Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Cheyenne
The Williamston driveway looks the same as it has for the past fifteen Thanksgivings: a row of autumn-colored mums lining the path to the front door, and the massive oak tree dropping its last few leaves onto the lawn.
Located an hour outside the city, their home has always felt more like my own than anywhere else.
A place where a girl with a constantly working nurse mom could feel rooted, even if just for holidays.
“Babe, are you sure we couldn’t have done the fancy brunch at the Elevation instead?” Garrett smooths out his burnt-orange pullover sweater—the one that probably costs more than Mrs. Williamston’s entire holiday grocery bill. “I still have a connection with the manager there.”
“For the fifth time, no.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “The Williamstons are my tradition. I’ve spent every Thanksgiving here since I was twelve. You know this.”
He sighs like I’ve asked him to donate a kidney. “Fine. But we’re leaving by seven. I have that call with the Singapore team tonight.”
“On Thanksgiving?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“The tech world doesn’t stop for American holidays, Cheyenne.” The condescension in his voice is so familiar it barely registers anymore.
I grab my items from the backseat and plaster on a smile. “Just ... try to have fun, okay? These people are important to me.”
Garrett gives me his professional smile—the same one he uses in corporate headshots and networking events. Perfect teeth, zero warmth. “Of course. I’ll be the perfect boyfriend.”
The irony of that statement isn’t lost on me as we make our way to the front door. Especially considering our temporary breakup just a few weeks ago. But here we are, back together, like we always end up.
And somehow, despite spending four years together, Garrett has only come to one other Williamston family Thanksgiving—whether due to work or family obligations, he just wasn’t able to make it.
But we both agreed it would be good for him to show face today to try to make amends with Dylan after their heated confrontation the other night.
Before I can knock, the door swings open to reveal Mrs. Williamston whose first name is Macy, wearing her traditional Thanksgiving apron covered in embroidered turkeys. “Chey! It’s so good to see you! It’s been too long.”
“Yes, it has.” I wrap my arm around the small, fiery dark-headed woman, enjoying the comfort that her embrace brings. She’s the closest thing I have to a mom stateside, since mine moved to Europe with her surgeon husband years ago. “I’m so glad to be back.”
She kisses my temple just before we release, then turns her attention to Garrett, who’s a couple of feet behind me.
“Nice to see you again, Garrett.” Her tone is light and welcoming, everything about her being the older version of Genna.
I never thought the two of them looked the same when we were growing up, but now?
Oh yeah. They could be twins with a twenty-five-year age gap.
“Thanks for having me.” Garrett gives her a grin, smoothing out his burnt-orange pullover once more. I’m in a dark brown sweater and light wash jeans, my hair carefully curled into loose waves. I have to make sure I look nice for the holiday...
And totally unassuming for what I’m sure is to come with pranks.
“C’mon in.” Macy leads us through the foyer to the sitting room, which is just off the dining room.
The house is an old Victorian-style place, situated far away from the chaos of the city.
You’d never have guessed this is where Dylan and Genna were raised, or that their mom loves horses.
It’s a quiet place, and the Williamstons make it a point to keep the house as original as possible, only adding chic décor and updates to make it a little more modern.
“So, we’ll be eating in about an hour,” she goes on to say, pausing at the entrance of the formal dining room. “Genna’s in the living room. And now we’re just waiting on Dylan.”
“What’s new?” I giggle, and then remember the pie in my arms. “Speaking of...”
Macy, glances down at my arms. “I have a feeling that’s not what I think it is. I know I didn’t ask you to make a pie...” The humor in her tone has me giggling.
“It’s just for Dylan, actually,” I clarify through a snort. “I’m sure he’s going to really, really like it.”
“Oh, I bet he will.” Macy takes it from me, and then calls back to the kitchen, where I’m sure Mr. Williamston, aka Greg, is still busy. “We have a pie from Cheyenne. Don’t eat it.”
“Got it!” he calls back, his deep voice rumbling through the house.
“I can’t wait to see what happens.” She gives me a smile and then slips away, disappearing around the corner.
“I can’t believe everyone supports these childish games,” Garrett groans, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t understand it at all. You spent more time on that nasty thing than any grown adult ever should.”
“It’s all in good fun,” I say, dismissing his attitude about it with a light wave. “Come on, let’s go sit with Genna.” I thread my arm through his.
