Chapter 20
Twenty
Swayze
Lights illuminated the sign for the Gibson Hollow Community Theater, the vintage marquee glowing against the dark December sky. Below it, in those classic black letters on the whiteboard, read Merry Christmas Eve, Everybody!
I’d been surprised when Colter’s text had said the party was being held here.
It seemed an odd choice for a family gathering.
But seeing the steady stream of people moving inside ahead of us—couples in their holiday best, families with excited children, groups of friends laughing and chatting—maybe it was an appropriate-sized venue for this shindig.
The Gibsons clearly didn’t do anything by halves.
I hadn’t wanted to come. So far as I was concerned, I’d entered my feral gremlin era and didn’t need to leave the house for anything but the bare essentials—groceries or the occasional package pickup.
Was I sulking? Maybe. Probably, if I was being honest with myself.
At least insofar as I could manage with an apartment full of family who seemed determined to track my every mood and movement.
But JP and Paisley had other ideas about my self-imposed exile, and Mama—God love her—was utterly incapable of turning down the chance to be social, especially when it involved meeting new people and exploring a new place.
And I could admit, however reluctantly, that it was well past time for me to socialize with the rest of the Gibsons, who’d been so kind to me after my initial disastrous arrival in the Hollow.
I’d let my irritation with Colter spread over to the rest of them like some kind of emotional contagion, and that wasn’t fair to people who’d done nothing but welcome me.
So I’d sucked it up and put in effort. Because if I was going to be here, I was going to look good, damn it.
Not to show Colter what he was missing, but because it made me feel more like myself than I had in a month.
My influencer brand hadn’t been about appearance and beauty, but I still knew the tricks of the trade.
I’d pulled out all of them to go with the emerald green wrap dress the Sasspatch Society had gifted me from Devine Interventions.
The high low hemline showed off my calves in the strappy, nude heels I’d thrifted online, and the bodice dipped just low enough for intrigue.
I’d done up my eye makeup to make my hazel eyes skew more green tonight, and painted my lips a bold holly berry red.
Merry friggin’ Christmas, y’all.
We stepped through the doors into the plush lobby of the theater. The thick red carpets beneath our feet dampened the din of conversation some, but nothing—absolutely nothing—could dim the presence of the Sasspatch Society, who were turned out as if for a Hollywood gala.
Dee spotted me first and began to fan himself—or maybe herself, given tonight’s ensemble of a stunning floor-length gown in midnight blue with strategic sequin placement that caught every light—I’d have to ask his preference later.
He pressed a manicured hand, nails painted in an ombré of deep sapphire to silver, to his heart.
“I told you that dress was fabulous. And honey, you are doing it absolute justice.”
He held out a hand, and I took it, letting him pull me in for an air kiss to either cheek, his perfume—something expensive and vaguely French—enveloping me in a cloud of elegance.
“Y’all look absolutely fabulous,” I said, and meant every word.
Miss Bea had gone full Old Hollywood glamour in a champagne-colored column gown that somehow gave her a regal air.
Miss Glory sparkled in head-to-toe gold sequins, her hair piled high in an elaborate updo that defied several laws of physics.
Monique had opted for a sleek black jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and the kind of statement jewelry that could probably fund a small country.
“Allow me to introduce my family,” I said, gesturing to my people. “This is my sister, Paisley, and her husband, Ty. My mama, Genevieve. And my brother, JP. Family, this is the Sasspatch Society—Monique Delight, Vanglorious Jones, Madame Bea Dazzle, and Delilah Devine.”
Hands were shaken and greetings were exchanged with the kind of Southern charm that would make Emily Post weep with joy. As Dee made it to my brother, he flashed a broad smile that could’ve lit up the entire theater with no help from the chandeliers. “Ah… the infamous John Patrick.”
Rather than shaking Dee’s hand like a normal person, JP brought it to his lips in a courtly bow that would’ve made a Regency romance hero jealous. “Delilah Devine of the Bourbon Belle.”
Dee outright simpered, a blush showing in those high cheeks, despite the expertly applied makeup. “You’ve seen my show?”
“Impossible to forget,” JP said, his voice dropping into that smooth register he usually reserved for the stage. “Your performance of ‘Summertime’ has lived rent free in my head for more than a decade.”
Well, now, wasn’t this interesting?
By the way the rest of the Sasspatch Society looked on, I could tell this was out of the norm, and they were absolutely delighted.
I would’ve been, too, except I wasn’t positive that JP was out of rebound territory.
He’d been close-lipped about whatever had happened with Diego, including how long ago they’d split.
But at the end of the day, it wasn’t my business. They were both grown adults.
Dee’s voice came out smooth and flirty. “Well, aren’t you a flatterer?”
As the two of them continued gazing at each other with the intensity of a telenovela, Mama asked the group in general, “And how is it you know Swayze?”
Uh-oh.
Before I could respond, Miss Bea beamed. “Oh, we helped her out after the fire.”
“Fire?” Paisley’s voice went sharp as she looked at me.
I winced. “There was a fire in the first place I rented.” As my entire family turned accusing stares on me—including JP, who’d managed to tear his eyes off Dee—I protested, “I didn’t want to worry you. I was fine.”
“Oh, Swayze,” Mama groaned.
“Of course she was,” Miss Glory declared. “Fine firefighter that he is, Colter got you out.”
“Did he now?” My brother’s voice was full of eyebrow waggle that I didn’t appreciate one bit.
“Yes, he did. And I’m so grateful for everyone’s assistance afterwards.
I landed in a truly lovely town.” With a pointed look at the other guests waiting to say hello, I forced a smile.
“I believe we’re holding up the line. We’re just gonna go get something to drink, and I’d like to find Elsie to introduce her, as well. ”
“Oh, Mama’s in the theater proper,” Dee said. “She’ll be delighted to see you.”
