Page 109 of Serving Bunt

“Abuelita would disown me if I missed it.”

“Fair,” Bennett said. He nodded toward Roman. “What about you? Whose remote island will you be partying on this holiday season?”

Roman scratched at the back of his neck. “None actually. I’m, uh . . . going home for a while.”

I blinked, taken aback by his announcement. Roman was, and had always been, the spontaneous jetsetter of the group. He was the only person I knew who could be snowboarding in Aspen one weekend and the next, find himself on a private yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean, living his best chaotic bisexual life with an international supermodel.

And her husband.

True story.

The man operated on pure impulse and vibes. So, hearing him say he was going home to Awful, Oregon, the tiny, barely there town he usually avoided talking about, felt . . . off. Like something bigger was going on.

I kept my tone light. “Everything okay back there?”

Roman gave a small shrug, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Family stuff. Casey, my older brother, took a fall last week. Jax—he’s the youngest of us—reached out to see if I could come help on the ranch for a bit.”

Bella sat up straighter. “I’ll be out there sometimes too, working with Parker on new products. The spa should be ready soon.”

Roman’s mouth curved into a small, almost shy smile.

“Yeah, about that . . . I actually bought her farm.”

Bella’s eyes widened. “You . . . what?”

Roman’s mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re looking at the new owner of the Duffy Dairy Farm.”

Something told me there was a lot more to the story than he was letting on. Matty must have sensed it too. Our eyes met across the room, a silent conversation passing between us.

He gave me the tiniest nod and gently nudged Mo out of his lap.

“Bella,” he said smoothly. “You’ve got to see the new ornaments I picked up last week at the Crafty Wonderland market.”

“But—”

“They’re made out of beeswax.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Lead the way.”

As they wandered over to the tree, I squeezed Matty’s hand in thanks. God, I was so in love with him it hurt sometimes. But it was the best kind of hurt, the kind that made me want to wake up next to him every single day for the rest of my life.

Someday soon, I would tell him.

For tonight, though, I was more than happy counting down the minutes until I could strip him out of that argyle sweater and show him just how thankful I was to call him mine.

Matty

It was official . . . I was never eating another potato again.

Or at least, not until Christmas Eve dinner.

Here I was, scrubbing the last casserole dish that just a couple of hours ago had contained enough cheesy potatoes to feed a small army, about three seconds away from stripping off my jeans to make room for the food baby I was definitely sporting.

“Never again,” I muttered to the suds.

Mo lifted her head from where she was sprawled across the back of the couch cushion like a furry sausage roll, giving me some side-eye. She had zero room to judge. She’d had three helpings of turkey and at least two sneaky pieces of cornbread from Diaz’s plate.