Chapter Twenty-Four
Caleb
American Thanksgiving wasn’t a thing for most Canadians, but it had always been a thing for us.
My dad had grown up in New York before moving north to be with my mom. He’d left behind most of his American habits without complaint, but Thanksgiving was the one tradition he refused to let go.
Every year, late November, he cooked a turkey the size of a small child and made the rest of us gather around a table and say what we were grateful for.
It was corny. It was also my favorite family tradition.
This year, dinner was at Eric and Jamie’s. Their house wasn’t really big enough to fit the chaos, but Jamie—seven months pregnant and still refusing to let anyone help her—had insisted on hosting.
My aunt Solange had come from Montreal to stay with my parents for the week, which meant she’d be there too, probably taking over Jamie’s kitchen whether Jamie liked it or not.
For once, the whole family would be there. And I couldn’t wait. I’d been so wrapped up in Zadie and volunteering and figuring out my life that I hadn’t spent much time with any of them since I’d moved back.
Pushing my board harder, I carved through the quiet streets of Copper Ridge. The late November air was cold, biting at my ears and my knuckles, but the exertion felt good. My bones and muscles protested only slightly, my lungs and heart working hard to keep me moving.
My mind drifted back to the hospital. To Abby.
It was hard to think of that sweet kid facing the same thing I’d been through.
Her transplant would be different because medicine had come such a long way, but the risks in recovery were the same.
The same possibility it wouldn’t work. The same chance that, like me, it would save her life but leave her permanently altered.
But I preferred damaged and living over the alternative. And I had faith in Abby’s bright future.
When I reached Eric’s street, I kicked up the board and walked the last block, letting my body cool and my breathing settle.
Their house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. Warm light poured from every window, and I could smell the turkey from the driveway. Eric’s SUV was parked out front, Tante Sol’s rental beside it.
Only two vehicles. Where was the rest of my family?
I knocked once and the door swung open.
“What took you so fucking long?” Eric filled the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression hovering between annoyed and amused.
“Got caught up with something.”
“You’re almost an hour late. And empty-handed. Most people bring food or flowers or some shit.”
“Where is everyone?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay? You look off.”
“I’m fine. Answer the question.”
His brows lifted at my tone, but he dropped his arms and stepped back to let me inside.
“Mom’s got the flu. Dad’s staying with her.
Celeste bailed at the last minute. Marc’s kids have some big rehearsal or something.
Uncle Bowen is too busy with things in New York.
And Zane’s mom...” He shrugged. “You know how that goes. Zane’s at the resort tonight. ”
“I didn’t know about Mom.”
“No one did. She got sick this morning. Might be a blessing in disguise, though.” He pointed at the skateboard in my hand. “You know if she saw you with that, she’d lose her mind.”
“Uncy Caleb!” Brooklyn came tearing around the corner and crashed into my legs like a wrecking ball.
I handed my board to Eric and scooped her up. “Hey there, munchkin. Where’s your sister?”
She squealed as I spun her around, and the sound of her laughter erased everything that had happened before I walked through the door.
“I missed you,” she cooed, ignoring my question.
“I missed you too.” I spun her again. Her giggles were the best sound in the world.
“You make me tired,” Eric muttered.
“We’re just getting started.” I dipped Brooklyn upside down and she shrieked with delight. “Aren’t we?”
As I stood us upright, I stumbled a step. Not from the head rush. From the sight of Zadie standing on the other side of the front hall with Mia attached to her leg.
She was wearing a deep crimson dress that clung to her chest and flowed freely around her waist and legs.
The color—her color, the one she reached for first, the one that felt most honest—set off the auburn highlights in her curls, which hung in loose ringlets over her bare shoulders.
Her eyes were lined in something subtle that made the brown look endless, her lips brushed a pale pink.
I could have stared at her forever.
