Chapter 29
Elyna
The sun was setting over the trees in Val-Du-Lys.
The Thorne property was always so well loved.
The trees mature, providing just the right amount of shade on a warm day.
It had been an unusually warm October, which meant we could take advantage of all the activities the property had to offer, and my boy loved to be outdoors.
At a year old, Braden was taking a few steps by himself but he still needed his stroller to get around the large property.
Phoenix pushed the stroller up to the front steps of the main house.
Then we lifted the stroller together, Phoenix grabbing the front end so we could lift it up the stairs and into the house.
That way if Braden got tired during dinner, I could put him to sleep in his stroller.
The house itself was glowing with lamplight spilling through the big windows, and firelight flickering from the stone hearth.
Laughter carried out through the door, warm and unruly.
This wasn’t my family. It wasn’t my home.
And yet, with Phoenix’s hand wrapped firmly around mine, I wanted so badly for it to feel like both.
Pierre opened the door before Phoenix had the chance, his tall frame filling the entryway, eyes crinkling in a smile that was part command, part welcome. “There you are,” he said. “Come in. We’ve been waiting on you.”
Behind him, the house smelled like roasted turkey and sage, like pies cooling on counters, like everything I’d missed and longed for without even knowing it.
Pierre leaned down to press a kiss to Braden’s cheek. “Bonsoir, petit homme. You’re growing too fast. Happy Birthday. We have special treats waiting on you.” Then he looked at me, and softer, added, “We’re glad you’re here, Elyna.”
I swallowed; my throat tight. “Thank you for having me.”
“Of course,” Pierre said, as if there’d never been a question.
Inside, the house was the best kind of chaos.
Eric was in the kitchen wearing an apron dusted with flour, carrying a basket of rolls like they were treasure.
Asher leaned against the counter with a glass of wine, smirking as if he’d been saving up wisecracks for hours.
Becket stood in the corner with his arms crossed, watchful but relaxed, while Angela flitted between table and stove, trying to wrangle everyone into some semblance of order.
And there, at Pierre’s side, was someone new.
“This is Sandy,” Pierre said, placing a steadying hand on the small of her back.
Sandy smiled at me, kind but a little shy, her chestnut hair pulled into a neat twist, a blouse the color of marigolds setting off her eyes.
She carried herself with quiet grace, but there was something about the way all the brothers looked at her; curious, assessing, some amused, which told me she was still earning her place at this table.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, meaning it.
“You too,” Sandy replied warmly. “Pierre’s told me all about Braden. Happy birthday. Such a gift to share a birthday with Thanksgiving. I brought something for him later, if that’s all right.”
“Of course. And yes, my son has been a great gift,” I said to Sandy.
Phoenix squeezed my hand once before letting go to take Braden and settle him in the high chair Pierre had pulled from storage.
Dinner was loud, messy, and absolutely wonderful.
Braden was banging his spoon like he was conducting an orchestra.
Eric fussed about people not appreciating the rolls enough, Angela and Dominic kept nudging dishes toward everyone like she was afraid someone might starve, and Asher was busy making commentary on how “pumpkin pie should count as a vegetable.”
At one point, I leaned over toward Sandy, curious.
“So, Sandy,” I said softly, “how did you and Pierre meet? He hasn’t exactly been forthcoming.
” Phoenix had told me his dad was seeing a new lady.
It was the first time he brought a woman around the family on more than one occasion.
Pierre was also acting differently. He was humming and dressing in nice pants as opposed to his usual worn-in jeans.
If Phoenix wasn’t able to get any information out of his dad, I figured it was best to leave it up to the ladies.
Her smile brightened, eyes sliding toward Pierre, who was slicing the turkey with soldierly precision. “Oh, that’s a story,” she said warmly.
Pierre groaned under his breath. “Not at the table.”
“Oh, definitely at the table,” Eric cut in, grinning. “You aren’t the biggest sharer, Dad.”
“Fine, Sandy, go ahead and enlighten everyone since we seem so interesting,” Pierre said, giving her a warm smile. Truth is, I’d never seen Pierre shining in this way, happy and not so focused on policing the town.
“I have a florist shop in town on Main Street,” she began. “It was late evening; I’d just come back from delivering wedding flowers when someone threw a rock straight through the front window. Glass everywhere. I panicked and called the police station, expecting maybe a patrol officer to show up.”
Becket chuckled, already knowing where this was going. “And instead, the director himself marched in, pen and notepad at the ready.”
Sandy laughed, nodding. “Exactly. I looked up and there he was, Pierre Thorne in full command mode. He surveyed the damage, asked sharp questions, and started sweeping up the glass before I could stop him. I thought he was there to take a statement, but he was patching the hole in the window like it was his own place.”
Pierre shook his head, clearly embarrassed but not denying it. “It was after hours, we were short-staffed.”
“Uh-huh,” Asher said, grinning. “Translation, you saw a florist in distress and decided this was a job for the boss man.”
The whole table erupted in laughter.
Sandy gave Pierre a playful nudge. “He even told me to breathe in the roses I had on hand. Said it would help steady me.”
Becket barked a laugh. “Of course he did. Director Thorne, protector, lawman, and part-time aromatherapist.”
Pierre shot his son a look, but there was humor in it.
“Sure,” Eric teased. “Right up there with Miranda rights.”
“I have to admit,” Sandy added, looking back at Pierre with fondness that made my throat ache, “I wasn’t expecting him to come by the next morning. Off duty, with coffee and maple crullers. That’s when I realized he wasn’t just being the director. He was being Pierre.”
