Chapter 17 VINCE
VINCE
Ihear Fletcher outside my door before I see him—the soft thud of something being set down, the faint clink of glass. Smoothing my hands over my jeans, I tell myself to stop pacing and check my watch even though I know the time. I’ve seen the minutes tick by for close to two hours.
Then Fletcher steps through the door, and my breath catches. He’s wearing dark slacks and a fitted button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. His hair is still a little damp from the shower, his beard groomed perfectly.
For a second, my brain stutters, heat flushing my face that has nothing to do with my body misfiring.
He sets a travel tote on a chair inside the door and stops when he sees me, eyes widening.
“Wow,” he says softly.
I’m in a charcoal vest over a black shirt, a plain black belt and leather shoes. The vest will probably be too warm later, but it felt right when I put it on. I want to look like I’m trying. Like this matters. Because it does.
I’m meeting Fletcher’s family. His ex-wife. People who still mean everything to him.
Fletcher’s gaze lingers, not hungry exactly, but appreciative in a way that makes my pulse kick up. He walks slowly over to me, tugging at the vest. “You look incredible.”
“So do you.” It’s an understatement if ever there was one.
I want to pull him closer, but I’m too afraid to let go of the chair I’m holding onto. My legs aren’t cooperating today. Every step is unsteady. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.
His mouth quirks. “Are you nervous?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only because I know you,” he says softly, stepping into my space. I get a whiff of his almond beard oil and my belly swoops. My God, he even smells amazing. “You look as calm as ever.”
I swallow. He can’t know what that means to me. “I don’t want to mess this up.”
“You won’t.” He touches my smooth chin. “The trimmer worked, I take it?”
He’d offered his electric trimmer two days ago after seeing yet another cut from my poor attempts at shaving. “Yeah. Finally feel like myself again. Thank you.”
He leans in for a quick kiss. “Good. I’m gonna miss the beard, though. Not going to lie.”
I chuckle and reach for a plate on the counter, securely wrapped in cling wrap. I’d woken up early to make it, measuring and re-measuring ingredients just to be sure.
“Spicy cheese ball,” I say, lifting it. “I may have been a little aggressive with the cayenne.”
Fletcher grins. “Ryan’s family likes heat. You’ll be a hero.”
“Or banned forever.”
He nudges me with his hip. “They’ll like you. Stop worrying.” He gestures to the zippered travel tote. “I’m bringing sweet potato gratin. It’s Georgie’s favorite.”
That brings a real smile out of me, the kind that loosens something tight in my chest.
Moving slowly, I tuck the cheese ball into the bag along with the two boxes of crackers to go with it. Fletcher watches me without comment, almost like he knows my legs are acting up today.
He steps in beside me and quietly takes the bag before I can. No fuss. No commentary. Just a seamless transfer of responsibility. Then he offers his arm.
“Ready?”
I nod, even though my stomach flips. “As I’ll ever be.”
The drive over is quiet in a good way. He keeps the music low and the air blowing, a little cooler than necessary.
The road is damp with rain, streetlights blurring into gold streaks across the windshield.
I watch Fletcher’s hands on the wheel, the easy, relaxed way he handles the corners. I wish I could absorb some of his calm.
“Hey,” he says, eyes still on the road. “You don’t have to perform today, okay?”
I blink. “I wasn’t—”
“I know. I’m just saying. Be yourself. Take breaks. Sit when you need to. Nobody’s keeping score. Ryan’s family really is great and easygoing. You’ll fit right in.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want to be a problem.”
He reaches over. “You won’t be, Vince. I promise.”
There’s no drama in it. No speech. Just a steadiness I need. I take his hand.
The house comes into view, lights glowing warm against the dark. It really is like a Christmas movie, lights and yard decor everywhere.
“This makes our effort to decorate your house look weak,” I say.
He laughs. “Right? Wait until you see the inside.”
Cars line the street, and as we get out, laughter drifts faintly through closed windows, even from here.
My pulse quickens. I take a deep breath, letting myself believe—just for tonight—that maybe I can do this.
Fletcher lets himself in, and the noise echoes off the bricks into the night.
I regret the vest the moment we step through the door. Heat rolls over me like a wall—a mix of food, too many bodies, and the oven cranked too high. My brain stutters as it tries to catch up.
Laughter bursts from somewhere around the corner, and the sound of a ball hitting a wall fades the further we get away from the foyer, teenage laughter echoing from somewhere down the house.
Someone calls Fletcher’s name, and he answers without hesitation, seamlessly slipping into the rhythm of the place.
I hover a half-step behind him, fingers curling into the fabric at my sides.