Eric’s hand landed like a solid weight on my back, steadying me. “Come here, Brooks. Give your sister a turn.” He pulled Brooklyn from my arms and leaned close to my ear. “Remember…don’t be a pussy.”
“You a pussy cat, Uncy Caleb?” Brooklyn giggled.
I choked back a laugh and looked at Zadie. Her eyes were sparkling, her mouth fighting a grin. My brother was about as subtle as a brick through a window.
“Mia, say hello to your uncle,” Eric called over his shoulder as he carried Brooklyn toward the kitchen.
Mia looked up at Zadie with her enormous baby eyes, then released her leg and toddled toward me.
I crouched to meet her halfway, gathering her into my arms. She squirmed, hating to be held now that she’d discovered walking. But when I covered her face with loud, smacking kisses, she dissolved into giggles and grabbed my cheeks with her chubby fists.
“Where do you think you’re going, monster?”
She returned the love with messy smooches of her own, her tiny palms squishing my face.
“All right, kissy-monster,” Eric called from the kitchen doorway. “Come help Tante Sol set the table.”
I let Mia go, watching her chase after her father on unsteady legs. Emotion caught in my throat, but I cleared it as I stood to face Zadie.
“I was getting worried you weren’t going to show,” she said before I could speak. “Chantel promised you’d be here.”
“We live together, Zadie. You didn’t have to brave my family dinner just to see me.”
“Oh, I’m not here for you…I’m here for Solange’s garlic mashed potatoes.” The corner of her mouth tipped up. “I’d walk through fire for those.”
“Fair enough.” I closed the distance between us.
She took a step back. But I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t let the panicked look that flashed across her face change my trajectory.
I moved until we were toe to toe and my hands were firm around her waist.
“What are you doing?” Her breath hitched.
“Apologizing.”
“You—”
I kissed her.
Not gently. Not tentatively. My mouth found hers with a certainty that had been building since the last time I’d tasted her. The connection ignited something in my chest—deep, consuming, and so fundamentally right that the rest of the world could have caught fire and I wouldn’t have noticed.
I wanted her. Right there. Against the wall of my brother’s front hallway, with his kids in the next room and the smell of turkey in the air.
But I broke the kiss before that impulse could win.
Her lips chased mine for a second before she caught herself and opened her eyes.
“I needed to apologize in advance,” I said. “For kissing you without permission. Again.”
She let out a breath that was half laugh, half surrender. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do if that’s how you plan to apologize. I see a vicious cycle forming.”
“I should stop while I’m ahead, then. Wouldn’t want you thinking I’m only after one thing.”
“Cal.” The humor drained from her expression, replaced by something raw. “If you only wanted sex, we’d have finished this dance a long time ago. I know you want more.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “You want commitment. The fairy tale. And I’m afraid I can’t give you that.”
“Fairy tales are just stories.” I kept her close, my fingers gripping her harder. “I don’t want a story, Zadie. I want you. The real, unfiltered version. And I want to build something with you that no story could fucking touch. “
She didn’t move. Didn’t give me a hint of what she was thinking.
“You’re already here.” I tilted her chin up. “So have dinner with us. Get to know my brother and his family. Watch how I am with them. And then try to tell me I’m not serious about you.”
She was quiet, her eyes traveling over my face before settling on my mouth. Her hand came up, and she pressed her thumb against my lower lip.
“You’ve borrowed some of my lipstick.” Her voice was soft. “Can’t have you sitting through dinner like that. Your nieces will get ideas about makeovers.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
She wiped the color from my mouth, her thumb tracing slowly across my skin.
“Okay,” she whispered, her fingers lingering at my jaw. “Let’s eat.”
I caught her hand before she could pull away, kissed the inside of her wrist, then let go. “After you.”
We walked toward the dining room together. She was quiet, but the tension in her shoulders had eased, and the walls she’d been hiding behind had hairline fractures running through them.
I didn’t need her to say yes tonight. I just needed her to stop saying no.
Because there was going to be a future for us.
All three of us.