Chapter Nineteen
The savory scent of rosemary, thyme, and butter mixed with citrus and cranberry. Mom and Dad laughed about something in the kitchen. Nero, Franc, and Laurent yelled at the game on TV. Rose and Wyatt chased each other around the living room with Nerf guns they stole from Gio. Lainey and Sherry laughed about something at the kitchen island. Rhone and Sutton danced to the radio while Phoebe and Quinn arranged the dining room table.
I stood back before the chaos fully ensued and took it all in. Thanksgiving had always been one of my favorite holidays. From the food to the chaos of everyone being under one roof, to the football game on in the background, and just the overall warmth of the day. I took out my cellphone where I had my to-do checklist.
Many of the items had already been checked off.
Call Mom to make sure she put the turkey in the oven. (Check)
Peel the potatoes (Did that last night, and they were in the fridge in a pot of water)
Make the cranberry sauce (Check, and it was currently reheating)
Check with Nero to make sure he was stocking the wine cellar (Check)
Make the stuffing (Mom was doing that now)
Prepare the vegetables ahead of time (Check, and they were in the oven now)
Invite Brady (Check, but he didn’t confirm)
I glanced at the door, waiting for Brady to walk through. I had no idea why I was holding onto hope. Maybe because I thought our circumstances had changed. Maybe he’d want to see me. But I was being selfish. Holidays reminded Brady of everything he didn’t have, everything he’d missed out on.
A Nerf bullet flew across my face and landed in the bowl of mashed potatoes. Mom sighed and fished it out, holding it between her fingers. Wyatt hurried over, taking it from her grasp.
“Sorry about that, Ma’am.”
“Wash the potatoes off before you shoot it again, please.”
“You got it!” He went right to the sink and cleaned it before running to the living room, shooting Rose right between the eyes.
“Hey! No head shots,” Rose exclaimed.
Wyatt held his hands up. “Babe, I’m so sorry.” He moved toward her, gun hanging from his finger, hands still in the air. “Can you forgive me?”
A smile cracked at the corner of her mouth, and Wyatt was in trouble, though he knew Rose enough to know that. Before he could protect his face, Rose unloaded her Nerf gun. The blue orange tipped foam bullets fell to the floor, and Wyatt’s mouth widened into an O. Mock shock spread across his face, and Rose covered her mouth as a giggle slipped free.
Wyatt lunged, Rose squeaked, and Mom sighed. “Watch the glasses! If you spill wine on my carpet…”
Wyatt threw Rose over his shoulder and spun toward the kitchen. “I’d never do that. It’s alcohol abuse.”
Rose continued to giggle, beating Wyatt’s butt. “Put me down.”
“Yes, put her down. You’re blocking the TV,” Dad said as he tried to see the football game.
Wyatt immediately sidestepped and placed Rose on solid ground.
Though they were both thirty-one they acted like they were fifteen. Normally I’d roll my eyes and tell them to act their age, but I focused on the pure joy on Rose’s face and the complete adoration in Wyatt’s eyes when he looked at my sister.
Love was light and fun and bringing the best parts of each other out. Wyatt was the life of the party, and he brought that joy out of Rose. Rose was the kindest soul, and she brought that compassion out of him. They complemented each other in the best way. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, and my mind drifted to Brady. I didn’t think we’d ever run around my parents’ house shooting Nerf darts at each other, but he did carry me to bed many times. Lifted me onto the counter and the tasting room bar.
I bit my lip as visions of our first time ran through my mind like a montage of blissful, steamy memories.
The sound of the door caught my attention, and anticipation and joy rushed through me, but it was only Laurent, going to get something from his car.
I glanced at my phone, but I had no new notifications. Disappointed, I pushed it away and got back to work. A short time later, the table was set, and everyone crowded around, taking seats and praising the spread. Then Mom started a tradition that had always been Grandma’s favorite, of going around the table and saying what it was you were thankful for this year.
