Chapter 43 Sophie
SOPHIE
The drive is short, the radio hums low between us, playing some classic rock song Beck’s singing under his breath.
The late morning sun filters through the windshield, catching in his hair and making him look unfairly good for someone who showed up at my dorm thirty minutes ago and derailed my plans for a quiet, yogurt-fueled day of hiding.
I fiddle with the hem of my sweater, watching the houses roll by. The closer we get, the more cars I see lining the street—families piling out with casseroles and foil-covered dishes.
“You okay over there?” Beck asks, glancing at me from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, then soften. “Just a little nervous.”
He reaches across the console and laces his fingers through mine without taking his eyes off the road. The warmth of his hand spreads through me like a slow exhale.
“They’re going to love you,” he says simply, like it’s a fact.
I look at him, and for a second, something flickers across his face. It’s quick, almost gone before I can name it—something warm and a little vulnerable. Like this moment matters to him more than he’s letting on.
Before I can ask about it, he’s turning into his dad’s driveway. The house is buzzing—cars packed in tight, voices spilling out through the open door, laughter carrying down the street. My stomach flips.
He parks and hops out, jogging around the front to open my door like he always does.
I shake my head, grinning. “You know I can open my own door, right?”
“I know,” he says, that familiar lopsided smile spreading across his face. “But I like doing it.”
I take his hand as I slide out of the truck, the cool air nipping at my cheeks. He doesn’t let go.
Before I can say anything, he leans in and kisses me. It’s soft, warm, lingering just enough to settle my nerves a little.
“You’re more than enough, exactly the way you are,” he murmurs against my lips, like a promise.
My chest tightens in the best way.
And then he pauses—just a beat. That same emotion flashes across his face again, stronger this time. Something real.
He doesn’t explain it. Just cups the side of my face, kisses me again—deeper this time, enough to make my breath hitch—then threads his fingers through mine as we start up the walkway together.
The second Beck opens the front door, warmth spills out like a wave—heat from the oven, laughter echoing from the kitchen, and the low hum of football playing on a TV somewhere deeper inside.
But before I can even get my bearings, there’s a sudden pounding of small footsteps.
“Sophie!”
Alyssa’s little voice cuts through the chatter like a bell, and she’s barreling toward me in a blur of pigtails and sparkly tights. Joey’s right behind her, taller but just as excited, grinning from ear to ear.
“You came!” Alyssa squeals, launching herself at my legs like a tiny, glitter-covered cannonball.
I laugh, bending down to catch her as Joey crashes into my side for a hug too. “Whoa—you guys are fast,” I manage between giggles.
Joey looks up at me, eyes wide. “Dad said Beck was bringing someone, but I didn’t think it was actually you!”
Beck groans good-naturedly behind me. “Gee, thanks, man. Way to make it sound like I imagined her.”
Joey just grins wider, and Alyssa tugs insistently at my hand. “Come see the cookies we made! I helped with the frosting!”
I glance up at Beck, who’s watching the whole scene with this soft, almost disbelieving smile. He gives me a little nod, like go on.
Alyssa leads me toward the kitchen, Joey bouncing along beside us.
And suddenly, the nerves that had been sitting tight in my chest start to ease.
This isn’t some intimidating family event I have to survive while trying to look prim and proper, making sure I am saying all the right things.
It feels like…stepping into something warm.
Caroline stands at the counter in a cozy sweater, laughing with Beck’s dad over some inside joke as she pulls a tray of something golden and delicious from the oven. The smell of turkey and cinnamon fills the air.
From there, it’s a whirlwind of introductions.
Caroline’s parents are the sweet, talkative type—his grandmother immediately comments on my sweater, while his grandfather shakes my hand with a twinkle in his eye like he’s already decided I pass some unspoken test.
Then Beck’s mom’s parents arrive, older but kind-eyed, and there’s something in the way they greet Beck—a mix of pride and softness—that makes me all warm and tingly. They greet me like I’m not just some girl he’s dating, but someone who matters.
Beck’s uncle appears next, handing out drinks and teasing Beck about “finally bringing someone who can put up with him.” Beck just rolls his eyes, slinging an arm around my shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, Alyssa grabs my hand again to drag me toward the table to show me the turkey-shaped place cards she made herself, and Joey keeps chiming in with random fun facts about the last time they played football in the backyard.