There must be twenty people or more, spread out through the living room and dining area. A long wooden table is covered with gold and silver Christmas trees, and fresh garland is draped between them.
It’s the most beautiful family dinner table I’ve ever seen.
Around the room, lights and garland are hung everywhere, and the bookshelves are covered in tiny ceramic villages, lit up from the inside.
It really is like a Christmas movie.
“You good?” Fletcher asks quietly. He sounds like he’s asking if I want something to drink, when really it’s more—so much more.
My skin feels too tight, but I manage a smile. “Yeah.”
He tips his head toward the sliding glass door. “There are benches outside if you need them.”
How he reads me so easily is beyond me.
He grabs my hand, steering us toward the living room instead of the kitchen. A woman with wavy dark hair spots us and immediately gets up. “There you are!”
Fletcher gives her a quick hug. “Hey, Sarah.”
My heart swoops. His ex-wife.
Sarah steps back and looks at me. “Hi, Vince. I’m Sarah. I’m really glad you came.”
To my surprise—and relief—she sounds genuine. I offer a hand, and she shakes it. “Thanks for allowing me to be a tag-along.”
Fletcher chuckles as he squeezes my hand, eyes saying I’m much more than a tag-along.
A slender man with graying blond hair and glasses approaches us, wearing dark jeans and bright red socks. I like him instantly.
Fletcher gestures to him. “This is Ryan, Sarah’s husband.”
“Vince?” Ryan asks. “Glad to have you. Please. Make yourself at home.”
Introductions blur after that. Ryan’s parents.
An aunt who flew in from New York. A cousin whose name I immediately lose.
I shake hands with everyone, and I can feel curiosity burning off them, like they’re all wondering who I am to Fletcher and why I’m here.
It makes my skin burn even hotter. I hate that I’m already sweating.
Georgie barrels into Fletcher like a missile, hugging him from the side. “Hey, Dad.”
He laughs. “Hey, kiddo. Merry Christmas.”
He holds a couple of packages up for her. “Since you’re staying here, figured I’d give these to you now.”
I perk up. “Oh, I got something for you too.”
Georgie’s eyes widen. “You did?”
“I ran out of time to wrap it, but here.” I pull a small box out of my vest pocket.
She squeals when she sees what it is.
“A guitar tuner?”
“Not just a tuner. There are some custom picks in the box too. They’re from a company I love that supports indie artists.”
She hugs me tight. “Thanks!”
Georgie starts to unwrap her father’s gifts, but he stops her. “Ah, no. You know the rule.”
“Dad.”
“Nope. You can open them on Christmas morning.”
She sighs, then gestures to the boys beside her.
“These are my brothers. Tegan and Tanner.”
“Tanner is the one with braces,” Fletcher whispers, since the boys are otherwise identical.
The two teenagers wave. Tegan is spinning a football in his hand. “You look like you play.”
I sway a little. “Used to.”
“Yeah? Wanna play before it gets dark?”
It surprises me how much I want to say yes, but there’s no way I can—not even standing in one spot. The quick motions and eye-hand coordination are just not in my grasp tonight. Maybe not ever again.
I swallow hard. “Thanks, but I’m going to sit this one out.”
I feel Fletcher’s attention flick to me—checking, always checking.
The boys shrug it off easily. “That’s cool,” Tanner says easily. “We’ll play cards later. You can join us then.”
“Do you know Spades?” Tegan asks.
I scoff playfully. “Do I know Spades—of course I do.”
They both grin.
Something in my chest loosens as they walk away, all smiles.
Fletcher’s eyes soften.
He takes my hand again, and we make our rounds through the kitchen to set everything down, but I excuse myself before the heat gets worse.
Sweat beads against my brow, and the room sways.
I find a chair near an open window and sit down.
The relief is immediate. Pins and needles spark along my calves up to my knees, and I press my feet flat to the floor, trying to ground myself.
An older man sits across from me, stroking a beard that could rival Fletcher’s. His warm brown eyes are vivid and alert. “You must be Fletcher’s date? Ryan said he was bringing someone.”
Butterflies take off in my stomach. “Uh, yeah. Vince.”
He nods in greeting. “Samuel. I’m Ryan’s grandfather. You can call me Sammy.”
Sammy is surprisingly easy to talk to. Twenty minutes pass before Fletcher drifts back to me with a glass of water. He offers it to me with no comment, no fuss, squeezing my shoulder once before moving on. Not like I’m fragile, just… giving me support.
I still don’t know how to handle it. No one has ever seen me the way Fletcher does, or supported me the way he does. And he does it without making me feel small or throwing a spotlight on my limitations.