if he weren’t still holding an overflowing plate of appetizers, one of them covered in expensive carpet fuzz.
“Okay,” I say. It seems oddly appropriate for him to be here with us, our chaperone, if you will, after he found us in the hallway last year.
I walk toward the door, each step feeling like seven miles—and then I’m there, I’m opening it.
Damn, he looks so good. So fucking good, like a piece of pecan pie I’d like to sink my teeth into. It’s only been two days, but I’ve missed him, which is maybe the stupidest thing of all. His hair is damp from the shower, the way it was that day when he rushed into the school after I found Horacio, and he smells like hops and spice…and him.
“Holly,” he says softly, stepping inside, into my space, and this time I’m the one taking two steps back. Something passes over his face, maybe disappointment, and then he turns to shut the door behind him. “Rory forced me to come. Threats were made.”
“Excuse me?” I say, while Rowan clears his throat, announcing his presence.
“Shit,” Cole says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I meant to say. Holly, I...”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Crunch bar. “I brought this for you.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. It’s a small thing, but he remembered, which feels like a big thing. I take it, our fingers brushing against each other, sending a thrill over me—as if my flesh knows his and is welcoming it home. Stupid flesh.
“You do know it’s Thanksgiving, right?” Rowan asks. “There are at least four types of pie. What does she need with your kid’s candy—”
I give him a little shove, still looking at Cole. His eyes are burning into me. “Holly—”
“Good,” Rory says, stepping into the room with Bryn and his parents. “The thing about the security detail was a bluff. They’re enjoying Thanksgiving with their families.”
The corners of Cole’s mouth turn up, and I pocket the Crunch bar, because no way in hell am I giving it back. “I should have known you were joking, you surly bastard.”
Ellen looks a little scandalized, as if she can’t imagine anyone calling her little boy that, and I have to hold back a laugh as I say, “Cole, meet Ellen and Rick, Rory’s parents.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Rick says. “I’m the surly bastard’s father.”
I can see his internalOh, shitmoment, and there’s a familiarity, a fondness, that cuts. So I take another step back and say, “Is dinner ready?”
“Yes,” Bryn says. “We came to get all of you.” With a sly look, she adds, “We did talk about investing in a good bell to communicate across the house, but it seemed unnecessary in the age of cell phones.”
“Back this way,” Rory calls, and I notice Cole sidle up to him and hand him a good bottle of Scotch. Look at him, feeling like he needs to give a host gift to a billionaire. It would be endearing if uncertainty weren’t tearing at my heart.
We get to the table, and to my amusement, Bryn seats Cole next to my brother, across the table from Rory. I’m on Rowan’s other side, across from Ellen. There’s an insane feast spread out on the table—turkey and Ellen’s famous sweet potatoes and dozens of side dishes I can’t even identify. It’s by far the most elaborate Thanksgiving spread I’ve ever seen—the kind of thing they feature in magazines—and I don’t think I can eat a bite. Rory comes around and pours everyone some wine, except for Bryn, who has sparkling water. The caterers warmed and set up the food, but after that, Rory sent them home with tips that made their eyes glow. He wants them to have Thanksgiving with their families.
Once he’s seated, he and Bryn hold hands. “So, my mom has this tradition of going around the table and saying what we’re most thankful for. If no one has any objections, we’re going to start.” He gives Bryn a look so loving it’s almost painful, or at least it is right now. “I’m thankful as hell that I agreed to a ridiculous contract with Mayberry Matchmakers so I could spend more time with you.”
Poor Judith is getting short shrift, but I’m not about to interrupt his professions of gooey love. My sister deserves this.
“You are delightfully cheesy,” Bryn says, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I love you.” Turning to look at me, she winks and says, “And we wanted to let you all know that we’re having a little girl.”
I can’t help it, I say, “Boo-yah! I knew it. I should have bet on those odds.”
A mood of merriment spreads over the table, and Ellen has happy tears in her eyes. “Oh, I was hoping for a girl. I’ve always wanted a girl.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Rory says wryly, but it’s all in good humor.
I can feel Cole looking at me, his gaze intense, and I realize he’s supposed to speak next. But what will he say?
Is he going to declare himself, finally? Is he—
Then his phone rings, a loud blaring of the chorus of Lizzo’s “Good as Hell,” something Jane must have picked for him, and he jolts, then immediately pulls out his phone and answers.
