Chapter 17 Liam #2
Then Henri appears in her thin leggings and sneakers that are already damp from the calf-deep snow she’s shuffling through.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Defending your honor.” She winks. “What’s the plan?”
“We need to block her off on both sides.”
“You got it, baby!” she says. The term of endearment catches me off guard and I nearly trip over nothing and take another tumble into the powder.
“Yeah, baby, come get me.” Penelope mimics a gagging motion, taunting us both.
Five minutes later, Henri and I are panting, her face is nipped red from a mix of cold and exertion, but we’ve closed the gap.
One chance, that’s all we’ve got. I give Henri the slightest nod before I lunge. Penelope jumps to the side, action-movie-bullet-dodging style.
This leaves me hurtling toward Henri, arms outstretched. My hands connect with her shoulders as we go down. Down. Down. Her eyes squeeze shut, bracing for impact.
I shift to land with my hands planted on either side of her head. Her body has cut into the snow, as if she flopped down with the intention of making a snow angel, and I just stay there, hovering. A few strands of her short hair brush her cheeks and I fight back the need to brush them away.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi.” Her chest brushes against mine as she gulps in air.
“Baby was a nice touch,” I rasp.
Her lips twitch. “Liar.”
“You’re right. I like it best when you just say my name.”
“Is that right, Liam Hughes?” She draws out the words as a shudder rolls through me.
Somewhere in my mind, there’s a boxing match. In one corner of the ring, there’s common sense, telling me to get up. And then there’s the needy, desperate part of me that’s telling me this is fine as long as we have an audience, as long as I can use that flimsy logic to keep the lines in place.
Guess who’s winning.
Goodbye, common sense.
“We should get up,” I mutter.
“Yeah.”
Still, neither of us move.
“You two can eye fuck later. Dinner is going to get cold soon and you both need to change,” a stern voice calls to us.
With more effort than it should take, I roll to the side. “Hey, June. I know you missed me.”
Juniper is shorter than Penelope, but sharper.
Her dark hair falls in soft, natural waves over her shoulders.
She shouldn’t go to parties because her cheek bones would pop balloons.
She’s colder than the mountain, but has a soft spot for the children she coaches.
Out of all of us, she’s the only one who’s training and working on the mountain year round, and even has her own cabin.
But over the holidays, she stays with the rest of us in the main house.
“Not that much,” she says before disappearing back inside.
Henri and I clamber to our feet and grab our luggage. We head up the steps of the wrap-around porch and through the familiar burgundy door with its gold handle to the tight entryway that’s already crowded with bodies.
“We have a mudroom for a reason. How many times do we have to go over this? You’re acting like a child.” June’s voice rolls through the corridor, as she blocks Pen’s path.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Not backing down, Pen puts a hand on her hip. “I was just having a little fun. You remember fun, right? You used to have it before you went and had that stick-up-your-ass surgery.” She taps her chin and cocks her head.
Great.
Hey, Henri, here’s my family. They are really nice people who you’re going to love spending time with between them being constantly at each other’s throats.
“Well, excuse me for not wanting to slide on one of your puddles and break my back.” June thrusts out a hand, gesturing to the wet spots collecting on the wood.
“It’s fine, Pen can get some towels and take care of it—I forgot, too. So if you’re going to be mad at her, be mad at me too.”
Pen has always had the most freedom, the most promise, but also has managed to maintain the most joy. Competition has always seemed like play to her, and so what if she hangs on to being young as long as possible?
“Fine. I’m going to go help Mom with the table. Can you two hurry up and change?” June starts to turn the corner, but leans back just to say, “And. Liam, try to look put together.”
“I’ll make an attempt.” When June vanishes, I cock a brow at Pen for her to explain. It’s not unusual for June to be stressed around this time of year, but this is a lot, even for her.
Pen rolls her eyes and shrugs. “She’s been like this since this morning, checking when your flight will get in and trying to help Mom with everything. Don’t worry, I got the wear-something-besides-sweatpants lecture too.”
“Maybe she just wants to have a nice dinner?” Henri offers as a solution.
“Maybe, but we won’t find out until we get changed,” I say, and I have to admit, I would love to make it out of this trip without hypothermia.
We head through the living room, which is mostly decorated.
Garlands of dried oranges droop over the tops of windows, and nutcrackers stand resolute on the mantle.
But the three trees we pass, one at the base of the stairs and two tucked in the living room on each side of the brick fireplace, are naked.
Henri must note this because she asks, “Not a fan of ornaments?”
“They were waiting for us. None of us were able to agree on how to decorate the tree when we grew up, so now we have one for each of us. We’ll probably get to it in the morning,” I explain.
“It’s a whole thing. Mom lets guests vote on their favorite in the lodge and whoever wins gets to open presents first.”
“How many times have you won? I mean, you have an eye for detail.”
“Never.”
“I’m sorry, but your family doesn’t really seem all that aesthetically inclined.”
It takes me a moment to realize that she’s not directly behind me anymore and instead is lingering on the stairs. “I’m fine with going last. It’s more important to them.”
It’s always been worth it, to sit back and watch while my sisters tear into their presents.
“That doesn’t really seem like your responsibility,” Henri says, as she climbs the last two steps and joins me.
“I’m the oldest. I like taking care of them.” I need to.
We stop at the two rooms at the end of the hall, my room and the guest room being across from each other.
“Virgin loser,” she whispers as we stand in front of the solid oak doors.