The table softened, laughter fading into something warmer. Angela reached across and patted Sandy’s hand. “I like you already.” Dominic gave his wife a loving smirk.
“She’s a softy for a good romance,” Dominic said. Angela and Dominic had joined the Thorne’s for dinner since their kids weren’t home for the holiday, and they found it a bonus to be celebrating Braden’s first birthday.
“I like her too,” Eric chimed, raising his fork. “Anyone who can make Dad smile like that deserves an automatic seat at this table.”
“As long as she can handle the volume,” Asher added, gesturing around. “We’re not exactly quiet.”
Sandy smiled, unfazed. “I grew up with three brothers. Trust me, this is familiar territory.”
“Perfect,” Becket said with mock solemnity. “You’ll survive.”
Pierre cleared his throat, trying to shift the spotlight. “That’s enough.” But I caught the way his hand covered Sandy’s under the table, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
Across the chatter, Pierre’s voice cut in again, softer this time. “Isabelle and Luc called earlier. They send their love. They wish they could be here tonight, and they wished Braden a big happy birthday.”
A little pang hit me at the mention of them. I missed Isabelle’s easy smile, and Luc’s calm presence too, but the United States had a different day to celebrate Thanksgiving so they weren’t off school and had commitments for the holiday.
“They’ll be back for winter break,” Angela reassured. “We’ll make it up to them.”
“Save them pie,” Eric said.
“And noise,” Asher added.
“And questions,” Becket deadpanned, which made Phoenix laugh for the first time that evening, low and rich.
Braden stirred against my shoulder, and I pressed a kiss to his soft hair. For a moment, I just let myself absorb it all in: the warmth, the laughter, the stories, the way even newcomers like Sandy and I were folded in as if there had always been a place waiting.
It was messy. It was loud. It was alive.
And it was the first time in years I’d felt like I was sitting in the middle of a family.
Eric passed rolls around like he was auditioning for sainthood, insisting everyone take two because “They’re better than Asher’s jokes.”
“Anything is better,” Becket deadpanned, which set the whole table laughing.
Asher clutched his chest. “Why am I always the punching bag?”
“Because you set yourself up for it,” Phoenix muttered, sipping his wine.
I laughed, and the sound startled me. It had been so long since laughter came this easy.
Phoenix brushed his knee against mine under the table, and Braden was busy banging his spoon, Eric pretended to duck for cover while making silly faces at my son, who was eating up the attention.
Sandy leaned in to tell me about her flower shop and how the whole town of Val-Du-Lys went crazy for her harvest bouquets, and just for a moment, I let myself believe I belonged too with this amazing family.
I had grown up with them, but I always kept my distance.
Where Luc practically lived here, I was older and withdrawn.
I was about to start a self-loathing rant in my head about how it was another way I screwed up, when I decided to change the dialogue.
To give myself grace. After all, it was Thanksgiving, and I had so much to be thankful for.
“Elyna,” Angela said suddenly, her tone bright, “Do you like to cook?”
The table went quiet for half a beat before everyone broke into laughter again.
“I can manage,” I said, cheeks warm. “But no one cooks like this.”
“She makes a mean pasta,” Phoenix said, his voice quiet but sure, like he wanted them all to know.
Asher groaned loudly, “Pasta? That’s the hill you’re dying on. Come on, brother, at least lie for her.”
“It’s good pasta,” Phoenix shot back, unruffled.
And that made everyone laugh harder.
Dessert was Eric’s pumpkin pie, so rich and spiced that I nearly groaned at the first bite.
He also surprised us by preparing a three-layer chocolate cake for Braden and another single cake that was made of hard chocolate.
The whole table sang “Happy Birthday” to Braden and my boy was smitten.
Eric gave Braden a wooden hammer and Braden smashed the hard chocolate to pieces as everyone cheered.
Phoenix took pictures with his phone, and then Eric grabbed the phone and told Phoenix to get into the pictures with Braden and me.
Then we all enjoyed the three-layer chocolate cake.
Braden was covered in chocolate and I swept him off to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
“This was the best birthday ever and it’s just your first. I hope they just keep getting better for you,” I whispered as I wiped down his hands and face and changed him into pajamas and a new diaper.
When I brought him back to the table, he put his head on my shoulder and he was out like a light since he wasn’t used to being up this late.
I placed him flat in the stroller with a blanket covering him.
Pierre lifted his glass. “To family,” he said. “And to finding joy, even when the world outside feels heavy.” Something in his words hit me in the center of my chest. The world was a scary place. I knew that better than anyone, but in this moment I felt true happiness.
Everyone lifted their glasses. Phoenix’s hand found mine under the table, his grip firm, grounding.
“To family,” I echoed softly, my voice catching.
When the meal wound down, we drifted toward the fire.
Asher sprawled on the rug with a beer, Eric disappeared back into the kitchen to “check on tomorrow’s dough,” and Becket sat quietly near the window, always half on duty.
Angela traded stories with Sandy about the old flower shop owner, both women laughing easily, like they’d known each other for years.
Phoenix stayed close, Braden tucked into his arms, and I leaned into him, letting the warmth of the fire and the chatter around me soak deep into the places that had been cold for too long.
I’d told myself this was temporary. That Phoenix was temporary. That Val-Du-Lys was a pause, not a home. But sitting here, surrounded by the Thornes, by laughter and teasing and kindness, I felt something I hadn’t let myself feel in years.
Safe.
Wanted.
Home.