At one point, I catch Beck leaning against the doorway, watching me with that look—the soft one, like he can’t quite believe I’m here but he’s really glad I am.
I give him a small smile across the room, and he returns it, just a little crooked, like always.
And right then, surrounded by the chatter and warmth and kids tugging at my hands, it hits me: this isn’t just Beck’s family. This is Beck’s world.
And he invited me into it with open arms. He trusted me enough to share these incredible people with me.
The table, or rather, tables, are packed.
It’s the kind of Thanksgiving spread you see in commercials: turkey at the center, surrounded by platters and bowls of every shape and size.
Steam rises, butter glistens, and the smell of cinnamon and roasted herbs fills the room.
Beck’s family squeezes in on all sides—grandparents, uncle, kids, cousins—all talking over each other like this is the best kind of organized chaos.
Beck sits on my left, arm draped loosely across the back of my chair, his knee brushing mine under the table. Every time I glance at him, he’s already looking at me.
As dishes start making their way around, Caroline lifts her voice over the chatter. “All right, Beck—same rules as last year. Don’t touch anything until I’ve told you it’s safe. If it’s questionable, don’t do it.”
Beck groans good-naturedly. “Caroline…”
She gives him the look. “I’ve got separate butter, separate serving spoons, and your rolls are in their own basket on the corner. You will not spend the night sick because someone double-dipped in the gravy boat.”
Mark chuckles from across the table. “You’d think he’d have learned after the Great Pie Incident.”
A chorus of knowing laughter erupts, and Beck drops his head back with a dramatic groan. “One time. I misread a label one time.”
Caroline pats his shoulder sweetly. “And now I supervise.”
As the food continues around, I notice how seamless it all is. Caroline has clearly done this a hundred times, gently intercepting any well-meaning relative who tries to plop casserole onto his plate.
Beck doesn’t complain. He just builds his usual Thanksgiving plate: turkey, mashed potatoes, salad, a gluten-free roll, and some fruit and veggies from trays at the end of the table. It’s quiet and practiced, but supported.
Something warm settles in my chest as I watch his family work together around it—not making a big deal, not pitying him, just loving him. It’s so different from what I grew up with, where pretending everything’s fine was the unspoken rule.
Beck catches me watching, mouth curving into that crooked grin. “Welcome to the circus,” he murmurs, his palm finding my knee and giving it a squeeze before coming to rest on my thigh.
Halfway through dinner, Beck’s grandfather looks down the table at me with a kind twinkle in his eye. “So, Sophie—tell us about yourself. What are you studying? What’s the big dream?”
I set down my fork, feeling all those friendly eyes turn toward me.
“I’m studying social work,” I say. “I want to become an advocate for kids in the foster system. Eventually, I’d love to work as a child welfare social worker—helping kids find stable placements and supporting families through the process. ”
The table quiets—not in that awkward way, but with genuine interest.
“That’s incredible,” Caroline says, her voice warm. “That kind of work takes a big heart.”
Beck’s dad nods. “Important work. Really important. We need more people like you in that field.”
My cheeks flush, but there’s a swell of pride in my chest. “Thank you. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I grew up seeing how broken parts of the system can be, and I just…want to help make it better, even if it’s in small ways.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Beck’s looking at me. There’s a softness there that makes my heart stutter, because he gets it. More than anyone else at this table, he understands what that means.
The rest of the meal is effortless, filled with teasing and stories. Mark tells the infamous running the wrong way after his first interception story again, Alyssa keeps sneaking extra bits of turkey onto Beck’s plate, and Caroline quietly slides him an extra gluten-free roll without him asking.
And through it all, I feel…included. Not like a guest. Like someone who’s supposed to be here.
When dessert comes, Beck’s gluten-free pumpkin pie is waiting off to the side so it doesn’t get cross-contaminated.
He leans close, voice low just for me, and whispers in my ear, “Told you they’d love you.”
I look at him, heart fluttering softly. “Yeah,” I whisper back. “You did.”
The doorbell rings just as Joey starts arguing with Alyssa about whether sweet potatoes count as dessert. The sound cuts through the chatter, and half the table goes quiet.
Mark pushes his chair back. “I’ll get it,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin as he heads down the hall.