Chapter 1 #2
“Who said anything about picking you up? Maybe I just wanted to talk to the most beautiful woman in the room.” He flashed a game-show-host grin, showing perfect white teeth.
I wish I could say my stomach fluttered or something, but mostly I noticed how put-together he was. I wanted to see if I could ruffle him.
“Did my resting bitch face not scare you off?”
“Not in the slightest.” He leaned in closer. “Everyone else here looks desperate to be seen. You? You look like you’d rather disappear. It’s refreshing.”
I rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t off-base either. Maybe there was more to him than his golden-boy energy?
“Sydney!” Jules snaps me back. “You totally spaced. What happened next?”
I blush. “Let’s say one drink turned into three, and I ended up at his place.”
“You slept with him on the first night? I love this. Mason always acts like such a Boy Scout.”
“Hmmm. Maybe in some areas.” I say, dry as toast. “But that night? He was all cocky-get-his-way Mason.”
“So it started as a hookup?”
“We both said we weren’t looking for anything serious. Just…”
“Sex?” Jules teases.
“But he called the next day, and the day after. And here we are, six months later.”
“Meeting the family, decidedly more than a hookup. Did Mason at least warn you what you were walking into?”
She’s so earnest, I can’t resist answering. “Not really. He just said his family had a cabin and asked if I wanted to come since I didn’t have other plans.”
She looks at me thoughtfully, and asks, “And now that you’ve seen us in action?”
“Now I get why he wanted me to meet you all.”
The Wallises are what I used to imagine when I was little, sitting alone by the Christmas tree. They’re loud, messy, and affectionate; the kind of family people write novels about.
The kind I used to pretend was mine.
“Come on.” Jules loops her arm through mine. “You have to try the hot chocolate, and I’ll tell you all the delicious details about my boyfriend, Tom. He’s on call today, but he’ll be here tomorrow.”
We easily find the others and enjoy the world’s best hot chocolate.
Everyone laughs when whipped cream clings to Gary’s nose.
Margaret smiles as Ivy lifts her camera to capture Jules and me walking arm-in-arm.
With holiday music drifting through the air and laughter on our lips, I can’t remember a more perfect afternoon.
The sun drifts behind the mountain, and everything softens, wrapping the streets in golden light. How much have I missed without having a family like the Wallises? And just how far am I willing to go so I don’t lose it?
***
Once the laughter from dinner fades and the others scatter, I remain in the kitchen with Margaret. She sifts flour into a wooden bowl, preparing pastry dough with practiced movements.
“Have you made cinnamon rolls before?” she asks, her voice warm with invitation.
“I’m afraid my baking skills don’t go much further than a box of brownie mix.” I look away, embarrassed by the contrast.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Grab that apron, and I’ll show you.” Her smile deepens, softening the lines around her eyes. “My mother passed down this recipe.”
As we mix and knead, the air fills with the scent of cinnamon and rising yeast. Margaret shares stories from when her kids were young. There’s Ivy pulling pranks on her older siblings, squabbles over game pieces, a frosting disaster involving Jules and a dog.
Tiny details only a fully present mother would remember.
But it’s Margaret’s voice that transforms the space into something sacred. She reminds me of Marmee from Little Women, the mother I used to lie in bed dreaming was downstairs waiting for me.
Before I can stop them, memories slip past the careful walls I’ve spent years constructing. Dinners alone while my parents attended galas. Being trotted out: “Recite this poem in French. Curtsy prettily.” Ice skating competitions where Madame Rousseau sat in the stands.
And the ache of their deaths. Those I don’t touch.
Standing in this kitchen, steeped in decades of family love, I feel like an imposter, trespassing in someone else’s story.
“Excuse me,” I mumble, rushing away and hoping I can escape before any tears spill.
A hand catches my arm before I reach the stairs.
“Syd, why’d you rush out?” Mason’s blue eyes search mine, but rather than concern, I see them narrow. His sharp tone can’t hide his annoyance at my sudden departure from the conversation with his mom.
“I just... something got in my eye,” I lie.
Mason doesn’t know about my childhood. Some instinct says he wouldn’t know what to do with the mess. He doesn’t ask, so I don’t share.
He accepts my answer, doesn’t read into the hesitation, and nuzzles his mouth into the curve of my neck. “You know where you’re standing?”
Mistletoe.
He kisses me, soft and sweet. “It means a lot to me that you came. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I’m used to doing my own thing when I’m here.”
Truth is, I hadn’t even noticed his absence. Instead of admitting that, I say, “Your family is incredible.”
“Yeah, they are. I was hoping this week might give us space to think about the future,” he murmurs, and kisses me again. “I hope this is the first of many Christmases you spend with us.”
It’s pleasant, this slow kiss. Usually, kissing him is a means to an end, but this one lingers, like he can kiss me into believing what he’s asking.
Last week, even yesterday, hearing him talk about our future would have made me run for the mountains.
Marriage and kids have never been on my radar.
Something my childhood taught me only led to disappointment.
But after spending a day surrounded by his family, a future with them included doesn’t sound so bad.
“I might hold you to that,” I say, even surprising myself.
He smiles, studying my face as he might red-line a contract.
“You should fix your makeup. Your mascara’s smudged.” His thumb brushes beneath my eye, the gesture affectionate. Until he adds, “First impressions matter, after all. You don’t want to look like a mess in front of my mom.”
The urge to bite back hits quickly, but I swallow it down as I was trained to do and trudge up the stairs. I should feel hurt, but it’s nothing new to me. I’m used to remarks wrapped in concern, disguised as help. My parents specialized in that kind of affection.
Twisted as it sounds, part of me used to welcome it because in those moments, at least I knew they saw me.
This relationship with Mason isn’t perfect, nor is it some grand romance. But I’m not searching for someone to sweep me into a fairytale or put stars in my eyes. My parents cured me of wanting such love. The kind that can crush you when it’s gone.
Mason is a safe bet. Any lawyer would call him a solid deal. He’s convenient, and honestly, someone I can live without. But this family? This family… changes everything.