He stiffens. “I forgot how ... vintage this place is,” he remarks.
“It’s basically a historic landmark,” Genna says from where she sits, her eyes still fixated on the TV as we plop down on a black velvet couch. She looks over at the two of us from a deep red floral armchair. “My mom is dead set on making us all feel like we’ve stepped back in time.”
Garrett makes a face. “Right ... because that makes so much sense, given that there’s full plumbing and—”
“And decorations that are at least a century old,” Genna finishes for him. “Did you know that the dining table we’re about to sit at came with this abandoned house when my parents bought it as a young married couple? My mom loved it so much that she decided to keep it.”
“That’s weird.”
“I think it’s sweet,” I speak up. “I love the way your parents have made this place their own over all the years.”
“It’s not even a little creepy to you?” Garrett turns to me, his brow furrowing. “And why would you want all the problems that come with owning a house this old? It seems like it would be more hassle than it’s worth.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I guess I just find it charming. I’ve practically grown up here, and it seems like the only thing that’s changed is the pictures in the frames.”
“Some of them.” Genna frowns, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s not forget that Mom still won’t take down my horrendous school picture from the seventh grade, where I had braces and glasses.”
“Let’s not forget how proud you were that you color coordinated your braces to your orange glasses,” a voice rumbles from behind us.
I instantly smile, tipping my head back to see Dylan, dressed in a gray pullover and jeans, staring down at me. “You’re only five minutes late. I think that might be a miracle.”
“Ha ha.” He smirks and then looks at Garrett. For a second, I think he might say something ugly, and my heart skips a beat. But instead, he offers his hand. “Happy Thanksgiving, man.”
Garrett eyes the extension of peace with the same leeriness as me but then takes his outstretched hand. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief, exchanging a glance with Genna, who seemed to be in the same place as me. She didn’t witness what happened between the two when it went down, but I filled her in on all the details.
“You wanna play checkers while we wait to eat?” Dylan asks me as Garrett and Genna turn back to the TV to watch the parade. “Unless you’d rather watch the parade. I mean, I know how much you love a good Charlie Brown balloon, but—”
“But I love beating you way more,” I say, pushing to a standing position. I reach out and squeeze Garrett’s shoulder, who doesn’t look away from the anchor on the screen. “I’m going to play some checkers. Are you good with that?”
“Sure.” He still doesn’t look at me.
I ignore the little pang of hurt in my chest and follow Dylan through the sitting room and into the small library off to the side, opposite the dining room. We step inside, and I breathe in the warm scent of cinnamon that seems to permeate the books on the shelf.
“Red or black?” Dylan muses as he takes a seat at the corner table, the checkerboard already in place.
“Red, obviously.”
He turns the board so the red pieces are on my side and we settle in, the familiar pattern of the game creating a comfortable bubble around us. I make my first move, pushing a red piece forward with confidence.
“Bold start,” Dylan comments, countering with his own move.
“Go big or go home.”
“Speaking of going home...” He glances toward the living room, where we can hear the faint sounds of the parade. “I’m surprised you brought Garrett this year after what happened at my party.”
“Yeah, well, it’s Thanksgiving.”
Dylan’s mouth twitches. “You’re telling me if it was Arbor Day, he wouldn’t make the cut?”
I roll my eyes, then concentrate on the board. “He apologized for what happened the other night. Said he was stressed about work.”
“Mmm.” Dylan sounds unconvinced as he captures one of my pieces. “And the Halloween breakup? Did he apologize for that too?”
“How’d you know about that?” I look up, surprised.
“I know things.” He taps his temple. “Big brother intelligence network.”
Genna told him.
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off casually while making my next move. “We worked it out. Couples fight, Dylan. It’s normal.”
“Is it? Because Kade and Ella don’t seem to need to break up every other month to make their relationship work.”
I fidget with one of the captured pieces, turning it over and over in my fingers. “That’s different. They’re ... they’re Kade and Ella. They’re perfect.”
“No one’s perfect, Chey.” His voice softens. “But they respect each other. Does Garrett respect you?”
“What is this, Dr. Phil? I thought we were playing checkers, not analyzing my love life,” I deflect, though the question hits closer to home than I’d like to admit.
Dylan shrugs before making his next move. “I’m just asking. As someone who cares about you, why are you still with that guy?”
I stare at the board, not really seeing it.
