CHAPTER fifty-four #6
Five minutes ago she was a wild, sinful little temptress dragging me to the shower... and now she's sitting here, shy and sweet, trying not to make eye contact.
My heart actually flips.
Adorable menace.
I'm stroking her cheek, just tracing the heat blooming under my fingers, when a thought hits me like a giant, flashing, bright-red Vegas sign.
My whole body freezes.
My stomach drops.
Fuck.
I forgot to glove up.
Oh my—What a fucking idiot.
"Babe... shit."
Her brows knit. "What is it?"
"I'm so sorry. I can't believe I—"
"Zach, what's wrong? You're scaring me."
I swallow hard. My throat is dry as hell. "Caroline, we... we forgot to use a condom."
I close my eyes like a coward bracing for impact.
"Zach."
"I get it if you're pissed. I know I messed up. But don't worry, we can—"
"Zach. Look at me."
Her hand comes up, cupping my cheek, warm and soft.
Reluctantly, I open my eyes.
I search for any hints of anger and disappointment in her eyes. I find none.
"You're... not mad?" I ask, confused, cautious.
She shakes her head, smiling shyly. "I'm not."
"But we weren't careful—"
"I know," she says, blushing so hard her ears go pink. "We kind of... got carried away. But it's okay. I, um... actually wanted to know what it feels like to have you bare. And..." She drops her voice to a whisper. "To feel you come inside me."
Her cheeks are on fire.
And fuck, I feel that in my spine.
"Oh," I breathe out.
"Oh—and before you panic any more," she adds, flustered, "I actually got the birth-control implant last week. So we're... safe."
Relief washes through me so hard I sag against the couch.
Not because I'm scared of getting her pregnant —I'd marry this girl tomorrow if she wanted.
Hell, tonight.
Well... her dad would probably murder me in my sleep, but at least I'd die happy.
What actually hits me is that I didn't mess anything up.
That she's not upset.
That we're good.
I pull her closer, arms locked tight around her waist, forehead dropping to hers.
"Jesus, baby," I murmur, voice low and shaky from relief. "You almost killed me."
She laughs softly, brushing her nose against mine. "You're dramatic."
"Yeah. For you? Absolutely."
*****
The Pennington's dining room looks like something straight out of a holiday dream—warm, cozy, lived-in.
The long oak table is covered with a cream linen runner, tiny candle votives flickering between herbed sourdough stuffing, roasted Brussels sprouts with balsamic glaze, pumpkin soup, five-cheese baked mac, buttery mashed potatoes topped with garlic chips, sweet-potato casserole with pecan crunch, grilled corn with chili-lime butter, and two giant trays of chocolate bourbon pecan pie waiting at the end like a dare.
But the real star sits in the center: a golden-brown turkey so perfectly roasted it almost glows under the chandelier light.
It smells insane. My stomach has been growling for ten straight minutes.
Caroline sits beside me, her knee pressed lightly against mine under the table. Her hand rests on my thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles like she's doing it without even noticing.
Across from us sit my mom and Sam, and at each end of the long table are Caroline's parents—Franklin at the head, Esther at the foot—watching over everything with warm, content smiles.
Caroline's dad is smiling as he lifts his wine glass just slightly.
"Well," he says, eyes moving around the table, "before we dig in, I want to start by saying thank you.
Thank you all for coming and celebrating Thanksgiving with us.
Our families have been friends for decades, and it means a lot having you here today.
You've been a part of our lives for so long that I don't even think of you as 'family friends' anymore. You're just... family."
Mom smiles at that, nodding gently. "We feel the same way," she says softly.
He nods, clears his throat, and his expression warms.
"Well, I guess I should say what I'm thankful for this year."
He takes his wife's hand, thumb brushing her knuckles.
"First... I'm thankful for the gift of life. After the accident... we weren't sure we'd be sitting here like this."
He turns to her, voice dipping. "But we are."
Caroline's mom smiles back at him—quiet, steady, full of love—and squeezes his hand.
"And," he adds, looking toward Caroline, "I'm grateful that our little princess is finally back home. We missed you more than you'll ever know."
Caroline's cheeks tint pink as she laughs. "I'm happy to be back too, Daddy. With you and Mom."
Everyone lifts their glasses. Soft clinks echo around the table.
The rest of us take turns after that—nothing rigid or formal, just easy threads of gratitude overlapping with laughter, teasing, stories.
Esther smiles warmly and says she's thankful for "healing, progress... and a certain boy who's been making her daughter very happy lately."
