Chapter 50
“This is all so good,” Taylor moans, as if she’s never eaten a home cooked meal in her life. I’m tempted to tease her, but this really is the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had—and the first that wasn’t catered.
“Seriously, it’s wonderful,” Jenny echoes as the rest of us chime in with our agreement.
Levi holds up his fork, a hunk of turkey on the end of it. “And the deep-fried turkey?”
“Actually, I think it does taste better,” Lucy admits from her seat beside me. “But next year, you do it in your own yard.”
Next year. I want to be here next year, a part of this new tradition as it continues on and on. I reach under the table and rest my hand on Lucy’s knee, as if the physical contact can anchor me here forever.
She looks over and smiles at me, and it’s soft and intimate in a way that’s just mine.
“We should get one of the heavy-duty deep fryers like the resort has,” Claire chimes in, causing Tad’s head to shoot up.
After he arrived, we stepped aside for a second and confirmed specifically who knows my true identity, and that we need to keep it that way. He had agreed without batting an eye, typical Tad.
“The resort?” he asks around a mouth full of potatoes. “You mean Holiday Valley?”
“Mhm, I work there.”
“Has it opened for the season yet?”
“Next week,” Mack tells him. “Are you staying that long? To be able to write about ski season too?”
“Jake is. Maybe he’ll be able to stay into the season awhile, to really get the full picture.”
“That would be nice,” Jenny says, looking over at me. “When is the story due anyway?”
“Oh, well there’s some flexibility,” I reply, squeezing Lucy’s knee. “But I’d like to stay for far longer still.”
“If you wait too long, you might have to include the horrible hotel that might get built here.”
“Unless this new proposal wins over the hotel,” Mack points out.
“No way, big companies like that will find a way to steamroll the competition.”
I exchange a look with Tad at Jenny’s words. “I hear there’s still a lot of thought going into that decision,” I tell her. “On all sides.”
“Have you run into the Carpenter representative?” she asks with wide eyes. “No one knows who it is.”
“Sure, yeah, I met him once.”
“What’s he like? We need to be on the lookout.”
“Oh.” I glance around the table for anyone to jump in. The members of this group in the know are all looking back at me with cheeky little grins.
Especially Tad.
“Yeah, man, what does he look like?” he asks.
“He’s… old,” I manage lamely. “Like really old.”
Jenny nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
“It sure does,” Taylor agrees as Levi chokes back a laugh. In fact, most of them are trying to reign in their amusement.
I can’t help smiling too. This is the best holiday I’ve ever had.
Empty wine glasses with subtle red residue line the kitchen counter beside the sink. Plates are stacked precariously in the basin. And a single pumpkin pie remains untouched, the other pans empty—besides the buttery crust crumbs left behind.
The dinner’s leftovers were divvied up and sent home in an array of my mom’s old, passed down Tupperware containers. But somehow this pie was missed.
A click sounds, and my attention flickers upward, across the room to where Jake is closing the front door. The last of the guests meander down the front steps, their outlines moving out of the porch lights’ radius and into the dark night.
“Are Tad and Taylor headed to your place?” I ask as he turns back to face me.
“Yeah, should I feel weird about them staying there together?”
I shrug. “You have two bedrooms. Which makes me wonder, would it be a packed house at your place with three people and two dogs?”
He crosses the room slowly, a lazy, tired smile catching the corner of his mouth. “You bring up a good point. What could I do about that?”
“I’d be willing to take you in.” I smile as well, crossing my arms and leaning my elbows on the counter. “If you were interested.”
From either side of the peninsula, we tilt toward one another, the lone pumpkin pie between us. He drops a soft kiss to my lips before murmuring, “I am very interested.”
“Mmm, then it’s settled.”
“That’s a relief.” This time, his mouth brushes along my jaw. “Because it turns out I’m a greedy man, and I didn’t get a minute alone with you all night.”
“Greedy, huh?”
“So greedy.”
In truth, I’ve been waiting for this too. Specifically, time alone with Jake to tell him my news. Because at some point along the way, things stopped feeling as real until I shared them with him.
“I was hoping to get you alone too. I have news.”
He leans back and arches an eyebrow at me. It disappears behind that curl of hair that falls down over his forehead. “You’ve been holding out on me?”
My mouth twitches in amusement, the sudden urge to drag this out coming over me. I reach into the nearby drawer and pull out two forks. Holding one out to him, I plunge the other into the pie. Then I take a bite before continuing.
“Whitcombe called, they received the photos of my work.”
“And?”
His attention is unyielding, but I can’t help snickering at the way he holds his utensil upright in a fist, like a farmer’s tiny pitchfork. I nudge the pie pan towards him before remembering the Cool Whip in the fridge.
Turning, I take the four steps across the kitchen and withdraw the sweet topping. “And they said they loved the new series.” I set it down on the counter and pull off the lid with a crackle that pierces the quiet evening around us.
“Luce!” He smiles widely. “They’d have been fools not to.”
“They were so pleased, they offered me a contract to be an exclusive, reoccurring artist for the gallery.”
He tips his head to the side. “But you’re not pleased by that.”
I scoop my fork in the Cool Whip and drop a dollop on the pie. “Is it weird that I’m not sure?”
“I don’t think that’s weird at all. Take your time, then tell them what it is that you want.”
“What if I don’t know what I want?”
His smile takes a sly curve, his eyes crinkling in the corners in that I know better way. Then he finally reaches for the pie as well, digging out a bite heavy with whipped topping.
“If you really don’t know, then you’ll figure it out. But maybe you do know, and it’s not what you expected.”
“Nothing about these last couple months have been expected.”
He doesn’t need to reply. Instead, we both turn our attention to taking bites of pumpkin pie straight from the pan as a howling, late autumn wind echoes through bare tree branches outside.
I know what we’re both thinking—the best things tend to happen by chance.
Their unexpected nature makes their arrival that much sweeter.