“I am thankful for my family,” Mom said. “Those who are my blood and those who aren’t.” She took a moment to look at Phoebe, Wyatt, Quinn, Lainey, and Sutton. “I’m so thankful for the love in this home, even if it is loud and chaotic. I wouldn’t change it for the world. And I’m thankful your father and I have”—she paused, her eyes meeting Dad’s before he gave a nod—“decided to officially retire.”
“ What ?” the entire table exclaimed.
“Retire? You’re not even that old,” I said.
Dad reached for Mom’s hand and, like a united front, they both smiled.
“Exactly,” Dad said. “This last year of traveling, we’ve realized we don’t want to stop, and all of you have proved the business is completely safe in your hands.”
“We would just get in the way,” Mom said.
My lips parted, and Dad held up his hand. “Before you ask, Char, we made several lists. Plotted and planned. We have more money than we’d ever be able to spend in this lifetime, and more than your kids will ever be able to spend in their lifetime.”
Franc laughed. “You sure about that?” His eyes landed on Gio, but there was nothing but love and adoration in his gaze.
“We’re sure. As you know, based on your own income, the vineyard is extremely profitable. We have your grandfather’s inheritance, and we’ve invested very well.”
“Too well,” Mom added. “However, just because we’re officially retiring, it doesn’t mean I won’t want to stop working the tasting room.” Mom’s gaze drifted to Nero.
“You are always welcome,” he said.
“So, what are you going to do?” I asked.
“Whatever the hell we want,” Dad said.
“I thought you had a plan. You said you wrote up a plan.”
“Yup.”
My anxiety eased.
“Then we threw it out,” Dad said, and when Mom didn’t tell him to stop messing with me, my eyes widened.
“Threw it out?”
“Not everything in life needs to be planned, Char,” Rhone said, and I glared at him. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I thought maybe you were all about embracing spontaneity after—” His words cut off as Sutton smacked the back of her hand into his chest. “Ow. Hey!” Rhone rubbed the spot, and I shot her an appreciated grin.
“You’re not the one who has to deal with the fallout if things go sideways.”
“And what exactly can go sideways?” Laurent asked. “You and I are a damn good team, and the vineyard is on track to have a record-breaking year.”
“Char,” Mom said too softly, and I knew she was about to drop words of wisdom on the table like it didn’t take her decades to accumulate it. “Our entire lives we have dedicated to the vineyard, planning and working days into nights. It’s time for us to enjoy the fruits of our labor, both literally and figuratively. The vineyard is in good hands. Your hands. We trust all of you completely.”
Their confidence in me, in us, was a testament to their parenting. But were all the I’s dotted? “But what if—”
"No buts," Dad cut me off. “You’ve got this. And besides, it’s not like we’re going to just up and disappear. If you need us, we’re a phone call away.”
“Or a flight,” Mom added. “We might be in Italy, or we might be in the Maldives. Haven’t quite decided where we’re going next.”
I glanced around at all my siblings, each reassuring me in their own way. Then I landed on Laurent. He was right. We were a great team. We’d practically been running the vineyard since Mom and Dad decided to head off like teenagers on a gap year. I held my wine glass up. “I guess we should celebrate.”
“That’s my girl!” Dad said, holding his glass high. “We have a lot to be thankful for, and we can still go around the table, but I just want to say I am thankful for this moment. For my kids who make me so damn proud and for the kids who, in my eyes, are just as much blood as my own.”
Brady flashed in my mind, and I wished he was here for this, cementing himself as part of the family, but we all had our journeys, and Brady was still on his. I hoped one day his journey would bring him to the home that had always been his.
“To family,” Sherry said.
“And new successes,” Rose added.
“To whatever the hell we want,” Dad said.
As we clinked the glasses together, a sense of calm washed over me. I didn’t feel the need to go and create Mom and Dad an itinerary or make a checklist for them to make sure they didn’t forget anything of importance. I couldn’t believe I was actually thinking this, but Rhone was right.
Not everything in life needed to be planned.
After we made our rounds around the table, everyone saying what they were thankful for, while Gio asked if we could eat yet after each person finished, we finally dug in. It took days to prepare everything and nearly twenty minutes for everyone to be stuffed.