JP offered a flirty smile to the entire Sasspatch Society, but his gaze lingered on Dee. “See y’all around.”
I strode toward the drinks table and scooped up a plastic glass of punch, heading for the theater doors before my family could waylay me. They’d either follow or fend for themselves.
The interior of the theater was a thing of aged glamour, all faded elegance and whispers of better days.
Heavy velvet curtains in deep burgundy flanked the stage, their fabric worn soft with time but still possessing an undeniable richness.
Gold-painted architectural accents adorned the walls and proscenium arch—scrollwork and flourishes that spoke of theaters far bigger and grander than this one.
The kind you’d find in major cities with playbills that changed weekly.
It might’ve felt like it was trying too hard, like putting on airs it couldn’t quite afford, but instead it came across as exactly what it was—a building with excellent bones and a lot of good years left.
The kind of place that had hosted everything from vaudeville acts to high school productions, community theater to the occasional touring show, and had managed to maintain its dignity through it all.
“Oh, Swayze!”
I followed the sound of my name and spotted Emmaline standing with Elsie and a collection of other faces that I didn’t recognize but that had to be Gibsons based on the family resemblance. I moved in their direction, turning sideways to scoot along one of the rows of folded velvet chairs.
“Emmaline. Elsie. Great to see you both.” I traded hugs with both of them, aware of my family coming up behind me. “I’d like to introduce you to some folks.”
I gave the expected rundown.
“It’s so nice to meet y’all,” Elsie gushed. “We’ve so enjoyed our time with Swayze, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances for her.”
Paisley shot me an exasperated glare. “Is she talking about the fire, or is there something else you haven’t been telling us?”
I sighed. “Just that. Elsie was kind enough to put me up until I found a new place.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you. Thank you for taking care of my girl,” Mama said.
“Of course, of course. And this is my eldest grandson, Bodie, Emmaline’s husband.” Elsie gestured toward a man who was as tall as Colter and somehow broader. “And his sister, Alia, and her husband, Ramsey.”
I blinked, looking up at the man who had a few inches even over Bodie.
Ty finally spoke up as handshakes were exchanged. “Ramsey Shaw. Never thought I’d see the day. Damned nice to meet you, man. The Sentinels are looking good for the playoffs this year.”
Ramsey smiled. “We’ll see.”
“Wait.” Paisley held up a hand. “If you’re Ramsey Shaw, that means you’re Swoony McBroadsword.”
A little color hit Ramsey’s cheeks. “Guilty as charged.”
She turned to Alia. “And that makes you Kella Harmon.”
Alia angled her head in acknowledgement. “Also guilty.”
“I’m Paisley Parish.”
Alia’s polite, neutral expression brightened. “I love your work! Oh! And this must be Mr. Second Chance Romance.”
Ty looked at his wife. “What now?”
My sister shrugged without apology. “I told you I’d probably tell our story in the newsletter.”
The two women moved closer to each other, lapsing into the shop talk of two romance authors.
Ramsey and Ty looked at each other.
“Well,” Ramsey offered, “at least yours doesn’t involve a costume.”
“She showed me video of the costume. It’s badass, man,” Ty admitted.
Paisley paused whatever she was saying to loop an arm through her husband’s. “Your regular deputy’s uniform is badass, baby. You know how I feel about that duty belt.” She pecked his cheek and returned to her conversation.
I sipped my drink and felt like some unnecessary wheel.
I knew the precise moment Colter arrived.
Not because I was looking—I absolutely, positively wasn’t, thank you very much—but because something fundamental in the air shifted, like the atmospheric pressure had changed, and the hair on my arms stood on end in response.
Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t help but glance toward the double doors where he, Oakleigh, and Lisa had paused near his brothers.
It was obvious by the enthusiastic greetings they gave Lisa that she was a beloved, cherished member of the family.
Of course she was. She was the mother of the only Gibson grandchild at this point, which automatically secured her a permanent place in the family circle.
Why did that sting so much? It had nothing to do with me.
The group slowly began to make their way toward where we stood, weaving through the other guests milling about the lobby.
Behind them, the theater doors opened again, and another woman slipped inside.
I had to actively prevent my jaw from dropping.
Her hair had been done up in an intricate series of long braids finished with little gold bands that caught the light, and with those long-lidded dark eyes and dark skin, she looked like some kind of Egyptian goddess who’d stepped directly out of a museum painting.
The gold sheath dress she wore only enhanced the impression.
After searching the crowded room for only a moment, she made a confident beeline toward the cluster of Gibson brothers.
The group of them turned toward her, faces lighting with unmistakable recognition and pleasure.
Then the goddess slid her arms around Lisa’s waist and drew her into a slow, lingering kiss that left absolutely no room for misinterpretation.
My head promptly exploded into a thousand mortified pieces.
Behind me, I heard my sister continue her conversation with Alia, oblivious to my internal meltdown. “Oh, that’s so nice that her wife could join tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, she’s been out of town for a work trip for the past couple of weeks,” Alia explained casually. “They had to fumigate the house after a raccoon got into the attic and started a massive flea infestation, so Lisa’s been staying with Colter and Oakleigh while they dealt with it.”
The smoking ruins of my brain began to rapidly replay everything that had happened over the past two weeks. Every interaction, every assumption, every cold shoulder I’d given him.
Lisa was the one who was married. Not to Colter. To the gorgeous goddess currently holding her hand.
They weren’t romantically involved beyond being friends and dedicated co-parents to Oakleigh.
I’d been treating him like some kind of sleazy, cheating asshole for having the audacity to flirt with me, and he had absolutely no idea why I’d suddenly turned so cold.
Fuck.
I had to find a way to fix this before he decided I was a complete lunatic.