“Don’t corrupt me, temptress.” I make a cross with my fingers as if to ward away evil, before slipping into my room.
Once freshly clothed in jeans and a thick fisherman’s sweater, I knock on Henri’s door. Here’s the thing, she could be wearing anything and knock the breath straight out of me, and the off-the-shoulder body-hugging black shirt and dark jeans are no exception.
“Should I change?” she asks, adjusting how her sleeves fall.
“What?” I ask, coming back to my senses.
“If this is too much or not enough”—she continues to pick at the fabric—“I can change. I just thought your family didn’t seem super formal, but I didn’t want to be in anything too casual the first time sitting with all of them.”
“No. It’s perfect.” You’re perfect.
“Great. Then, shall we?”
Mom has gone all out with dinner. Pepper-crusted roast. Creamy mashed potatoes. Caramelized carrots. A vat of stew on the side. Beyond that, she’s brought out the good plates, hand-painted with little bows and wreaths.
“Oh my God.” Henri moans around a bite. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hughes, you’re an amazing cook.”
“Thank you, and call me Ally,” Mom tells her. She’s the one we inherited freckles from. They splash across her sharp cheeks and down her neck, but her hair is blonde, compared to our brunette.
“Just be happy you weren’t here three years ago,” Pen says.
“The pork.” Juniper shivers. “So dry.”
“Mom’s been taking cooking classes from the chef at the restaurant,” I add.
“I didn’t need to be a good cook when I was younger.
I was happy with bland chicken and rice or undercooked pasta from the training facility cafeteria,” Mom explains.
“Now I have the time and it’s fun. Speaking of which, I’ve prepped some gingerbread dough.
Just say the word and I’ll pop it in the oven. ”
“Can I have that?” Pen asks, reaching across the table for the gravy boat.
“No. You’re still training while you’re here,” Dad says and Pen’s hand retreats back to her lap.
He’s a large man with weather-worn features from decades outside.
Tonight he wears one of his usual flannel shirts and jeans.
His phone is on the table next to his plate just in case he gets called back to the lodge for an emergency.
“You can’t let your diet slip just because it’s a holiday.
You have just a few months before the World Championships, and that new Wagner girl is improving faster than you are. ”
“June has some,” Pen whines.
“She didn’t qualify this year.”
“I chose to take the year off. One of my kids needs a coach with her—she’s got a good shot at the U16 Nationals,” June says, tersely, as tension feathers through her jaw, making me think this has been a point of contention for a while. “And I’ve been busy with the fundraiser.”
“It’s just one meal, Peter.” Mom rests a hand on Dad’s arm and squeezes gently. “Remember how much we used to love the holidays? All that food and beer? It was always the best time. And we always worked it off on the slopes.”
“I also remember it was hard to get back into a routine after,” he grouses, then shoots a look at June. “Any time off puts you at a disadvantage.”
Oh, casual shop talk at the dinner table, how I don’t miss this at all.
Done with this conversation, I go for the gravy boat the same time Henri does. Our fingers brush and we both jerk back, nearly launching our glasses of water off the table. After what happened in the snow, I’m conscious of her, how I need to be more careful about touching her.
“Here,” Henri says, the first of us to brush it off, handing over the gravy to Pen. “It’s amazing.”
Dad glares at her, and I can tell she sees him, but doesn’t flinch, which is impressive. He’s a man of iron resolve and has never been known to back down.
“You know you can touch each other? This isn’t a convent,” Penelope says. “You didn’t seem to be having any trouble outside.”
“Could you act normal for one second?” June saws at the slab of roast on her plate.
“Everyone’s thinking it!” Penelope proclaims then leans toward Henri. “Blink twice if this is a hostage situation. If you agreed to come here before breaking up with him, you don’t have to follow through with it.”
“No! It’s nothing like that!” I insist and reach for Henri’s hand in what is possibly the least convincing way possible, because the distance between our chairs is awkwardly far.
“I’ve just never gone home to meet someone’s parents before and it’s a big deal. I’m just nervous,” Henri lies, but it seems to work for now.
“Liam told us you’re about to start graduate school, that’s a big achievement,” Mom says.
“Yes. It’s a big step, but I’m excited to get into a career to help people long term. For now, I’m a bartender, and only help folks for a few hours at a time,” she says.
“Where’s the program?” Dad asks, eyes narrowing.
“It’s in New York. You know we met because of his articles?
I was kind of a fan of his before I even met him.
You could say he was my celebrity crush.
” She scoops mashed potatoes onto her fork and takes a bite.
“His writing is amazing, but of course you know that; you must have read his work.” The jab is subtle but I see that it lands, the vein in Dad’s forehead pulsing.
“Well it seems like you have a solid foundation that even some distance can handle.” Smiling to himself, he grabs his nearly full wine glass, pushes up from his chair, and stands. “This is as good a time as any to make it official.”
Couldn’t he have just waited one night? My gaze darts around the room. Across from me, June straightens, attention locked on Dad. A plate clatters as Pen stabs a piece of roast and shoves it into her mouth. Mom barely conceals the upward tilt of her lips as she takes a sip of water.
“Over the next few years, I intend to slowly step down as owner of Dulcet Point. This is going to be a time that will require a lot of patience as the transition takes place for the next generation of Hughes to take over.” He turns to me. “Liam, I’m so happy to welcome you home.”
All eyes are on me for only a second before glass shatters.