We all pitched in to clear the table and clean up. It was a team effort, as it always was. Lainey brought out cake after cake, placing them on the now cleared table. She also added a pumpkin pie, a pecan pie, and an apple pie. I had no idea who she thought was going to eat all of this.
“Franc, can you run this plate to Brady?” Mom said, knowing damn well the stubborn bastard was sitting at home alone with Jack.
Franc took the plate, and I reached for it. “I’ll go,” I said, expecting Mom’s head to rear back in shock, but instead she just handed me the plate without a word.
Franc’s eyebrow arched. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I proceeded to the foyer, placed the plate on the solid wood console table Grandpa made years ago with the wood from the old barn, and put my coat on. Mom met me at the door. “Word on the street is you and Brady have succumbed to the years of sexual tension.”
“Jesus, Mom. Have some decorum.”
“In this family?” Mom’s eyebrows shot toward the reading glasses she was currently using as a headband. “Wyatt just smacked your sister’s ass, your nephew told us that male and female turkey droppings are shaped differently before forking a piece of said turkey in his mouth, Sutton laughed so hard soda came out of her nose, and your father announced to hold his calls for the next hour, then marched toward the bathroom. There is no decorum in this house.”
I wrapped my scarf around my neck and sighed. “I forgot where I was for a second.”
Mom grabbed my hand and squeezed. “In all seriousness, are you happy?”
“I haven’t taken time to think about it, but…” A smile curved my lips, heat filled my cheeks. “I am.”
“Good. I am so happy for you.” Mom hugged me, and before I could process or attempt an awkward hug back, she released my stiff body. “Brady’s been through a lot, and I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“In case you forgot, I’m your daughter.”
“And you are the best daughter. You’re strong, independent, smart, and capable of anything you put your mind to.”
“But?”
“But you can also be confrontational and lack compassion.”
“I don’t lack compassion.”
“When Laurent got into college, we all cheered, and you muttered big deal .”
It wasn’t because I wasn’t proud of my brother. I just knew the life I had for seventeen years was about to be completely different. Him leaving was the start of change. “We knew he was getting in. It’s not like it was a surprise.”
“And when Rose broke her leg, you wouldn’t get her a snack.”
Because she’d already been sitting on the couch wallowing in self-pity for three days. She needed to get off the couch. “I wasn’t going to baby her like everyone else. That’s what the brat wanted, but please give me more examples of how I have utterly failed at being a compassionate sibling. Forget that I regularly call and check on everyone. I make sure they are up-to-date on going to the doctor and the dentist. That any of them can call me at any time, day or night, and I will be there for them. Just because I don’t show emotion like the rest of you doesn’t make me a bitch.”
“I never said you were.”
“I can read in between the lines, Mom. You’re worried about Brady, because I’m a bitch, and I’ll be mean to him.”
“Okay.” Mom closed her eyes and took my hand again. “I went about this wrong. It’s Thanksgiving, and I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I know. Even if you don’t say it enough, I know. But Brady, I love him, too. I love him like he is my own son. I have watched that boy be abused for years by a man who was supposed to love him unconditionally. I watched that boy turn into a man who poured his all into everything he did, trying to fill that void he had in his life, but no matter how hard he tried, he never felt it was good enough. He has a tough exterior, but his inside, he is cotton balls and marshmallows.”
“Those do not go together.”
Mom laughed. “This is my analogy. Just go with it.” Her eyes met mine, filled with the compassion she said I lacked. “He’s a good man.”
“I know.” We might have had our differences, might have even hated each other, but I always knew at his core, Brady was good. He’d do anything for my family and even me. Even though I was rude and argumentative, I knew deep down, one phone call and he’d be there for me.
“And that boy from so long ago? He loved you.”
“He tolerated me.”
“No, he loved you. I watched the way he looked at you. The way his shoulders would appear lighter when you walked in the room. I don’t know what happened between you two, though through the grapevines, I heard it was a misunderstanding, which breaks my heart. But as your grandfather would say, ‘You can't uncork the past, but you can savor the wine of tomorrow.’”