She shoots a pointed look at me and Caroline.
I take Caroline's hand and kiss the back of it, and both moms giggle like teenagers.
Caroline nudges me with her shoulder, smiling into her glass. "Well? Anything you're thankful for?"
"Yeah," I murmur, grinning at her.
Everyone looks in my direction, so I clear my throat, suddenly aware I have an audience.
"I'm thankful for health," I say, "This year... that means more to me than I can explain." My eyes flick to Sam. She gives me a small, half-smile.
Then I look at Mom.
"And I'm thankful for my family. For the people who keep me grounded, keep me sane, keep me going—even on the hardest days."
Finally, I turn to Caroline and brush my fingers along her cheek. "And I'm thankful that my best friend is back in my life. That I get to make up for every day we lost."
Her eyes soften, and she threads her fingers through mine under the table.
Mom goes next, smiling at the Pennington's.
"I want to thank you both," she says softly, her voice full but steady. "For welcoming us into your home today... and honestly, for so many years of friendship. You've been there for us more times than I can count."
Caroline's mom reaches over and squeezes her hand gently.
Then Mom looks at me and Sam—proud, watery-eyed.
"And I'm thankful for my kids," she says, her voice softening even more. "For growing into such good, kind-hearted adults. You two fill my days with purpose... and joy. Every single one."
She lets out a small laugh, brushing her thumb under her eye. "Even when you both drive me completely crazy."
I can't help smiling, and Sam does too—except hers is small and tight, like she's trying to smile enough without actually feeling it.
Sam doesn't say anything after Mom finishes.
Which is weird.
She always goes next. And she always has a whole dramatic speech prepared—half heartfelt, half roast, usually ending in her making everyone laugh.
But tonight she just stares at her plate, pushing around her mashed potatoes like she's not really hungry. She looks... off. Not sad exactly, but not her usual sunshine either. Like something's tugging at her from the inside.
A little knot forms in my stomach.
I wonder if it's Elijah again. God, she really needs to stop waiting for that prick to get his shit together and see what's right in front of him. She's only hurting herself at this point.
I need to talk to her.
Yeah. After dinner.
When it's just the two of us.
For now, I raise my own glass with everyone else, forcing a smile even though my eyes keep flicking toward Sam.
Something's not right.
But I'll get it out of her.
One way or another.
We're halfway through the turkey when Franklin suddenly clears his throat and turns his gaze to me.
"So, Zachary..."
I nearly choke on my mashed potatoes. He never calls me Zachary.
That's the name he uses when I'm either:
(A) in deep shit
or
(B) about to be audited by God Himself.
My spine snaps straight like I'm reporting for military inspection. I dab my mouth with a napkin, suddenly formal, suddenly sweating like the turkey wasn't the only thing roasted tonight.
"Sir," I manage, voice an octave lower than usual.
Caroline's dad leans back, intertwining his fingers on the table like a man about to hand out a sentence in court.
"I have to know," Franklin begins, tone grave. "What are your intentions toward my daughter?"
"Dad!" Caroline groans, scandalized.
Her mom snorts into her wine. My mom is giggling behind her napkin. Sam is smiling too, but there's a faint shadow behind it.
I swallow hard. Very hard.
Franklin doesn't blink. Not once.
This man has negotiated million-dollar deals, and raised Caroline Pennington — he is built different.
"I'm serious, Zachary," he says, voice calm but carrying weight. "This is my only daughter. The light of my life. The last heir to my sanity. I need to know she's safe with you."
Caroline drops her forehead into her hands. "Dad, please stop talking."
"Sweetheart, I will not," he says without breaking eye contact with me. "Now, Zachary... tell me."
I feel beads of sweat forming under my collar. I'm pretty sure my left eye twitches. The twins aren't here to witness this, but I can already hear the laughter they'd choke on.
"I... uh—" I clear my throat.
Nope. Voice cracked. Great start.
Franklin raises a brow. "Take your time. I'm only evaluating whether you're worthy of my daughter's heart."
"Daaaaad!" Caroline looks like she wants to crawl under the table and never return.
I force my lungs to work. "Sir... with all due respect... I care about your daughter more than anything."
He waits.
Okay, apparently I'm giving a TED Talk.
"I love her," I continue. "And I intend to take care of her, support her, and treat her the way she deserves — every day. I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this with her... for real."
Franklin's expression doesn't budge. If anything, it gets more unreadable — that terrifying dad-neutral that could either mean he approves... or he's mentally digging my grave behind the shed.
He steeples his fingers, leaning forward just slightly.