Why am I still with Garrett? Because he’s successful and stable, and he pushes me to be more?
Because when things are good between us, they’re really good?
Because I’m twenty-seven, and the thought of starting over is terrifying?
Because being alone sounds worse than being with someone who makes me feel .
.. what? Not quite happy, but not miserable either. Just ... less lonely.
“It’s ... complicated,” I finally say, knowing how lame it sounds.
“All the more reason to ditch him.” Dylan leans back in his chair.
I raise a brow. “That’s rich coming from the guy who manages to have a woman on your arm in every Instagram post, but has yet to ever bring one home for Thanksgiving.”
“I prefer to fly solo. There’s less drama that way,” he quips.
I sigh. “Yeah, well, flying solo kinda sucks, so...”
“It’s time to eat!” Macy’s voice rings through the house.
And time to prank.
We both jump up with a telling enthusiasm. However, neither of us points it out as we make our way out of the library area and back into the sitting room. Garrett and Genna lead the charge, though Garrett hangs back once he catches sight of me.
“You didn’t get far into your game,” he muses, draping an arm around my shoulder.
I can’t tell if he’s being sweet or a little salty, but regardless, I let his arm remain as we find our place at the dining room table.
We sit directly across from Dylan and Genna, while their parents sit at either end.
“This looks amazing,” I say, taking in all the delicious food lining the table. “Someone say grace so we can get started.”
Dylan chuckles at my eagerness, and Garrett lets out a small sigh. I have no idea what he’s reacting to, but before I can think anything of it, I’m cut off by Greg, who says grace. I bow my head, close my eyes, and then proceed to make my plate.
“Can I have a roll, please?” I ask, nodding to the basket of homemade fresh bread.
“Absolutely.” Dylan grabs for the basket, and then hands me one. My stomach growls at the sight, and I can’t help myself, breaking it open...
And confetti goes everywhere.
“Oh my gosh!” I screech, as little turkeys and pilgrim hats fly everywhere.
Garrett jumps beside me, but then groans. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. That just got in my potatoes.”
“It’s edible.” Dylan shoots him a wink. “No worries.”
Macy and Greg only smile, and Genna giggles.
“I knew that one was coming,” she says.
“Yeah, we did, too,” Greg adds, dishing out some sweet potatoes for himself.
I grin, meeting Dylan’s gaze across the table. “Mine is so much better. A confetti roll is not gonna do it. It was just a little surprising.”
“And childish,” Garrett mutters under his breath.
I ignore my boyfriend and continue to eat my Thanksgiving meal, thankful that I’m going to have a much more solid response from Dylan. I’ve gotten him way better than any confetti prank.
We finish the rest of our meal, and only then do Macy and Greg return with the pies, carrying them delicately.
“Oh, is that the pumpkin spice thing you told me about?” He looks over to Genna, who nods like the best friend that she is.
“It’s double crusted, since I know that’s your favorite part,” she chimes, making it a point not to meet my gaze.
“Amazing.” Dylan slices himself a generous serving.
Garrett looks over at me, and I shoot him a sly grin.
This is going to be epic.
Dylan stabs his fork into the orangish filling and crust, picking it up and popping it into his mouth...
And then he explodes, spewing colored mayonnaise everywhere—but most of it shoots across the table, all over Garrett’s designer sweater.
My boyfriend shoves himself backward, shock and disgust written all over his face. “Are you serious right now?”
“Sorry!” I try my best to stifle my laughter. “I didn’t know he would spew it everywhere like that...”
Dylan gags. “What the heck is this?”
“Happy Thanksgiving.” I can’t hide my grin.
“Happy—” Dylan starts.
“This is ridiculous,” Garrett cuts in, standing to his feet and glaring at me. “I’m so sick of your childish antics, Cheyenne. It’s Thanksgiving, and all you’ve cared about is your stupid prank!”
Everyone at the table, who was once laughing, now grows quiet. I shift in my seat uncomfortably and reach up, attempting to rest my hand on his forearm.
“It’s just tradition,” I try to explain, but Garrett immediately starts shaking his head.
“No, it’s pathetic,” he sneers. “And I’m so over it.”
“We can talk outside,” I plead, my face growing hot at the scene unfolding. “That would probably be better.”
“I have nothing more to say,” he scoffs, pulling away. “I’m so done with this ... And you.”