“He always had good sayings.”
“You and Brady both deserve happiness, and my dream is that one day, Brady will actually feel like he belongs here for the holidays. We’ve tried for years, but maybe you’ve been the key all along.”
“You make me sound like some sort of miracle puzzle piece.”
“Sometimes it takes just the right person to make everything feel whole.”
“I don’t know if I can fix everything for him.” Though recently I had tried. He hadn’t told me to mind my own business, either. He even came to me for help.
“You always want to fix everyone. It’s not about that. It’s about being there for him and letting him know he doesn’t have to face everything alone.”
Maybe Mom was giving me too much credit, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to try. Brady deserved to be eating this plate of food at the table with people he loved and who loved him and not hiding away at his cabin in the woods.
I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. This time, she stood there stiff, as if my affection caused her to short circuit. It took only a second before she engulfed me in her warm, motherly embrace. She pulled back, cupping my cheeks with her hands. “Tell Brady I said, happy Thanksgiving, and there is always a seat for him at our table.” Her voice was soft, but firm with the weight of her words. “He’s family, too, whether he believes it or not.”
“I will.”
“Drive safe.”
“Always.” I grabbed the plate and made my way to my car, our conversation on repeat in my mind. Brady deserved more than a plate of food. He deserved to feel like he had a place where he belonged. I remembered giving him shit for being at Mom and Dad’s going away barbeque and bit back a curse. Even when he did show up, I gave him shit. Maybe I was the reason he had stayed away. God, I hoped not.
At least this year, I wouldn’t let him spend another holiday alone. If he wouldn’t come to the table, then I’d bring it to him.
Fifteen minutes later, I drove down his driveway and parked. Jack ran out the doggy door and barked a greeting.
“Hey, boy,” I said as I exited the car with the plate of food.
Brady stepped onto the porch, arm over his head, resting it against a wood beam. He was in a pair of gray sweatpants, and my eyes drifted down, unable to ignore the way they clung to him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” I held up the plate of food wrapped in foil. “Thought you’d want a little taste of Grasso Thanksgiving.”
“You didn’t have to do that. You should be with your family.”
“I’m with my family all the time. They’re fine without me.” I stepped onto the porch. “Besides, I wanted to see you.”
He dropped his arm, wrapping his hand around my waist and pulling me close. He bent his head, capturing my lips in one fell swoop.
“Come inside,” he said, taking the plate from my hand and pushing the front door open.
Jack ran up the stairs and darted into the house before making a sliding turn and taking a leaping jump off the porch.
“Let him burn some energy.” Brady closed the door and walked to the kitchen, placing the plate down. Jack’s snout poked through the door, but then he changed his mind and took off again.
“It’s still warm,” Brady said as he retrieved a fork and took a bite.
“Have you not eaten?” I asked.
“Not yet. I usually grill up a steak.”
“No turkey on Thanksgiving? It’s tradition.”
“I’ve never been much of a traditionalist. Though Franc and Gio usually stop by with some on their way home from dinner.”
“Why do you never come for Thanksgiving? Even when we were kids.”
“It’s a day for family.” He had been a part of our family for so long, but he still kept his distance on holidays as if he didn’t belong. Funny, because he belonged more than most.
“Brady, you are family. I think sometimes my family likes you more than they like me. Mom even told me to tell you that.”
“That she likes me more than you?”
A soft laugh slipped from my lips. “No, that you’re family.”
“It just never felt right.” He forked some homemade stuffing in his mouth before moving onto the sweet potato souffle.
“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t welcome.”
His eyebrow shot up, his fork pausing at his lips. “You didn’t.”
“Are you sure? It wasn’t that long ago I gave you shit for coming to Mom and Dad’s going away barbeque.”
“You were just being you. I didn’t take it seriously.”
“Maybe you should have.” I glanced at the ground before raising my gaze to his. “I was out of line. You’ve done so much for my family… for me. I guess I just didn’t know how to handle it.”
He placed his fork down and pushed the plate onto the counter. “Handle what?”
The words caught in my throat. Talking about my feelings had never been something I’d been comfortable with, but his patient gaze eased my unease. “You. Us. The way you have always been there, even when I was being such a bitch.”
He studied me with those green eyes that always seemed to see right through me. “I didn’t need or want anything in return. Your family welcomed me into their home when I didn’t have one to call my own anymore. That has always been enough.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough. Not when I was so cruel to you.”
“It was a two-way street, baby. I was cruel to you, too. We both had our reasons. But we’re here now, so maybe it’s time we let the past be the past.”
“What if I don’t want to?” The words slipped out of their own accord, and his eyes narrowed slightly, his expression flickering with something I couldn’t pinpoint. “What if I want to make it up to you?”
Bringing a plate over was a start, but how many holidays did he spend alone?
Brady’s head tilted, and his lips curved into a sexy smirk. “I guess that depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On how you plan to make it up to me.” His voice was teasing, but the heated desire in his eyes told me he wasn’t entirely joking.
My teeth slid over my bottom lip, toying with the skin, while my mind ran through every dirty scenario. “I’ll have to figure that out.”
He picked up his fork again, and a smile brightened his too sexy features. “Take your time. I have a full plate and nowhere to go.” He scooped some cranberry sauce and forked a piece of turkey. I watched him eat, my eyes lingering on the bob of his Adam’s apple. The quiet moan of appreciation as he ate a bite of Mom’s famous mashed potatoes. The secret ingredient. Butter . Three sticks, to be exact. I once asked her if she was trying to put us all into cardiac arrest, which she replied with, “Our hearts are too full to stop beating.” Like Grandpa, she had some good sayings.
Jack ran in and out a few more times before settling on his bed by the fireplace. I looked around the cabin, taking in the lack of décor that should make it feel cold and stark, yet I had never felt so much warmth.
After tonight, Christmas preparations would start. Did Brady even put up a tree? Did he have any of his own traditions?
“What do you do on holidays?” I asked, leaning against the dark wood cabinets.
He placed the plate in the sink, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and tossed it in the trash. “I make a fire, pour myself a glass of whiskey, and… read.”
“Read?” I exclaimed, tilting my head in curiosity. “What do you read?”
“Nothing like the books you read.” He crossed his arms, his biceps straining the fabric of his henley. His lower back rested on the edge of the counter, a faint smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. “I like Emerson, Bradbury, and Doyle.”
My eyebrow raised. “Fan of Sherlock Holmes, huh?”
His smirk deepened, turning into a smile. “Who isn’t?”
“I’ve only seen the movies. Never read the books.” I preferred my books steamy, fanged, and laced with forbidden desires.
“They’re mainly collections of short stories, a few full-length books, and totally worth it. You should check them out.”
“Maybe I will.” Heat rose in my cheeks as his gaze took me in. “What were you reading tonight?”
“Dickens.”
“A Christmas Carol?” I guessed.
He nodded. “I read it every Thanksgiving. Kind of a reminder not to be a Scrooge to those around me, no matter how much I want to be.”
The thought of him alone on Thanksgiving reading a classic Christmas story spread warmth through my chest. He wasn’t alone, really. He had the familiarity of characters he’d grown up with. “Will you read some to me?”
For a moment, he looked at me, his expression unreadable before he finally moved. In a few long strides, he crossed the living room and grabbed the blanket draped over the chair by the fireplace. He held it up as if it were an invitation. “Come on.”
“What about the whiskey?” I asked.
“I have a glass here. We can share. I don’t have cooties.”
“I know. I gave you your cootie shot.” It had been so many years ago, I couldn’t even believe I remembered. But the memory popped into my head, fresh and as clear as it were yesterday.
He laughed softly. “It’s lasted a lifetime.” He shook the blanket. “You coming or what?”
I didn’t hesitate as I made my way across the room. I settled into his lap, and he wrapped the blanket around us, picking up a worn copy of A Christmas Carol from the coffee table. As his voice filled the air, steady and low, the firelight flickering across the strong features of his face, Jack snoring slightly from his bed, I imagined another shot of a lifetime.